“What investigation?” RJ asked as she shook Thorne’s hand.
“The one that you’ll assist him in. You and York. The one that looks into the treasonous ties between Reba Jackson and Russia.”
Her mouth opened.
“But…I work for the CIA. So won’t I already be doing that?”
“If Senator Jackson is in any way involved in this,” Thorne said, “we need to make sure she doesn’t get a whiff of your activities. So, we’d like you to not return to the CIA. But you’ll still have top-level clearance and everything you need to run your investigation.”
Oh.
“I’d like you to lie low and start working that brain of yours.” White looked at York. “Both of you. With your international skills, York, you’re exactly the man I need to help unravel this.”
York nodded, his expression stony.
White glanced at Thorne. “You’ll be under the purview of Director Thorne, answering to him. And him to me.” He sighed and crossed his arms. “We’re one week out from the election. I can’t pull Jackson from the race. But if she’s a traitor, I can’t have her serve with me either.”
And according to the polls, they were slotted to sweep the election.
“So that means I need to know ASAP if she’s involved in any way. And I need you to keep it quiet. Off the radar.”
RJ looked at York. “What if we were to set up in a small town? Maybe somewhere unexpected, tucked away and secluded.”
York smiled at her. “I like how you think, Syd.” He turned to White. “I’m in if she is.”
“Hiding in the mountains, solving an international conspiracy?” With the man of her dreams, part small-town, part spy? “As my twin brother would say, hoo-yah.”
White smiled, shook her hand, then York’s. “I’ll be in touch after the election.”
Senator White and Thorne left the room. RJ and York followed and rode an elevator back up to the reception.
York took her hand and leaned back against the elevator wall, pulling her with him, nestling her between his legs, his hands at her waist. “So, lasagna?” His blue gaze traced her face.
She ran her hands behind his neck. “Bartender makes a good cover.”
He grinned. “I don’t suppose you’d consider being a waitress.”
“Not even a little.” Then she kissed him.
“Hey—whoa, seriously?” The voice behind her made her push away. York still had a hold of her as she turned.
Ford stood outside the elevator with Scarlett, Glo, Tate, Knox, and Kelsey. He looked at York. “So, you ditched us to go make out?”
York gave them a smirk. “Something like that.”
“Where did you go?” Tate asked, his arm catching the door before it closed.
“Why?” RJ asked. “Is this the posse trying to hunt me down and rescue me?”
Ford look at Tate, who looked at Knox, then back at RJ. And he smiled. “Naw. Not anymore. That’s what you got him for.” He nodded to York.
“That’s right, boys,” York said and tightened his hold.
Tate took his arm away. “I think we’ll take the next elevator.”
The door closed.
“I might end up liking them,” York said. And then he pulled her to himself and kissed her like the spy-slash-lumberjack he was—full of mystery and danger and exactly the right kind of man to disappear with into the woods.
York hadn’t expected coming home to feel this good.
Especially in a town he’d only lived in for a month, with people whose names he barely knew.
The folks at Caleb’s church treated him as if he’d returned from war. Short a parade, he had people thumping him on the back and offering to buy him pizza or root beer down at the still-renovating Jethro’s.
He’d been back for less than a week and he’d already rejoined the baseball team.
Something about listening to RJ scream his name in the stands—Great hit, York!—but he’d kept the name Jones for the purposes of their undercover sleuthing—did something to his spirit.
Rooted him, maybe, into a place and time that he’d thought he’d never find.
Home. Happily Ever After.
And now he was turning into a sap, but as York sat in a red booth at Mystical Pizza, watching the election returns with Jethro, RJ, and Raven, with people still welcoming him “home,” it felt a little surreal.
Very, very surreal.
As if, without him even trying, he’d become…
Himself.
The man he’d crafted in his head, the one he’d longed to be but was too afraid to really voice.
A man with friends. With family. A woman who loved him.
A man of faith.
And when we cling to Jesus, we are changed. Reborn. We become who we were meant to be because there is nothing of ourselves left. Caleb’s words from weeks ago, but they pinged inside York now, even as he watched the pastor carry a large Firecracker pizza to his table of youngsters.
He’d gone off that building clinging to Jesus.
He’d landed in grace, risen a new man.
A warrior, like David, pursuing God’s heart.
Justice.
Faith.
Grace.
And second chances.
Mack and York, a merge of both sides of his heart.
“White took Ohio,” said Jethro across from him, watching the flat-screen over York’s shoulder.
“That’s it, then,” Raven said. She sat next to Jethro, but her gaze had been on Caleb all night long.
Interesting.
Jethro and Raven had asked few questions when he pulled up with RJ in her mother’s old pickup. York would have to get them new wheels, pronto.
Right after they found a place to live. Jethro had offered his digs for now, but RJ needed her own place to set up her vast computer equipment.
And although he bunked at Jethro’s for now, York didn’t want to let her out of his sight.
So, on that list was a marriage proposal also.
And somewhere in there, a permanent job. In the meantime, Jethro had offered him a position leading the reconstruction of the pub.
Yes, it made for good cover.
Because he agreed with White.
RJ was smart. And if anyone could root out the truth, it was his own personal spy sitting across the table from him, dressed in a blue Isaac White for President for a Safe Tomorrow T-shirt. She wore her hair up in a ponytail and looked so darn small-town he just wanted to grab her, drive out to the lake in their pickup, spread out a blanket, turn on some Yankee Belles on the radio, and watch the stars fall from the sky.
How had Ford put it—ditch everyone and go make out.
He smiled, thinking of pulling out that ponytail, twining his fingers through her hair…
“Hey, York.” Jimbo came by the table and held out his hand, wearing a smile. “Glad to see that Jethro has some help. Try and stay out of trouble.” He winked.
York didn’t know what to think about the man. But he had saved York’s life, coming out to check on them, following what he termed a catch in his gut.
“Did you hear that the Yankee Belles are playing at the celebration party?” Raven said, watching another screen, this one of the live feed of the White–Jackson campaign headquarters. “I can’t wait to see them in Spokane.” She looked at RJ. “Thanks.”