Книга - Plain Sanctuary

Plain Sanctuary
Alison Stone


AMISH COUNTRY DANGERReturning to her Amish hometown to open a bed and breakfast, Heather Miller thinks she’s finally safe from her violent ex-husband—until he escapes from prison. Now with her ex determined to hurt her, she must rely on US Marshal Zachary Walker for safety. For Zach, this mission isn’t only his duty, it’s personal. The escaped convict killed his sister, and Heather was instrumental in putting the man behind bars. But with Zach’s natural protective instincts toward Heather turning into something deeper, he must keep his emotional distance. He can’t be distracted, because the danger that lies in wait is as evil as it is unexpected…and a lapse in judgement could prove deadly.







AMISH COUNTRY DANGER

Returning to her Amish hometown to open a bed-and-breakfast, Heather Miller thinks she’s finally safe from her violent ex-husband—until he escapes from prison. Now with her ex determined to hurt her, she must rely on US Marshal Zachary Walker for safety. For Zach, this mission isn’t only his duty—it’s personal. The escaped convict killed his sister, and Heather was instrumental in putting the man behind bars. But with Zach’s natural protective instincts toward Heather turning into something deeper, he must keep his emotional distance. He can’t be distracted, because the danger that lies in wait is as evil as it is unexpected...and a lapse in judgment could prove deadly.


Dear Reader (#u1eddac30-d797-5121-a9f2-8522f9404abb),

I hope you enjoyed Plain Sanctuary. This book was my sixth Amish story written for Love Inspired Suspense, but my first set in the new fictional town of Quail Hollow, New York. I decided the sleepy Amish town of Apple Creek needed a little break from the murder and mayhem. I wanted my characters there to enjoy their happily-ever-afters—for a little while. But I’m sure the characters living there will start whispering in my ear, forcing me to eventually tell their stories.

I love receiving reader letters telling me how much you’ve enjoyed my stories and how you want to hear more about a certain character. I’m thrilled when I can respond that that character’s story is already in the next book! I also have hopes of writing more stories set in Quail Hollow, too. The reader desire for Amish stories appears strong, and as long as that’s true, I’ll be plotting a way to be a part of it. Thank you for loving these stories.

During my research, I’ve learned that New York State has a growing Amish population. The Amish have left other settlements in Ohio, Pennsylvania and other states to come to New York for a number of reasons, including seeking farmland, disagreeing with previous settlements over rules, or perhaps because they’re trying to escape state laws that would impact their daily life. Because of this, I felt comfortable creating Quail Hollow as a not-too-distant settlement from Apple Creek, which is loosely based on one of the oldest settlements of Amish in Western New York. I’ve also received many letters from readers who currently live (or previously lived) in Western New York and they love the Buffalo-area connection. I hope you do, too, even if you’re not from the area. It’s a beautiful part of the country.

As always, I love to hear from my readers. If you’d like to stay abreast of all my releases, please go to my website, www.AlisonStone.com (http://www.AlisonStone.com), and sign up for my digital newsletter. Feel free to email me at Alison@AlisonStone.com (mailto:Alison@AlisonStone.com) or mail a letter to me at PO Box 333, Buffalo, NY 14051.

Sincerely,

Alison Stone


“Heather, call me as soon as you get this!”

Zach yelled, as if she might hear him despite talking into her voice mail. “Lock the doors. Make sure the alarm is set. I’ll be there in—” he glanced at the clock out of habit “—five minutes.”

Zach ended the call and pressed the accelerator to the floor. In the not-so-far distance behind him, he could hear sirens. He hoped they were racing to the Lapp home and not to pull him over for driving like a lunatic.

Up ahead, smoke filled the air in a thick black plume, disappearing into the dark storm clouds. His heart plummeted.

His truck skidded on the wet pavement as he slowed at Heather’s driveway. He slammed the gear into Park and jumped out of the truck, leaving the door open and the engine running.

He ran as fast as he could toward the barn. “Heather! Heather!” Zach screamed, then he hooked his arm over his mouth and pushed into the smoky confines of the fire.

Dear Lord, let her be okay, he prayed.


ALISON STONE lives with her husband of more than twenty years and their four children in Western New York. Besides writing, Alison keeps busy volunteering at her children’s schools, driving her girls to dance and watching her boys race motocross. Alison loves to hear from her readers at Alison@AlisonStone.com. For more information, please visit her website, alisonstone.com (http://www.alisonstone.com). She’s also chatty on Twitter, @alison_stone (https://twitter.com/alison_stone). Find her on Facebook at Facebook.com/alisonstoneauthor (https://www.facebook.com/alisonstoneauthor).


Plain Sanctuary

Alison Stone






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Give all your worries and cares to God, for He cares about you.

—1 Peter 5:7


To Scott, with love, forever and always


Contents

Cover (#u805b5915-94fc-5a7d-b9ce-689037b9d9e6)

Back Cover Text (#u9d2a06d5-b2b4-58da-8901-f879ece2cedf)

Dear Reader (#u7b9ec52b-8e37-5823-a302-bd299844438d)

Introduction (#u7e3be3a6-964f-59c4-88df-61904219f394)

About the Author (#u754b1701-49fa-54f3-bf77-5d97d34c6c0b)

Title Page (#u4fc27821-d10b-5034-934b-4d3b2843adb4)

Bible Verse (#u1684a9f2-7450-571b-bbec-c311e0c78cf0)

Dedication (#ub5a16bae-5314-5293-9bb2-4f9cc7eb452b)

ONE (#ue0a9beb2-5c52-5406-ba27-7b07d6e49c0f)

TWO (#u6b7bc1d5-d1f4-5149-af92-29edf9e1842e)

THREE (#ubd470b4e-c7a3-5651-8d98-0a513e25de21)

FOUR (#uf6607b76-5684-554b-a9b9-de07d55818cc)

FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE (#u1eddac30-d797-5121-a9f2-8522f9404abb)

“Walker.” Deputy U.S. Marshal Zachary Walker answered his cell phone and held it in front of him set on speakerphone. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor of his rarely used hunting cabin. He hadn’t had a chance to open the windows to air out the place before the call came in. It was probably just as well considering the rain pelting the sides of his family’s cabin.

“Hi, Zach.” It was his boss, Dave Kenner, at the U.S. Marshals Service at the Western District of New York headquarters in Buffalo. And if his boss was calling him late on a Friday night at the start of what was to be Zach’s vacation—a vacation his boss had to force him to take—he knew it wasn’t to make small talk. “Are you in Quail Hollow yet?” Zach pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and waited for his boss to get to the point.

“Yeah, just got here.” He cleared his throat. “Remember that vacation you told me I had to take?”

“You never thought you’d have a nine-to-five job as a U.S. Marshal, did you?” Dave exhaled sharply over the line. Something was seriously wrong. “You see the news?”

“No.” Zach had left the office at six, stopped to visit a college friend and his family for a few hours, then listened to an audiobook on the hour drive to Quail Hollow. It was his attempt to decompress. Transition. Leave the stress of the job behind. So, no, he hadn’t listened to the news.

“Let me bring you up to speed.”

“Am I no longer on vacation?”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Hold on.” Zach stood, set his phone on the counter, grabbed the remote and aimed it at the nine-inch TV sitting on the kitchen counter. The laugh track of some sitcom filled the quiet room. He immediately hit the down arrow on the volume and then played with the bunny ears mounted on the TV. He refused to pay for cable at his getaway cabin.

“Let me fill you in.”

“I had no doubt you would.” Zach didn’t try to hide his frustration. He had worked for Dave long enough to know when he was avoiding getting to the point. That could mean only one thing: the news had to strike a personal chord.

Zach flipped the channels blindly, sensing his blood pressure spiking.

“It’s Brian Fox.”

And there it was.

A headache exploded behind his eyes. He dragged a hand over his mouth. Just then he clicked on a channel and a live news broadcast appeared on the screen. Searchlights lit the stone walls of Peters Correctional Facility like a scene out of some prison break movie. A woman with a blond bob and a red coat stood with a mike in one hand, pressing the other to her ear, waiting for directions from her producer or whoever called the shots at the studio in a situation like this. The words on the bottom of the screen scrolled past. Zach had to squint to read them as the reception cut in and out to the old-school TV: “Convicted murderer Brian Fox escaped Peters Correctional Facility at 8:15 p.m.”

He swallowed hard as disbelief made the words flicker even more.

Over two hours ago.

Zach muttered under his breath. “You gotta be kidding me. He escaped? How in the...?” He rubbed his temples with his fingers. The image of his little sister, bloodied and sprawled on his back steps with a trail of blood leaking from her head, flashed in his mind. Bile rose in his throat. People had told him he’d have closure when Fox was convicted. Put behind bars. The people who’d claimed that had never experienced the brutal death of a loved one. Peace. Closure. They were elusive.

