“And he would be very proud of you.”
He made a face. “I don’t think so.”
Jack said nothing. Took a breath. “Your father had a favorite verse—”
“Romans 8:28. I know. It keeps pinging around in my head. ‘And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…’”
“‘Who have been called according to his purpose,’” RJ said. “My father loved that verse also.”
“Then you both know that the darkest part is never the end of the story. Even the middle, when we see the light—that is not the end. There is still victory ahead. It was one of your grandpa’s favorite sayings—‘In time, we will see the victory of the Lord.’”
The waitress returned with his water.
“Thanks,” he said. Took a drink. “Listen, we’ve all done things…believe me, I get that. But that’s why God sent Jesus into the world—to pay the price for our sins. Willingly. Freely. So we could have eternity. And that purpose we’ve been called to? Redemption. Grace. Truth. All this time, York, you’ve been living out your story. I don’t know what you’ve been up to, but I do know this. God had you in His hands, whether you knew it or not. And whether you were cooperating with Him or not. Your story is not over—it’s all led to right now. This moment. Grace. Truth.”
York looked at him. Heard Jethro’s voice. Bless this son of Yours, Lord. Thank You for bringing him to us. Help him find his place in Your grace.
Grace. Truth. The purpose of his story.
“When I look at you, York, I see a warrior. A man fighting evil. A man seeking truth. Your father died fighting evil, to save the lives of others. I see that in you. I know he would be proud of you because I am proud of you.”
York’s eyes burned.
Jack made to slide out of the booth. “Son. Heaven is still ahead, and victory awaits. Evil will not prevail. We must keep our eyes on that vision, whatever happens. I’m going to grab a slice of pizza, I’m starved.”
He headed toward the counter.
“It looks like you come from a family of preachers,” RJ said, her smile soft.
“So it seems,” York said. He blinked away the burn, drew in a shaky breath. Then he turned to her, his voice broken. “How did you know…well, that I needed to talk to Uncle Jack?”
She touched her hand to his face. “Analyst, darling.”
“I’m going to have a hard time keeping up with you, aren’t I?”
“I’ll make sure I don’t run too far ahead. I need someone to catch me, after all.” She winked, then leaned forward and kissed him.
Applause erupted on the screen and through the pizza joint, and York broke away to see President-elect Isaac White taking the stage.
Vice President elect Reba Jackson stood beside him.
“For all your smarts, I really hope you’re wrong about Jackson,” he said, pulling her against him.
RJ sighed, her hand on his chest. “For the first time in my life, I hope I am too.”
She fit perfectly and yes, he’d have to propose very, very soon. Because York–Mack Jones–Newgate had a past.
But, as he lifted her chin, met her eyes and kissed her, he realized that it didn’t matter who he’d been yesterday.
His future was every day from now when he got to be the man he saw in the eyes of the woman who had brought him home.
What’s Next?
Want More? Check out The Way of the Brave, in stores January 2020!
* * *
* * *
Former pararescue jumper Orion Starr is haunted by the memory of a rescue gone wrong. He may be living alone in Alaska now, but the pain of his failure—and his injuries—has followed him there from Afghanistan. He has no desire to join Hamilton Jones’s elite rescue team, but he also can’t shirk his duty when the call comes in to rescue three lost climbers on Denali.
* * *
Former CIA profiler and psychiatrist Jenny Calhoun’s yearly extreme challenge with her best friends is her only escape from the guilt that has sunk its claws into her. As a consultant during a top-secret mission to root out the Taliban, she green-lighted an operation that ended in an ambush and lives lost. When her cathartic climb on Denali turns deadly, she’ll be forced to trust her life and the lives of her friends to the most dangerous of heroes—the man she nearly killed.
* * *
Her skills and his experience are exactly what’s needed to prevent another tragedy—but in order to truly set Orion free from his painful past, Jenny will have to reveal hers. They’ll have to put their wounds behind them to survive, but at what cost?
* * *
Leap into action with this high-octane, breakneck new series from bestselling author Susan May Warren.
Sneak Peek of The Way of the Brave
He should have never left Alaska.
Sure, in Alaska Orion woke to his breath in a hover of mist over his face, his fireplace having simmered to a low flame, the room lit in gray, the sun denting the eternal night. But he belonged in all that cold and darkness, under the shadow of unforgiving Denali, buried under a numbing layer of ice and snow.
There, his anger couldn’t break through, couldn’t ignite with the injustice of the daily news.
Couldn’t consume him with helplessness.
It was better to be cold.
The vast aloneness of Alaska allowed him to breathe, despite the stinging cold in his lungs. Allowed him to scream without anyone knowing.
“I hate New York City,” Orion muttered now, just below his breath, but loud enough for Ham to hear as they boarded the 4 train.
“You just need coffee,” Ham said.
“Vats of it.” Orion tried to ignore the man who knocked into him, bumping him into the subway pole.
Orion wanted to blame his dark mood on the ache in his bum knee, the fact that his body should still be sleeping, the static in his brain evidence of his jet lag. Maybe he should attribute his general sour attitude about humanity at large on the fact that his buddy Ham had insisted they route through Memorial Park to spend a few moments staring into the acre-wide footprint of the North Tower.
Orion had fisted his hands into his canvas jacket, the wind bullying him, the sun glaring off the glass of One World Trade Center and watched as the waterfalls stirred up a mist into the brisk April air.
He couldn’t escape the thud in his chest.
The start of the War on Terror, right here—a war that still hadn’t been won, despite the casualties, the sacrifices, the personal losses.
All of it put Orion into a humdinger of a stormy mood.
Then he spotted the punk kid with the look of a thug slide through the closing doors of the subway car.
He didn’t know why, but all the hackles rose on the back of his neck.
White, midtwenties, rail thin, the young man wore a grimy Knicks jersey, a pair of ripped jeans, and the fuzz of a few nights on his chin. He radiated an odor that suggested a night or two spent in the same clothing.
Maybe the guy was homeless—Orion shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Clearly he’d watched one too many episodes of Law and Order during his months in rehab. Orion had probably looked the same way when he arrived at LaGuardia, freshly out of hibernation at his homestead under the loom of Denali.