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Hidden in Plain View
Diane Burke
COLLIDING WORLDS After a tragedy rips through her Amish community, Sarah Lapp doesn’t remember anything. She can’t recall her Plain upbringing, her deceased husband or the shooting that landed her under the protection of handsome undercover cop Samuel King. She is, however, aware of the confusing feelings he creates in her from the moment he walks into her life.Sam is determined to protect Sarah and her unborn baby in case the shooters return. Because if they do, it’ll be more than just Sarah’s memory at stake.


COLLIDING WORLDS
After a tragedy rips through her Amish community, Sarah Lapp doesn’t remember anything. She can’t recall her Plain upbringing, her deceased husband or the shooting that landed her under the protection of handsome undercover cop Samuel King. She is, however, aware of the confusing feelings he creates in her from the moment he walks into her life. Sam is determined to protect Sarah and her unborn baby in case the shooters return. Because if they do, it’ll be more than just Sarah’s memory at stake.
“It is kind of you to show concern, Detective King.”
“Please, call me Samuel.”
“Samuel.” Her soft voice drew his attention. “Who are you, Samuel? You dress like an Amish man. Our men are not detectives.” Her eyes studied him.
“I assure you, Sarah, I am a detective. I was raised Amish. I left my home in Ohio and joined the police force about fifteen years ago.”
“You are very far from home, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I wanted to get as far away as I could.” Sam shrugged. “Memories aren’t always good.”
Her eyes shimmered, and he fought not to lose himself in their beauty.
“I wish I had some memories,” she whispered.
“Memories aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, Sarah. I have memories, but no one to love me. You don’t have memories, but you have people who love you very much.”
Her beauty spoke to him, stirring feelings better left dormant. Stepping back, he reminded himself of his own rules.
DIANE BURKE
is the mother of three grown sons and the grandmother of five grandsons and three step-grandchildren. She has three daughters-in-law who have blessed her by their addition to her family. She lives in Florida, nestled somewhere between the Daytona Beach speedway and the St. Augustine fort, with Cocoa, her golden Lab, and Thea, her border collie. Thea and Cocoa don’t know they are dogs, because no one has ever told them. Shhh.
When she was growing up, her siblings always believed she could “exaggerate” her way through any story and often waited with bated breath to see how events turned out, even though they had been present at most of them. Now she brings those stories to life on the written page.
Her writing has earned her numerous awards, including a Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence.
She would love to hear from her readers. You can contact her at diane@dianeburkeauthor.com.
Hidden in Plain View
Diane Burke


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Don’t be afraid, for I am with you.
Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you.
I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.
—Isaiah 41:10
This book is dedicated to the family and friends
who offered nothing but love and open arms to both my son and me during our long-overdue reunion.
I also wish to thank Rachel Burkot, my new editor, for jumping in midstream and doing a phenomenal job of helping me make this book the best it could be.
Contents
PROLOGUE (#u3c10090e-adf8-50c1-81c3-5ffa18f6f539)
CHAPTER ONE (#u8698357e-2c63-5a0e-a45c-dc2784e74821)
CHAPTER TWO (#u35fd8fff-14a6-5753-a3fa-d63066b19f0d)
CHAPTER THREE (#u52098e5f-c2be-5136-a16c-f9a121738a50)
CHAPTER FOUR (#uf0e69030-df65-522c-91c4-22f8d3f5d101)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u7ffd464e-78e0-5f32-8384-08bfaae2f43e)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
DEAR READER (#litres_trial_promo)
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE
Mount Hope, Lancaster County, PA
Sarah Lapp wasn’t thinking about guns or violence or murder on this unseasonably warm fall day. She was thinking about getting her basket of apples and cheese to the schoolhouse.
Pedaling her bicycle down the dirt road, she spotted the silhouettes of her in-laws, Rebecca and Jacob, standing close together in the distant field.
Sarah knew when she’d married their son, Peter, that she had been fortunate to have married her best friend.
But sometimes...
She glanced at them again.
Sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder what true love felt like.
Chiding herself for her foolish notions, she turned her attention back to the road. A sense of unease taunted her as she approached the school. The children should be out in the yard on their first break of the day, but the ball field was empty.
She hit the kickstand on her bike and looked around the yard.
Peter’s horse and wagon were tethered to the rail, a water bucket beside them. Children’s bicycles haphazardly dotted the lawn. The bats for the morning ball game rested against the bottom of the steps.
Everything appeared normal.
But it didn’t feel normal.
Sarah climbed the steps and moved cautiously across the small landing, noting the open windows and the curtains fluttering in the breeze.
Silence.
Her pulse pounded. When was a room full of children ever silent?
She’d barely turned the knob when the door was pulled wide with such force that Sarah was propelled forward and sprawled across the floor.
Peter started in her direction.