“How did this happen, Dave?”

“Initial speculation is that he had help from the inside.”

“Help?” Zach paced the small space. “Who helps a convicted killer escape?” He closed his eyes against the flickering image on the TV, feeling a migraine coming on.

“A female employee may have provided him tools. She’s missing now, too. He’s resourceful. Fox dug a hole through the cement wall in his cell. Got into the bowels of the prison, then, it appears, he got out through the sewer system.”

Zach fisted his hand. “You’re kidding me. He was able to do this without anyone noticing?”

“Apparently he knows how to turn on the charm. Had this woman wrapped around his finger...” His boss’s words trailed off when he realized he had opened mouth, inserted foot. Fox had turned on the charm with Zach’s sister. Married her. Then showed his true self when it was too late. “I’m sorry. I know this is personal for you.”

Zach ignored the last comment. That was the only way he got through each day. The only way he was able to do his job. Each day he did his best to catch the bad guys, something he did in memory of his little sister. But he had yet to find a way to do his job and not be haunted by the horrific scene in which she died.

He was successful in shutting down the dark thoughts maybe 20 percent of the time, at most. Despite helping other people, he’d never get past failing the one person who had spent her entire life looking up to him.

I’m sorry, Jill.

“Brian Fox’s on the run.” His boss got back to the facts.

“Any idea where he’s headed?”

“His first wife moved to Quail Hollow about nine months ago. She’s renovating an old house. Word is she’s opening a bed-and-breakfast.”

“She’s here in Quail Hollow?” Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t the first time Zach had wondered how a guy like Fox landed not one, but two wives. “Does Fox know where she is?”

“Not sure. But his cellmate said he’s fixated on her. Blamed her for putting him in prison.”

“Great. The jerk kills my sister and he blames his first wife for his imprisonment. What a delusional idiot.”

“About that vacation...” his boss said, a hint of hesitancy in his voice.

“I’m officially off vacation.”

“I need you to track down his ex-wife. Put her in protective custody until we have Fox back behind bars.”

“Give me her info.”

Dave rattled off an address for the woman. “Listen, we couldn’t find a phone number, but we found her current address from a public real estate transaction. Fox could do the same thing.”

“Well—” Zach sighed “—Heather Miller hid for ten years from this guy. She only came out of hiding to testify against him in my sister’s murder case. I owe her.”

“Keep your head on straight. If it gets too personal, I’ll send someone else in.”

Zach gritted his teeth. “I’m already here.”

“I know. That’s why I called. Besides, they have every law enforcement agency in Western New York tracking Fox. I can’t spare another person. Stay cool. And I’ll let you know as soon as we have him in custody. It shouldn’t be long. And let me know when you make contact with Miss Miller.”

“Will do.” He ended the call and grabbed the car keys from the table. So much for rest and relaxation.

* * *

A crack of lightning illuminated the night sky in the distance. The stillness felt electric. A sense of expectation hung in the air. Swallowing around a knot of emotion, Heather Miller adjusted the plain roller shade on the bedroom window. A light breeze blew in from the cracked window and with it a mist of rain and the scent of country air.

Her mammy had lived out her life in this home, looking out this same window at the barn and the seasons that cycled through tall rows of corn and barren land. How had her mammy been able to look at that barn every morning and night? The dilapidated structure hunkered in the shadows, a silent reminder of a tragic event that had changed the course of all their lives. Back then, could her mammy, Mariam Lapp, ever have predicted that her descendants would be living as outsiders, defying their Amish roots?

Heather had been six years old when her father slipped out of town with his three young daughters in their long dresses and bonnets. That was the last time she had seen this house, her mammy and her Amish wardrobe. Their father had stopped at a superstore outside of town and purchased his daughters cheap sneakers and Englisch clothes and they’d never looked back.

The memories of that day were both disjointed and etched in her memory. The bright white sneakers. Her first pair of jeans. The colorful unicorn on her T-shirt.

Her heartbroken father had taken what was left of his family and carved a life for them in the outside world. Leaving the Amish was one of a handful of events that had shaped Heather into the woman she was today.

Today was yet another milestone. A happy one.

Heather was back in Quail Hollow, an Englischer, planning to run a bed-and-breakfast for all the tourists interested in seeing the Amish countryside. The inheritance had come as a surprise and Heather hoped her grandmother wouldn’t mind that her eldest granddaughter had opened her home to the outside world in this way.

Heather was excited by the possibilities. She had come a long way since she had fallen for a charmer when she was only nineteen. Now she was making a second—no, a third—go at life in a place that held her roots, yet she’d never felt more free.

She would learn to live in the moment and let go of the past.

Moving away from the window, Heather flipped back the covers and climbed into bed. She pulled up the hand-stitched quilt passed down to her through generations. She was exhausted but feared she wouldn’t sleep. Without a TV or Wi-Fi, her options for wasting time were limited to reading and her eyes were too tired for that. Besides, she needed to try to rest. She had another long day ahead of her. The house still needed work before opening weekend in a couple weeks. Just in time for the peak autumn colors. She had hoped to remain in her nearby apartment until renovations were completed, but time and money had run out.

Just as she settled her head on the pillow, a thunderclap made her jump and the resulting rumble vibrated through the walls of her new home. A whoosh of wind rustled the oak tree on her front lawn. A vague memory whispered across her brain. Had her father brought her back here to play on a tire swing hanging from its limbs? Or was that a memory from before their family moved out of the home they shared with their mammy? Her mother had been an only child, a rarity in the Amish community, and she and her husband had moved into the home with Mariam to start their family. When Heather’s mother died and her father left Quail Hollow, her mammy had been left alone in this big house.

Heather closed her eyes and imagined the wind blowing through her long flowing hair—free from the constraints of a tight Amish bun—as she pumped her legs on the swing. Despite the vivid memory, or maybe it was a dream, her father claimed he had never gone back to Quail Hollow. He couldn’t face the tragic past. Heather forgave her father that. His wife—Heather’s mem—had been murdered by a stranger passing through town, or so they suspected. No one was ever arrested. Every corner, every face, every waking moment in Quail Hollow had reminded him of all he had lost.

All they had lost.

Heather threw back the quilt, climbed out of the bed and was drawn again to the window. Thick drops of rain pelted the glass and screen. She pushed down on the frame and it slid with a loud screech, making the hairs on her arms stand on edge. A shadow in the distance, near the rows of corn, caught her attention. She blinked rapidly. It was gone.

Am I imagining things?

Heart racing in her chest, she flattened herself against the wall, careful to stay out of view.

An old, familiar fear coiled around her lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

Heather focused on each intake and release of breath as the walls seemed to close in around her.

In through the nose, count to three, out through the mouth...

In through the nose, count to three, out through the mouth...

She was safe. The man who had tormented her was in prison. A hint of guilt twined with her fear and pressed heavily on her lungs. Somehow in her warped perspective, she felt guilty that after she escaped her violent marriage, he had sought out another victim.

His new wife hadn’t been able to get away.

Brian Fox killed his second wife, landing him in prison. Finally granting Heather her freedom.

She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer for Jill’s soul, the only remedy that gave her some modicum of peace.

Heather opened her eyes and focused on her reality. She was standing against the wall, still afraid of the bogeyman from her past. Perhaps she wouldn’t have been so jumpy if the Amish workmen had completed the installation of the new window in the breakfast area. Large plastic tarps stapled over the huge opening may keep the rain out, but not a determined intruder.

She rolled back her shoulders, trying to dismiss her racing thoughts. She blamed Brian Fox for the lingering fear, the paranoia that always hovered just below the surface. A person didn’t live in constant fear for ten years and not escape unscarred.

The wind picked up and the tree branches scraped the side of her home. She climbed back into bed and shuddered against the chill despite having closed the window. She’d have to hire someone to trim the branches. The dragging sound was unsettling.

Heather finally drifted to sleep when a loud crash downstairs startled her awake. She bolted upright in bed, her heart jackhammering in her chest.

“It’s just the storm,” she muttered to herself. “It’s just the storm.”

A creaking sounded in the hallway. On instinct, she slipped out from under the warm quilt and grabbed her cell phone from the nightstand. She moved to the bedroom door, considered locking herself in, or perhaps dragging the tall chest of drawers in front of it. Indecision kept her rooted in place. Why had she thought it was a good idea to move way out into the country all by herself?

In spite of her past fears, Heather decided she’d live life as a strong, independent woman, not letting her ex take that away from her, too. However, in reality, she was defenseless out here. Even if the spotty cell phone reception allowed her to call 9-1-1, how long would it take for help to arrive? Could law enforcement reach her before a potential intruder did?

Grabbing the golf club she always kept in the bedroom closet—this new home was no exception—she tucked her cell phone under her arm and opened the bedroom door. The loud creak of the hinges set her nerves on edge.

Since her grandmother had been Amish and she meant to recreate an Amish-like experience for the tourists, there was no light switch close by. Instead she’d have to take the time to turn the knob on the kerosene lamps mounted on the walls in the hallway.

An unease threaded its way up her spine as she tiptoed down the hallway toward the stairs. She grabbed her cell phone out from under her arm and used the back of her hand to feel along the wall in the dark. The other hand was wrapped firmly around the handle of her driver.

Dear Lord, please keep me safe.

Heather navigated the stairs, each one creaking under her weight. Breathing heavily, she made her way to the new addition off the kitchen, where she hoped to serve meals to large groups of tourists staying in her home.

The plastic sheets the Amish workmen had hung over the opening for the window flapped in the wind. The snapping sound—along with the rumble of thunder in the distance—was disconcerting in the dark of night.

For a long moment, Heather stared at the rippling plastic, trying to decide if she should barricade herself in the bathroom and call 9-1-1 because someone had slipped in through the opening or if perhaps the wind had somehow torn the plastic sheeting from its staples.

With her back flat against the wall, she didn’t let go of the golf club. Her eyes adjusted to the shadows. A crack of lightning illuminated the new breakfast nook. A metal mop and broom had been upended and had come to rest in the corner.

A shaky groan of relief ripped from her throat as the need to both laugh and cry at the same time overwhelmed her. The metal bucket must have made the crashing sound. Not an intruder. She set the golf club against the wall, then examined the plastic sheet more closely. She couldn’t leave it like that or the rain would warp the plywood that formed the base of the new hardwood floors that were scheduled to go in soon.

She glanced at the time on her cell phone. The workmen wouldn’t be there till morning. And she couldn’t very well call her Amish handyman this late at night. Even though he was allowed to have a cell phone for work purposes, she doubted he kept it on his bedside table as she had. The rules provided limits.

Come on, you can do it, a little voice inside her head nudged her. You want to own a business? You gotta get your hands dirty. Put on your big girl britches.

Rolling her shoulders, she tried to ease out the kinks. She might as well replace the torn plastic and seal the window opening because the adrenaline surging through her veins wasn’t going to allow her to catch a wink of sleep anyway.

She turned on a kerosene lamp in the sitting room, then jogged up the stairs to throw on some clothes. On the way back down the stairs, she could hear the rain pelting the roof.

“Being a business owner is highly overrated,” she muttered.

She grabbed an umbrella from the front hall, then put it back. She’d need two hands to carry the supplies from the shed in the back corner of the yard. She had noticed her Amish handyman, Sloppy Sam, putting them away this afternoon. The Amish people’s tendency to use nicknames to distinguish between the same names was both creative and charming. She doubted she would have had a nickname because her name wasn’t all that common among the Amish. Her mother’s love for flowers influenced the names of her daughters: Heather, Lily and Rose. But the girls never had to worry about their unique names while living in Quail Hollow because they were ripped away from their extended family as little girls.

Focusing on the task at hand, Heather plucked her rain slicker from a hook by the door and stuffed her arms into the cold sleeves. She psyched herself up to run across the wet yard, get the stuff she needed from the shed and then return to the house. It would take no time. No time at all.

She laughed at herself.

She really was a chicken.

But she figured she came about it honestly, after being terrorized by her husband for years.

Brian Fox was in jail, she reminded herself.

And she was safe in Quail Hollow.

She unlocked the back door, a useless lock considering there was a large hole in the back wall of the house.

She darted back into the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight from the junk drawer and felt the weight of it in her hand.

What could happen to her in her own backyard?

* * *

Zach drove past the house with the address his supervisor had given him for Heather Miller, made a U-turn about a mile up, then returned, pulling in alongside an Amish buggy that had been abandoned across the street and partially obscured his truck. Based on his limited interaction with Heather Miller during Fox’s trial, he’d learned that she had gone off the grid for ten years, fearful for her life. But a year ago she resurfaced after Fox’s arrest for murdering Zach’s sister. Heather’s testimony had been instrumental in putting him away for a long time.

For that, Zach was grateful.

Then, nine months ago, according to his boss, this real estate transaction in Quail Hollow popped up with her name on it. Poor woman probably let her guard down after Fox was arrested, figuring she’d be safe.

She should have been safe.

Drawing in a deep breath, he knew he had a job to do. He had to push aside his personal demons. His personal need for revenge. His job was to get Miss Miller into protective custody until Fox was back rotting in jail.

Zach killed the headlights on his truck, then studied the property, wondering why Fox’s first wife had moved to a farm in Quail Hollow. From what he knew about her, she had grown up in Buffalo, New York. Not exactly the country. Maybe this was her way of starting over after Fox’s imprisonment.

The reason why Heather Miller was out here in the middle of nowhere wasn’t important right now. Securing her was.

Fox wasn’t likely to announce himself, and the darkness didn’t help. Zach thought he knew dark. But the blackness in the country during a rainstorm was unlike anything he had experienced. The wipers smearing the rain didn’t help the cause.

He grabbed his cell phone from the middle console of his truck and called his boss. The call took a few extra minutes to connect. “I’m sitting outside Heather Miller’s house. I’m going to check out the property before I try to make contact.”

“Okay. Once you have her secure, report back in. And, Zach...be careful. Local law enforcement reported that Fox may have stolen guns from a home near the correctional facility. There was a break-in shortly after his escape.”

Zach ended the call, then tucked the phone into the interior pocket of his jacket. He climbed out of the truck and closed the door with a quiet snick. The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance and the rain was still coming down steadily. The temperature had plummeted with the storm, not unusual in September in Western New York.

Maybe that meant Fox was hunkered down somewhere and not stalking his ex-wife.

As long as Fox wasn’t hunkered down here.

Zach crossed the street, giving the house a wide berth, as if it might hold secrets. He noticed a light on in the kitchen that hadn’t been on when he pulled up.

He scanned the landscape. There were a lot of outbuildings for a person to hide in. He was making his way around the back of the house when he heard a rustling at the back door. Sliding his gun from its holster, he rushed toward the door, focusing intently on the sound.

A person—a woman, based on her petite stature—stood on the porch with a flashlight. What’s she doing? Before he had a chance to announce himself, she let out a scream that sent all his senses on high alert. The flashlight fell from her hands and landed with a thud on the porch. The light went dark. She spun around, pushed through the open door, then slammed it shut.

Zach froze in his tracks. He holstered his gun and lifted his hands in a nonthreatening gesture. He didn’t want to frighten her any more than he already had.

“I’m calling the police,” she yelled from inside the door. “Leave now!”

Zach reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his credentials. “I’m Deputy U.S. Marshal Zachary Walker. We met last year at Brian Fox’s trial. I don’t think my ID will fit under the door. Go to a window. I’ll show you.”

“Go away.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Come back during the day. That’s what a normal person would do.”

“Ma’am, I wouldn’t bother you so late at night if it wasn’t important.”

Silence stretched between them. He didn’t hear any movements on the other side of the door, so he assumed she was still standing there debating what to do. After a moment, he heard rustling behind the door that sounded much like a dead bolt sliding out of place. The door opened a crack. A brass chain glinted when he lifted the flashlight she had dropped. A swift kick would have snapped the chain on the door, but he needed her cooperation, not her fear.

Heather squinted and lifted her hand to block the beam of light.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“Slip your ID between the crack. Hurry up.” She spoke with an authority he hadn’t anticipated.

Zach passed his ID through the narrow opening between the door and frame. She slammed the door shut. The dead bolt snapped back into place. After a long minute, he heard the slide of the chain and she opened the door.

Heather Miller planted a fist on her hip and a dark shadow crossed her face. “Marshal Walker. This can’t be good.”

“No. I’m sorry to have to tell you this. Brian Fox escaped and we fear he’s coming for you.”


TWO (#u1eddac30-d797-5121-a9f2-8522f9404abb)

Heather glared at the U.S. Marshal standing on her back porch in the middle of the night, his familiar face reminding her of how far she had come. His mere presence making her feel like everything she had worked so hard to build these past nine months was about to slip away.

No, no, Brian Fox was locked up in Peters Correctional Facility.

“May I come inside?” The deputy U.S. Marshal had a valid request. The small porch provided little protection from the weather. And the wind and rain pelting against the metal roof of the overhang was scraping across her every last nerve.

“Yes, of course.” She would not allow herself to melt into a puddle of panic. She was not the woman she used to be. Despite her best efforts, her gaze drifted to the darkened yard beyond her porch and a chill crept up her spine. “Come in, Deputy U.S. Marshal.” She opened the door wider for him.

“Thanks, and please call me Zach.” He slipped in past her, the rain from his coat dripping on the floor. He turned slowly to face her. In the yellow glow of the kitchen, she noticed the handsome angles of his face. The same intensity in his eyes from when she’d first met him at Brian’s trial was still evident. Her ex-husband had murdered his little sister.

“How did Brian get out? I don’t understand. He’s in a maximum-security prison. You must be mistaken.” Her mouth suddenly went dry and her knees threatened to give out from under her. She sensed she was standing on the edge, feeling like the unstable cliff she had built her new life upon was about to crumble beneath her.

“I understand he had help from the inside.”

“No... How? I don’t understand...” She shook her head slowly. The man who was standing in her kitchen grew blurry.

The marshal took a step toward her. “I know it’s hard to comprehend, but we have reason to believe he’s coming for you.”

The man’s words became jumbled and sounded like they were coming from the other end of a long, narrow empty tunnel. She blinked slowly, feeling as if she was floating above her body. Maybe if she pinched herself, she’d wake up from this nightmare.

Brian escaped. Brian escaped. Brian escaped.

Unable to wrap her mind around that simple concept. No, not a simple concept. A completely impossible concept. How did someone escape from a maximum-security facility? Even with help? She turned and placed the flat of her hand on the cool countertop, trying to ground herself. “Explain what’s going on. Now.” Her fear came out as anger.

“Would you like to sit down?” He pulled out a chair at the small kitchen table, the one she’d sat at earlier planning the future of the bed-and-breakfast. Her future...

It took Heather a moment to hear his words, process their meaning. She looked up at him, trying to keep her lips from trembling. When had he moved to stand so close to her? Her anxiety spiked and she slid closer to the door. Away from him. Toward her escape.

Always have an escape.

That had been her mistake with Brian. She had been swept off her feet as a young girl. Married him. Then when things turned violent, she had no job. No place to run. No escape.

Until not escaping would have meant certain death.

It had for his second wife.

A shudder coursed through her and she wrapped her hands around the edge of the sink, ignoring the man’s offer to sit down. Lifting her gaze to the window, she saw her hollow eyes reflecting back at her.

Was Brian out there watching her?

She spun around and squared off with the U.S. Marshal who had come to share this horrible news.

“What happens now? I’m renovating this bed-and-breakfast. I have plans...”

She looked up and tuned into the narrow wood shelf lining the top of her grandmother’s plain pine cabinets. Her grandmother had a collection of hand-cut wood blocks that Heather recognized as buildings located in the center of Quail Hollow. She wondered if the Amish would have allowed such frivolous decorations, but Heather assumed her grandmother may have bent a few of the rules after losing so much. What punishment could the Amish elders have dished out to her mammy for a few wooden decorations when she had already suffered the worst fate: her daughter had been murdered and her son-in-law left Quail Hollow with her three young granddaughters never to return?

What would her mammy think if she knew her granddaughter had almost suffered the same fate as her daughter? However, her mother had died at the hands of a stranger. Heather had been threatened by the man she had once loved. Were some families prone to violence?

Heather shook her head at the ridiculousness of that thought. Her mind had a tendency to race when she was stressed. To think the most random thoughts.

Focus.

Heather grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with tap water. Then she turned to face the man in her kitchen. “Why do you think he’s coming for me?”

But she knew, didn’t she?

Her hand began to shake and she set the glass down. “I haven’t had contact with him since...the trial.” That was when she had finally faced the man who had abused her for years. When she finally stood up to him.

An emotion she couldn’t name flitted in the depths of his eyes. “We have reason to believe he’s obsessed with you and may be headed your way.”

Thick emotion clogged her throat. “How is that possible?” But deep down she knew. Brian Fox was an egotistical psychopath and she had escaped his clutches. He’d also vowed that he would kill her if she ever left him. Her ex-husband didn’t like to fail. Now he was taking his one shot at freedom to right his one failure.

Her.

* * *

Heather’s entire body shook. The yellow light in the kitchen of the old farmhouse made her pallor more pronounced. She pulled out the chair and slumped into it, placing her elbows on the table and digging her fingers into her hair.

“Do you have someplace you can go?” Zach hovered over her, then realized he might get a better response if he sat down across from her. Less threatening.

After a moment, she glanced up. A silent tear slid down her cheek. Law enforcement officers learned to separate their feelings from the job, but this case was too personal not to feel heartache for this woman.

“No, I don’t have someplace to go. I spent every dime I had on renovations. I moved out of my apartment today. Today! It’s like he knew how to mess with me.” She held up her palms, disbelief threading her tone. “I’m opening a bed-and-breakfast. I’ve decided to name it Quail Hollow Bed & Breakfast. Simple, but appropriate. Renovations are nearing completion. I’ve worked so hard.” Her tone had a weary quality, probably a mix of her frustration with the contractors and the new bomb he had dropped on her: her violent ex-husband was tracking his way across Western New York to continue his reign of terror.

“Could you delay the opening? Just until Fox is back in custody?”

“Maybe he won’t find me. It’s not like I’m on social media or anything advertising where I live.” The hope in her voice was like a knife twisting in his heart. How could one man cause so much havoc?

“We were able to track you down through a real estate transaction. Easily. He could do the same.” Zach resisted the urge to reach out and cover her hand. Comfort her. But it wasn’t his place. He hardly knew Heather. He only knew what she had done for his family. She stepped up at his sister’s murder trial when it counted. Now he had to keep her safe.

Heather straightened and pounded a fist on the table. “That jerk took my twenties from me. I refuse to let him take any more.”

Anger pulsed through his veins. “Fox could take your life.”

Heather jerked her head back as if she had been slapped, but instead of crumbling, she seemed to grow angrier. She pushed back her chair. It slammed into the wall behind her, then crashed to the floor. She stepped over it and paced the small space. Then she turned to face him, jabbing her index finger in his direction. “Don’t you think I know that? I left him in the middle of the night with only a few dollars and the clothes on my back. I made sure I stayed off the grid. I lost touch with my family. I moved every few months when I thought he might be closing in. I don’t know when he stopped looking for me, but I know when I stopped fearing him. When he went to prison for murdering—” her voice faltered “—for killing your sister.” She pressed her palms together and touched her lips with the tips of her fingers. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t pray for Jill. And there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t thank God for sparing my life.”

Heather bent over and righted the chair and tucked it under the table. Wrapping her hands around the back of the chair, she leaned toward him. “I’m not going to run. I don’t want to bring danger to anyone else’s doorstep. I’ve run too often in the past to have established any solid friendships to impose upon. And I have no money to leave on my own.” She placed her hand on her midsection. “It’s like I’m trapped all over again.”

“There have to be options. It shouldn’t be long before they track Fox down. They have NYS Troopers, FBI Agents, and every other law enforcement agency between Quail Hollow and Peters Correctional Facility looking for him. They’ll find him soon. But you must lie low for a few days.”

A determined look settled in her eyes. “I’ve worked too hard. I refuse to let him control me again. The bed-and-breakfast is booked for opening weekend in a couple weeks. I have lots to do to get ready before then. If this place isn’t ready and I cancel the reservations, I won’t be able to pay my bills. I fear everything will spiral downward from there.” She crossed her arms again and gritted her teeth. “I’m not going to live in fear anymore.”

Zach stood to meet her frantic gaze. He knew this was anger and fear speaking. Not logic. “It’s only temporary,” he spoke softly.

She locked gazes with him. “I’m not leaving. I bet you can call your boss and convince him to have someone stay here to protect me.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, no longer bothering to hide his frustration. “My superiors are going to insist you go to a safe house.”

“It’s not going to happen. I’m staying here so I can continue getting this place ready and your office is going to see that I’m kept safe.”

He cocked his eyebrow. “If I can’t convince you to leave, how do you suppose I’m going to be able to convince my superiors to allow me to stay?”

“Because New York State won’t like the bad press if they not only allowed a killer to escape from one of their secure correctional facilities, but in doing so, they let him get to one of his prior victims.” Her tone was oddly cool, as if living in fear had made her numb. Or maybe she had reached the end of her rope and instead of letting go, she had decided to swing out with her legs and kick with all she had.

* * *

Heather held up the plastic sheet while Zach used the staple gun to secure the edges. She was glad she had something to occupy her hands, but she wished she could say the same thing about her mind.

Brian was out of prison and headed her way.

Her ex-husband had haunted the periphery of every part of her waking life and he had visited many of her nightmares.

But ever since he had been locked up in Peters Correctional Facility, she had allowed herself to hope, to dream, to make plans for a brighter future. Push him out of the center of her mind.

Tonight, Brian had come roaring back. The worst possible scenario was laid out before her. Despite her rioting emotions, she was not going to let him ruin this dream.

Erring on the side of caution, Zach had searched her house for any intruders. Thankfully, everything other than the construction zone was secure.

“The workmen will be here in the morning, but if we’d allowed this rain to keep coming in, it would have ruined the plywood. I’d hate for the workmen to install the new hardwoods on top of warped subflooring,” she said, feeling the awkwardness of the silence stretching between them.

“Yeah, no problem.”

Cha-chink. Cha-chink. Cha-chink. Three more staples went through the thick plastic into the raw wood. Per Heather’s instructions, Zach carefully aligned the staples so any holes they left would be hidden by the frame of the new window.

After they finished the task at hand, they sat in the rockers quietly, interrupted only by the occasional polite chitchat. Heather was unwilling to leave and Zach was unwilling to leave her alone. Heather’s bones ached by the time the sun crept over the horizon. Finally she stood. “I’ll make us some coffee.” She started toward the kitchen when a knocking on the front door drew her attention. She glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised since it was so early.

“Hold up,” Zach said, stretching out his hand to block her from going to the front door.

Heather did as he said, her heart in her throat. Would Brian actually knock on the door?

A soft voice floated in from the entryway. “Um, is Heather here?”

Ruthie! Heather rushed to the front door to find her Amish friend standing there with a basket full of fresh fruits and vegetables. “Hello, you’re here early.”

“I figured you’d be up, ready to start the day. If not, I figured I could let myself in and start without you.”

Heather had forgotten she had given Ruthie a key.

“Gut morning.” Ruthie cocked her bonneted head and gave Zach a pointed stare. “Have you hired extra help?”

“Um, no.” It was too early to think on her feet.

Ruthie held up her basket of fresh foods. “I thought you might be low on groceries. Meanwhile, knowing what’s in season, we can plan the menu for your first guests before the days get away from us. We have lots to do.”

“Of course.” Heather led the woman past Zach toward the kitchen. “It will be good to plan ahead.” Get her mind off Brian.

As they passed near the new addition, Ruthie whispered, “You don’t have to hide the fact that you hired workmen outside the Amish community.”

Heather’s lips formed into a perfect O, but she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to alarm her friend and employee. Nor did she want to offend her. Ruthie had recommended her good friend’s work crew.

Guilt threaded through her. Was Heather placing others in jeopardy by not going into hiding? How long would it really take to capture a fugitive?

Heather racked her brain about how to best explain Zach’s presence, when Zach approached and extended his hand, making the decision for her. “I’m Zach Walker, a friend of Heather’s.” Ruthie tipped her head in greeting but didn’t take his hand. Zach smiled and dropped his hand. “I stopped by to see how the new construction was going.” He pointed toward the window. “Good thing. The rain was pouring in the opening for the window.”

“Another early riser?” Ruthie muttered, then turned her attention to the plastic covering the window. “I’m so sorry. Sloppy Sam should have had the window in already.”

“I believe there was a delay by the manufacturer,” Heather said, eager to ease Ruthie’s concerns.

“I’m sorry for your inconvenience.”

Heather waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s fine. I suspect he’ll have it in today. Then we’ll have a beautiful new eating nook.” She wandered over to the far corner of the window and inspected the staples. “I trust they’ll be able to stain the woodwork the same color as the original wood throughout the house.”

“My friend is gut. Just let him know, yah?” Ruthie nodded at Heather. “I’m going to take inventory of the canned goods in the pantry. I’ve been doing a little shopping since you hired me. We need to start planning our menu.”

“Okay.” Heather watched Ruthie walk away. She dragged her hand along the unfinished edge, marveling that yesterday her sole concern was getting the addition completed on time.

“Ruthie is going to help me with the day-to-day operations of the bed-and-breakfast.”

Zach nodded his understanding.

Heather drew in a deep breath. She loved the smell of raw wood. She started to smooth her hand along the drywall when her eye caught something on the wall near the corner. In red permanent marker it read: Brian + Heather 4Ever.

Nausea swirled in her gut. She spun around, fear blurring her vision as she struggled to focus on Zach’s face. “Brian. Brian Fox was here.”


THREE (#u1eddac30-d797-5121-a9f2-8522f9404abb)

“I’ve already searched the house. He’s not inside. Not anymore.” Zach touched Heather’s arm in what she assumed was intended as a comforting gesture, but how could she possibly be comforted?

Her ex-husband had been in her house. He’s here in Quail Hollow.

Stars danced in her line of vision. Less than twelve hours ago this room had held so much promise for the future. For all the potential customers to her quaint bed-and-breakfast. Now its walls and the graffiti pulsed. A hot flush of dread crashed over her. She was suffocating. Trapped. She tugged on her collar and focused on her breathing.

“Are you sure he isn’t still in here?” Her lower lip quivered. “Hiding.” She found herself whispering to protect Ruthie from her past. Her chest grew tight at a memory of a confrontation with Brian. She had been out with friends. Having fun. Something she hadn’t done much since they got married. Brian hadn’t let her. But she had been uncharacteristically defiant. Determined to reclaim some of her life.

A mistake.

Brian had been waiting. In the dark. Insanely jealous that she had been out with her friends. He had accused her of picking up guys. Something she would never do. She had grown to fear Brian, but she had never been unfaithful in her marriage.

That was the first time he had hit her. His fist had struck her, hard and fast, a shocking surprise in the darkness. She had been an easy target backlit by the hall light.

“Yes. I checked the house thoroughly.” Zach interrupted her racing thoughts. “But we can’t stay here. He’s close.”

“Who’s close?” Ruthie asked, concern etched onto her pretty features, free of makeup, as she returned from the pantry on the other side of the kitchen. “Did someone break in?” She tugged nervously on the loose strings of her white bonnet.

Heather smiled tightly. “I’ll explain in a minute.”

Zach pulled back a corner of the vinyl sheeting covering the window. “What’s in the building in back?”

“You saw the shed. It just has supplies for the remodel.” She pointed to the stapler and vinyl. “The barn’s empty. Needs some repairs.” A thumping started in her head. “He’s hiding in there, isn’t he? He’s in there.” The hysteria welled in her chest, squeezing her lungs, making it difficult to breathe.

“Look at me,” Zach said, a determined forcefulness in his tone. “Look at me.”

She met his eyes and saw warmth, compassion and something she always saw in her own eyes when she looked in the mirror—anger. Anger aimed at a man who had ruined so many lives.

“I am not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

Something about the sincerity in his voice, in his eyes, made her believe him. But hadn’t she also believed her husband when he told her he’d never hit her again? That he was sorry.

She had been fooled by a charming liar.

But Zach wasn’t Brian. Zach had come here to protect her. She had to trust him.

But trust didn’t come easily.

He pulled back his jacket and she noticed his gun, immediately relieved that they weren’t sitting ducks. He plucked his cell phone from his belt. “I’m going to call the local sheriff. Let them know Brian Fox may be close.”

At the mention of his name a shudder raced through her. Apparently sensing her renewed dread, he reassured her that she’d be safe. “I need you and Ruthie to go to a room that locks. Your bedroom? A bathroom? And stay away from the windows.”

Instinctively Heather reached out and grabbed his wrist. “No, wait for the sheriff before you go into the barn looking for him. Brian’s evil.”

Zach shook his head. “I need to go out there and check the buildings. I can’t risk him getting away.” He leveled his gaze at her. “You have a cell phone?”

She nodded, her palms growing slick as she grabbed her cell phone out of the rolltop desk in the sitting room. “The service is terrible out here.”

His brows furrowed. “I haven’t had trouble. Different carriers, I suppose.” He ran a hand across his stubbled jaw. He flicked his gaze toward the back door. “Listen, time isn’t on our side. Can you go upstairs and lock yourself in a room? I’ll call the sheriff.”

Heather swallowed hard and grabbed Ruthie’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs. I have a dead bolt on my bedroom door.” She had installed one there for security for when she opened her house to strangers. She had never dreamed she’d have to use it to keep her ex-husband out.

“What’s going on?” Ruthie asked as she begrudgingly followed her up the stairs, her boots pounding up each step.

When they reached her bedroom, Heather ushered Ruthie inside and spun around, slammed the door and turned the bolt. Why did she think a flimsy lock on a hollow wood door would keep out Brian when a maximum-security prison had failed?

* * *

Zach waited at the bottom of the stairs until he heard the bedroom door close and the bolt slide into place. He made a quick call to the sheriff’s department. Pulling his gun out of its holster, he moved toward the back door and muttered, “I’m coming to get you, Fox. You’re not going to get away from me now.”

He exited through the kitchen door, where he had first run into Heather last night. He prayed the sheriff and his deputies didn’t take their time in getting here. Zach feared if he picked the wrong outbuilding, Fox might be able to make his escape while he was otherwise occupied. Or worse—make his way into the house through the construction zone. To Heather.

After Zach cleared the shed, he heard sirens growing closer. One patrol car pulled up the driveway. Two others sped past before coming to a stop somewhere out of view on the other side of the house. A call like his had probably gotten the attention of the entire Quail Hollow Sheriff’s Department.

A tall man unfolded from his patrol car, his hand hovering over the grip of his gun. Zach waved to him silently and pointed to the barn. The man in turn gestured to his officers. The four men surrounded the barn under Zach’s silent directions. Two stayed outside watching for any sign of the fugitive while the tall officer and Zach checked the interior. Thanks to several missing planks and a large hole in the roof, most of the interior was well illuminated except for a few dark corners.

Zach cautiously checked the shadows behind a tractor with no rubber on its wheels, an old shell of an Amish buggy and a few hay bales that smelled ripe from dampness and age.

“Clear,” he hollered after checking the last stall, where horses must have been kept at some point in the past.

The two law enforcement officers exited the barn together.

“You really think the fugitive made it all the way to Quail Hollow?” The officer looked at his watch as if that might give him the answers. “Isn’t Peters Correctional Facility about a hundred miles from here? Guy had to have resources to get to Quail Hollow so quickly.”

“He’s determined. And he’s had help,” Zach said bluntly. He offered his hand, introducing himself.

The officer shook his hand. “I’m Deputy Conner Gates. Tell me. Why Quail Hollow? We’re a small Amish community.”

Zachary glanced up at the house and he saw Heather standing in the upstairs window. This had been her chance at a fresh start after the mayhem Fox had unleashed on her. Yet Fox had found her again and was toying with her.

Zach wasn’t going to let this jerk get to Heather. He hadn’t been able to save his sister, but he was going to make sure nothing happened to Heather Miller.

“The escapee knows the owner of this property. She testified against him.” Zach paused a half second. “And Heather is Brian Fox’s ex-wife.”

“Oh, man.” Gates planted his hand on his hip.

“What makes you believe he’s actually here?”

“He left some graffiti on the wall of the residence. He’s close.”

“Okay,” the sheriff’s deputy said, “I’ll call it in. We have to immediately make plans. Grid the area. Fan the search out from here.”

Zach held his hand up. “Don’t let me hold you up. My job is to secure Heather Miller. Keep her safe.”

“Heather Miller, you say?” The sheriff’s deputy rubbed his jaw. “I didn’t realize she had moved back. Shame what happened to her mother.”

Zach plowed a hand through his hair. He hated to ask. Apparently he didn’t have to, because the officer continued, “My father was sheriff back when her mother was murdered. Heather and her sisters were just little girls. Her father moved away from Quail Hollow with his three daughters and never looked back.”

“Can’t say I blame him. It’s a small town. Everywhere he turned must have reminded him of his wife.” Unease twisted his insides. He hadn’t realized Heather had so much tragedy in her past.

“They left everything, including their Amish community.”

Zach did a double take. “Heather grew up Amish?”

Deputy Gates nodded. “Sure did. Her mother’s murder turned this entire town upside down.”

* * *

Heather stepped away from the bedroom window, her nerves humming from all the law enforcement activity on her quiet little farm.

Not so quiet anymore.

“I’m sorry you had to get caught in the middle of this,” Heather said as she crossed the room to Ruthie, who was sitting quietly in the chaise lounge Heather had put in the corner of the bedroom where she’d envisioned herself escaping with a good book. Not escaping from her fugitive ex-husband.

“Can you tell me what’s going on now?” Ruthie dragged her fingers down the edges of her apron over and over. “We have lots of work to do before the bed-and-breakfast opens.”

“It looks like everything is safe. For now.” From the upstairs window, it looked as if Zach and the sheriff’s department had come up empty-handed.

“What is going on? Who is this person they’re searching for?” Ruthie’s eyes grew wide as she searched Heather’s face for answers.

Heather lowered herself onto the edge of the chair and met Ruthie’s wary gaze. How did she tell her Amish friend that her ex-husband had escaped prison and had tracked her down in Quail Hollow?

Wasn’t this part of the reason the Amish lived separate from the world? There was too much evil out there. Case in point.

Living the Amish way hadn’t saved her mother.

“You deserve the whole truth.” Heather swallowed hard and ran her hands up and down her thighs. “A long time ago, I was married to a man who turned out to be abusive.”

“This man they’re looking for?” Ruthie stopped fidgeting with her apron and stared at her. The fear and uncertainty in her eyes made Heather feel like she had somehow betrayed her friend.

Heather nodded in response to Ruthie’s question. “I got away from him—” she fast-forwarded ten years, not wanting to weigh Ruthie down with her past “—but he remarried and killed his second wife.”

A quiet gasp escaped Ruthie’s lips as blotches of pink fired in her fair-skinned cheeks.

“The man you met downstairs isn’t a friend of mine. He’s actually a law enforcement officer. Deputy U.S. Marshal Zachary Walker came here to warn me that my ex-husband had escaped prison and was on his way to hurt me.”

“I’m so sorry this has happened to you,” Ruthie said. “How can I help?”

Heather’s breath hitched before she caught herself. This wasn’t the response she had expected. Shock, maybe. Questions, definitely. But sympathy and a show of support? Perhaps Ruthie had more exposure to the harsh realities of the outside world than Heather had realized.

“I’d completely understand if you decided you didn’t want to work here.” Heather felt it necessary to offer her young friend a way out. She couldn’t put her in danger.

“I’ve been looking forward to working here,” Ruthie said softly. “It’s a pleasant change from the greenhouse.”

A knock sounded on the door followed by Zach Walker’s authoritative voice. “Fox is gone. It’s safe. Come on out.”

Heather brushed the back of her hand across Ruthie’s sleeve and smiled. She stood and crossed the room to unlock the door. Hoping she could mask her apprehension, she squared her shoulders before opening it.

“We can talk downstairs,” Zach said, all business.

Heather led the way downstairs followed by Ruthie, Zach trailing behind.

“It’s safe?” Heather repeated his words, although she doubted she’d ever feel safe. She should have never believed she could. As long as there was evil out there—namely Brian Fox—she’d never feel safe again.

Once they reached the new addition, Zach widened his stance and crossed his arms, looking down at her. “It won’t be safe here for you until Fox is back in custody. That’s nonnegotiable. You need someplace secure to go for the duration.”

“For the duration?” Heather’s mind spun. She hated the high-pitched quality of her voice. “I can’t just leave. I’m in the middle of renovations. The workmen should be here any minute.” Even as she said the words, she realized how ridiculous she sounded. Of course she couldn’t stay here. Brian had already found her. Tingles of panic bit at her fingertips and threatened to spread up her arms and consume her with the all-too-familiar fight-or-flight response.

She turned her back to Zach, trying to hide the red flush heating her face. She needed time to think.

The sound of a few Amish workmen speaking in Pennsylvania Dutch floated in from the backyard through the plastic lining covering the opening for the window that was yet to be installed. “I should offer them coffee.”

“I’ll get the coffee.” Ruthie hurried past her and into the kitchen.

“Can we sit down?” Zach asked. “Talk about this?”

Heather had long passed the point of trying to ignore this entire nightmare. She held out her hand, directing him toward the sitting room. Two rockers sat in front of a wood-burning stove, where the tourists were supposed to relax after a day of sightseeing. Not where she was supposed to discuss her ex-husband, who had escaped from prison.

This is too crazy to comprehend. Like a nightmare come true.

The U.S. Marshal leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “You are one of the strongest women I know. It took a lot for you to come forward to testify against Fox in my sister’s trial. I’m grateful.”

Her stomach twisted at the personal nature of his comment. After she escaped, Brian had killed Zach’s sister. Zach didn’t owe her his gratitude. If she had been braver sooner...

“I didn’t have a choice but to testify.” She measured her words, fighting back a groundswell of emotion, guilt riding the crest. If she hadn’t escaped from Brian, he might not have killed his sister.

You would have been the one he killed...

Heather dragged a hand across her hair and blinked her gritty eyes. Every fiber of her being ached with exhaustion. Frustration. Regret.

“I’ve put everything into this place. I have nowhere else to go.” Even she could hear the fight draining from her argument.

“The sheriff’s deputy told me you have two sisters.”

“How did he...? Of course...” Heather slowly shook her head. Quail Hollow was a small town. Despite having kept to herself—except for getting to know Ruthie’s family—since she moved into a nearby apartment to start renovations, the residents still knew her story. She didn’t truly believe she could be a Miller in Quail Hollow and not have people know about her past, but she had hoped to live a quiet life. So much for that. “I can’t move in with one of my sisters. I’m not going to put either of them in danger. I can’t.”

“A relative. Someone Fox doesn’t know about.”

“My father moved us away from our family. We’ve lost all ties. Last I heard, my two uncles and their families moved to another Amish community. I suppose I’m the only Miller foolish enough to live in Quail Hollow.”

“Friends?”

“I never stayed anywhere long enough to establish friendships. And the friends I had before...”

Pulse thudding in her ears, she slowly turned to meet Zach’s steady gaze. “I was married to the man. He knows everything about me. I’m not safe anywhere.” Her voice cracked over the last word.

“You may feel that way, but I can take you to a safe house.”

“You’re asking me to run?”

“I know.” The look of compassion in his eyes spoke volumes. He knew what he was asking her to do.

“What will happen to this place when I’m gone? If I run, Brian wins. Again.” She bowed her head and threaded her fingers through her hair and tugged, frustrated. But even as she made the argument, her resolve was fading.

“It’s only temporary.” His smooth, calming voice washed over her. If only she could believe that.

“I hid for ten years from Brian.” She lifted her gaze, wondering if he could read in her eyes the blame she felt for not coming forward. For not stopping Brian before he had a chance to meet, marry and then kill Zach’s sister. As irrational as that thought was, it always came back around to haunt her. In the long chain that had connected Brian Fox to Zach’s sister, Jill, she had been a pivotal link.

“The difference this time is that every law enforcement agency in New York State is searching for this guy. It will be temporary. He’s not living as a free man.”

“You can stay with me.”

Both Zach and Heather spun around to find Ruthie walking into the sitting room holding two mugs of coffee. “You’ll be safe at my home.”

“I couldn’t,” Heather said, accepting the coffee from her Amish friend.

“Wait,” Zach said, “that’s not a bad idea. Fox wouldn’t know to search for you there. You’ve only recently become friends, right? There’s no way Fox would make the connection.”

“Yah, well, my mem and Heather’s mem were friends a long time ago.”

“I can’t imagine Fox would connect the dots,” Zach said.

“I can’t put Ruthie in danger.”

“No one will know you’re there.” Ruthie’s eyes shone brightly, the eagerness of only the young and the innocent. “You can even wear my Amish clothes. We’re about the same size.”

Heather’s eyes widened at the young woman’s suggestion. Heather might have thought Ruthie had watched a lot of TV to come up with such a crazy plan, but that obviously wasn’t the case. She was just a clever young woman.

Zach leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His golf shirt stretched across his broad chest. “It’s not a bad idea.”

“You live with your parents?” Zach asked.

“My mem. My dat died last year. Now it’s just the three of us. I have four older sisters, all married and living nearby. My little sister is fifteen.”

“I can’t imagine your mother would be happy with having an outsider in her home.” Maryann had been nothing but kind and welcoming to Heather, but she wasn’t so sure about this. This involved some level of deceit: pretending to be Amish. Would Ruthie’s mother go for it?

Ruthie planted her hands on her hips. “She won’t mind. My mem and your mem were best friends. She’d want to help you. I know it.”

Surprise trapped a response in Heather’s throat.

Zach pushed to his feet. “It’s worth asking.”

A throbbing started in Heather’s temples. “What if he follows us there? I can’t... I just can’t.”


FOUR (#u1eddac30-d797-5121-a9f2-8522f9404abb)

Zachary paced the small space between the rocking chairs and the wood-burning stove. “We can take extra precautions to make sure Fox doesn’t follow us back to Ruthie’s home.”

Heather stared up at him, worry lining her pretty eyes. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“I’m not letting you stay here.” Zach winced at the way he’d framed the words. He suspected Heather wouldn’t take kindly to being forced to do anything. He stopped pacing and sat down on the rocker across from hers. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not going to force you into anything. However, it’s against my better judgment and all my training to leave you here. Fox has been here.” He pointed in the general direction of the graffiti on the wall. “Please let me—” he looked at Ruthie “—let us help you.”

He shifted to catch Ruthie’s attention. “Do you know the workmen here?”

“Yah, Sloppy Sam is a gut friend.”

“Sloppy Sam?” Zachary couldn’t help but smile. Then he turned to Heather. “You hired someone named Sloppy Sam to do home renovations? Seems like a risky move.”

Shrugging, Heather mirrored his smile and flicked a quick glance at Ruthie. “Sloppy Sam came highly recommended.”

“A lot of Amish have nicknames because so many people have the same name. I know—” Ruthie lifted her hands and held up her fingers. “I know at least seven Samuels. And trust me, Sloppy Sam is a very fine craftsman. He got his nickname when he was a little boy. He tended to enjoy his meals so much that his father kept calling him sloppy. It stuck.”

“Well, maybe Sloppy Sam can give you a ride home in his wagon. You can talk to your mother, run the plan by her, then I’ll see to it that Heather makes it there, albeit in a circuitous route. Sound like a plan?”

“Yah.”

“Please don’t tell Sloppy Sam or any of the other Sams you know. The fewer people who know where Heather is, the better.”

“I understand.” Ruthie pointed toward the back window. “I’ll see that the workmen install the window before I leave. Make sure no one else can get in.”

Zach met Heather’s gaze. She knew as well as he did that no one could stop a determined Fox from getting in.

“Thank you,” Heather said. “You’ve been a good friend. But please, if I arrive and your mother doesn’t want me in her home, please tell me. I don’t want to put your family out.”

“It’ll be fine. You’ll see.” Ruthie smiled and went outside to talk to the workmen.

“Why don’t you grab a few things? I’ll drive you to the sheriff’s department, and then we’ll make alternate plans to get you to Ruthie’s house. I don’t want Fox to follow us from here.”

Heather dragged the charm back and forth across the gold chain on her necklace. “How long do you think it will take before they capture Brian?”

Zach rubbed the back of his neck. “I understand Fox has a lot of experience surviving in the woods. He was big into camping, right?”

Heather nodded. An expression suggesting she was remembering an unhappy camping trip flitted across her features.

“He’s more equipped than most to make a go of it out in the woods.”

Heather’s shoulders sagged, as if she had lost some of her initial bravado. “Do you think I’m foolish to stay in Quail Hollow? Maybe I should put more distance between us.”

Zachary leaned forward and reached out to take her hand, but stopped short of touching her. “You can go round and round with this. I think our initial plan is a good one. We can reevaluate if either I or the sheriff’s department feels your safety is compromised.”

Heather raised her eyebrows. “You’re not leaving Quail Hollow? I thought your job was to make sure I’m secure.”

“It is. And the only way you’ll be one hundred percent secure is if Fox is back in custody. Until then, I’m sticking close by.”

Heather closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’ll grab a bag. It won’t take me long. I haven’t even had a chance to unpack since moving in here.”

* * *

The hammering of the workmen clashed with the pounding in Heather’s head as she jogged up the stairs to grab a few things. Between the lack of sleep and her plans for the future crashing down around her, she wondered why she had ever allowed herself to dream. To hope for the future.

Tragedy followed her as if she had a flashing neon arrow over her head.

Rely on your faith. Her father’s words drifted through her mind. Despite losing his wife and the only life he’d ever known, her father had raised his three daughters to be strong in their faith. To not let their circumstances weigh them down. That God would provide.

Yet her father had worked the last twenty years of his life in a dark factory and died of a heart attack on the way home to his two youngest daughters while riding a public bus during a snowstorm. Help hadn’t arrived in time to save him.

God had not provided, but Heather refused to allow that to shatter her faith. She owed that much to her father.

Heather snatched her sweater off the back of the chaise lounge in her bedroom and crammed it into a bag.

Time to go. Hide from Brian. Again.

Her heart ached with the reality that she had come so far only to be pulled back by the man who had always been determined to keep her under his thumb.

“I’ll be back,” she whispered to her cozy bedroom. That was a promise. She turned and hustled down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, Zach extended a hand to take her bag. “Is this it?”

Heather tipped her head. “I don’t suppose I’ll be needing much, considering I’ll be wearing Ruthie’s wardrobe.”

Lifting the strap of her bag over his shoulder, he shot her a look she couldn’t quite read. “I talked to the workmen. They’ll finish up here and Ruthie’s going to lock up on her way out.”

“And there’s no way Brian will follow us to Ruthie’s?” Unease twisted her stomach. “I can’t—”

“You’ll have to trust me on this. Come on.” With a hand to the small of her back, he led her outside. His intense scrutiny of their surroundings both comforted and unnerved her. They walked down the muddy driveway, made uneven by the horses’ hooves and the narrow wheels of the workmen’s wagons.

Alarm coursed through her. “My sisters. They must have heard that Brian escaped. They’ll be worried.” She dragged her hand across her forehead. The intensity of the morning sun made her feel queasy. “You don’t think he’d go after them?”

“He’s here. He’s coming for you.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, an awkward, nervous sound. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Half his mouth quirked into a grin. During the trial, she had never seen him so much as crack a smile. “I didn’t mean...”

Heather held up her hand. “I know what you meant. But do you think I could contact my sisters? At least let them know I’m okay and to tell them to be more cautious. To report anything suspicious.”

“Of course. We can make a few phone calls from the sheriff’s office before I take you to Ruthie’s home.” He quickened his pace, nudging her forward with a hand to her elbow. “But let’s get you off this property.”

Heather squinted against the sun and tented her hand over her eyes. “Where did you park?” He was leading her across the narrow country road.

“I parked behind the buggy here. I didn’t want to draw attention to my vehicle in case Fox was watching.”

Still holding her elbow, he led her around the buggy and they both came up short. Her stomach bottomed out and she willed away her urgent need to throw up. The windshield of his truck had been smashed.

With two hands on her waist, Zach set her next to the buggy like she was a child who needed to be told to stay put and not move. He reached for his gun. “Stay here.” He set her bag down on the gravel lot.

A flush of dread washed over her and she struggled to catch her breath. She glanced around, her vision narrowing. A crow silently flapped its wings overhead, cutting a path across the sky.

The cornfields swayed in the winds. The sweet scent of corn and dried leaves reached her nose.

A split-rail fence in need of repair.

A long-ago abandoned silo.

Yesterday, this landscape had brought her peace. Today she saw nothing but places for Brian to hide.

She flexed and relaxed her hands, trying to tamp down her panic. He was not going to destroy her life. Not again.

Leaning over, she scooped up the strap of her bag that Zach had dropped and waited. She glanced around to make sure they were alone. Zach did the same as he strode across the gravel lot.

After a closer inspection of his vehicle, he walked back toward her, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the landscape. His posture relaxed. Perhaps he was convinced the immediate threat had passed. Something made him go back to the vehicle and open his driver’s door. He paused. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He stepped away from the open door with an envelope in his hand.

“What’s that?” Despite her best efforts to be strong, her voice trembled.

“It’s addressed to you.” But he didn’t hand it to her. They made eye contact briefly before he pulled out a pocket knife and slid the blade under the seal of the envelope.

Another crow cawed overhead as he pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it. The edges flapped in the wind. She stepped closer, wanting to read the note. Not wanting to read the note. Blinking rapidly, her eyes watered from staring at the bright white paper in the blinding sunshine. The wavy black lines came into focus: “You can run. But you can’t hide.”

She let out a long breath between tight lips. She recognized Brian’s handwriting. The same meticulous letters that he’d carved into notes giving her instructions on what to buy for dinner or how to wear her hair or when to be home. Or how to wash his clothes, hang his pants, fold his socks. His demanding directives had been as particular as they were plentiful.

He’d controlled her.

Heather’s stomach twisted and she feared she would have thrown up if not for her empty stomach.

“I wonder why he left the note in my truck and not in your house. He had access.” Zach turned the note over in his hand.

Heather turned her back to the truck, suddenly sensing they were not alone. “He wanted me to know that even you can’t keep me safe.”

* * *

Zach slammed his fist on the frame of the door of his truck and muttered under his breath. “We’re going to have to get a sheriff to take us to their office.”

“My car is parked behind the barn.”

“No, it’s better if we don’t take your car. Too obvious.” Just then, he looked up and saw Deputy Gates walking toward his patrol car. He waved to the man. Gates climbed into his vehicle and drove over, pulling up alongside his damaged truck. The officer rolled down his window. “What happened here?”

“Fox got to my truck. He might be hiding in the cornfields.” Zach kept Heather close as he scanned his surroundings. He tapped the roof of the sheriff’s patrol car. “Forget about my truck for now. I can get someone to tow it to a collision shop. I need to get Miss Miller out of here. All this open space is giving me the willies.”

He thought he heard Heather mutter, “The willies?” under her breath.

“Can you take us to the sheriff’s department?”

The deputy tipped his head toward the back of his vehicle. “Hop in.”

Zach held out his hand for Heather. Hesitancy flashed in her eyes before she climbed in. He suspected not many people liked to travel in the back of a patrol car. He ran around and jumped in the front passenger seat.

Zach looked over his shoulder and smiled at Heather sitting in the backseat. “We’ll get you to safety.”

She stared at him with a blank expression in her eyes, seemingly unconvinced.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Miller. I’m Deputy Conner Gates. I hear you’re opening a bed-and-breakfast in your grandmother’s house,” the deputy said casually to Heather as he pulled out onto the road.

“Yeah...” She stretched the word out, as if she were about to ask him how he knew her plans, but then realized word traveled quickly in a small town. “I hope to open in less than two weeks. I already have it booked.”

“The fall foliage is beautiful. Our little hotel in town can’t keep up with the tourists. You’ll have a booming business, I’m sure.” The deputy was good at making small talk, obviously trying to distract Heather from the events going on around her.

“That’s what I was counting on,” Heather said, noncommittally. Defeat slipped into her tone, as if her dreams had been forever dashed by today’s events.

“The town will be happy to see the old house come to life again.” The deputy flicked his gaze into the rearview mirror and Zach could imagine Heather smiling back politely.

“How far is the sheriff’s office?” Zach asked, determined to get the focus off Heather.

“In the center of town. Ten-minute drive. From there, we’ll get an unmarked vehicle to take Miss Miller to a safe location.”

“I have something else in mind. Something Fox would never expect.” Zach tapped the door handle, nervous energy from the adrenaline surging through his veins.

“Whatever you say,” the deputy said.

Cornfields whizzed past in a blur. A flash of something dark emerged from the cornfields just ahead, catching Zach’s eye and making his pulse spike. He held up his hand, as if that would stop the car. “Slow down.”

Before the deputy slowed, the form—dressed in black—crouched low on the side of the road.

“Get down!” Zach yelled. “Get down!”

The back window shattered with an explosive sound. The patrol car skidded, weaved, then picked up speed.

The deputy scrambled for the radio controls. “Shooter on Lapp Road. In the cornfields point five miles from the Miller home. Patrol car’s been hit. Send backup.”

“Stay down,” Zach yelled as he tried to stay hunkered down and get a location on the shooter. A ping sounded somewhere else on the vehicle. He cursed under his breath. “Stay down.” He stretched his hand over the seat and touched Heather’s head. She had unbuckled and taken refuge in the tight space behind the front seat.

After another half mile, Zach was confident the shooter had retreated into the cornfields. “Pull over.”

The deputy did as Zach instructed. Zach climbed out and yanked open the back door, his heart racing in his chest. “Heather, Heather! Are you okay?”

Heather sat up, terror radiating in her bright brown eyes. He reached out and raked the shards of glass from her hair. “Are you hit?”

She pressed her hand to her chest. “I... No...no, I’m okay.”

“Okay.” Zach gritted his jaw in determination. He closed her car door, then leaned into the front passenger seat. “Take her to the sheriff’s office. I’m going after him.”

Without waiting for the deputy to finish his protest, Zach slammed the door and patted the roof. “Go!” Grabbing his gun from its holster, he ran back in the direction of the shooter, his senses on high alert.

Every twig snap, bird crow and rustling stalk sent his adrenaline spiking over the edge.

Fox. It had to be Fox. He couldn’t let him get away.

Breathing hard, Zach reached the point where the gunman had emerged from the cornfields, and based on the footprints, the same point where he had ducked back into them. Zach had also noted the mile marker.

Pulse whooshing in his ears, he slowed, cautious not to get ambushed, fearing his need to get revenge might override his better judgment.

Examining the ground, he noticed a heavy boot print in the dirt. Sliding between the cornstalks, he followed the prints, the deeper in, the less certain the path of travel, but they seemed to be leading to woods on the other side of the fields.

Once he reached the woods, he slowed, trying to quiet his ragged breath. In the distance, he heard water, a river or creek. Pausing a moment, he let his eyes adjust to the heavily shadowed woods, except for the occasional beam of bright sunlight that penetrated the thick canopy.

Gun in hand, he made his way deeper into the woods, toward the sound of water. Once he got to the clearing, he caught sight of a man on a dock, leaning over something. A boat, maybe?





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/alison-stone/plain-sanctuary/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.