“Stop right there, Peter, unless you want to see your wife hurt.” The speaker was John Zook, a cousin who had recently returned to the Amish way of life. He pulled Sarah roughly to her feet.
“John?” Sarah gasped when she saw a gun peeking out from the folds of the carpentry apron tied around his waist.
Immediately Peter and the teacher, Hannah, gathered the children together and took a protective stance in front of them, shielding their view of the room.
Sarah stood alone in the middle of the room and faced the gunman. She saw fear in his hooded eyes—fear and something else. Something hard and cold.
“John, why are you doing this terrible thing?” she asked.
“Is he out there? Did you see him?”
“Who, John? Who do you think is out there?” Sarah tried to understand what was frightening him.
“What do you want?” Peter’s voice commanded from the back of the room.
“I want you to shut up,” John snapped in return.
Sarah glanced at the children and marveled at how well behaved and silent they were. John had made sure the adults had seen his weapon, but Sarah was fairly certain the children had not. They seemed more confused and curious than frightened.
John lifted the curtain. “He’s out there. I know it.”
“John, I did not pass anyone on the road. It was just me.” Sarah kept her voice calm and friendly. “We will help you if you will tell us what it is that frightens you so.”
When John looked at them, Sarah was taken aback by the absolute terror she saw in his eyes. “He’s going to kill me,” he whispered. “There will be no place I can hide.”
Peter, his patience running thin, yelled at the man. “You are starting to scare the children. I am going to let them out the back door and send them home.”
“Nobody moves,” John ordered.
Feeling the tension escalate, Sarah tried to find words to defuse the situation. “Peter is right. Whatever’s wrong, we will help you. But you must let the children leave.”
John shot a furtive glance at the group huddled in the corner and then nodded. “All right. Get them out of here, but make it quick.”
Peter ushered the children outside, with whispers to each child to run straight home. When the teacher came up behind the last child, Peter ignored her protests and shoved her to safety, too.
John shoved a felt pouch at Sarah. “Hide this and don’t give it to anyone but me. Understand?”
The heavy and cumbersome bag felt like rocks or marbles were nestled inside. She used several straight pins to bind it to her waistband.
Suddenly the sound of boots pounding against the wooden steps filled the air.
“Shut up. Don’t make a sound!” John ordered. With trembling hands, he aimed his gun and waited for the door to open. But it didn’t.
Instead, bullets slammed through the door.
“Sarah, get down!” Peter yelled from across the room.
Pieces of wood from the walls and desks, as well as chunks of chalkboard, splintered as each bullet reached a target.
John Zook grabbed his shoulder. Then doubled over and clutched his stomach, groaning in pain.
The door banged open and slammed against the wall. A stranger entered, this one much taller, with darkness in his eyes that cemented Sarah’s feet to the floor in fear.
“Hello, John. Didn’t expect to see me, did you?”
The slighter man’s body shook. “I was gonna call and let you know where I was, Jimmy. Just as soon as I found a safe place for us to hide out.”
“Is that so? Well, I saved you the trouble. Give me my diamonds.”
Diamonds?
Instantly, Sarah’s fingers flew to the pouch hidden in the folds of her skirt.
“You’ve got until the count of three. One.”
“I don’t have them. I have to go get them.”
“Two.”
“I don’t have them!” John’s voice came out in an almost hysterical pitch.
“Please, Jimmy, honest.” John pulled Sarah in front of him. “She has them. I gave them to her.”
Sarah looked into the stranger’s face, and evil looked back.
“Three.”
The sudden burst of gunfire shook Sarah to her core.
A small, round hole appeared in John’s forehead. His expression registered surprise and his hand, which had been painfully gripping Sarah’s arm, opened. He fell to the floor.
The loud, piercing sound of a metal triangle rent the air. The children had reached their homes. Help was on the way.
The shooter leered at Sarah. “Let’s take a look and see what you’re hiding in that skirt, shall we?”
“No!” Peter yelled, and ran toward her.
The intruder fired.
Her husband’s body jerked not once but twice as he grabbed his chest and collapsed in a heap on the floor.
“Peter!”
Sarah’s heart refused to accept what her mind knew was fact. Peter was dead.
Before she could drop to his side, something slammed into the left side of her head. Another blow to her arm. To her back. Pain seized her breath. Weakened her knees. Crumpled her to the floor.
She stretched her right arm out toward Peter, their fingers almost touching as she slid into blessed oblivion.
ONE
Where am I?
Sarah Lapp lay on a bed with raised metal rails. She noted a darkened television screen bracketed to the opposite wall. A nightstand and recliner beside the bed.
I’m in a hospital.
She tried to sit up but couldn’t. She was hooked up to machines. Lots of them. Fear pumped her heart into overdrive.
Why am I here?
Again she tried to move, but her body screamed in protest.
Burning pain. Throbbing pain.
Searing the skin on her back. Pulsing through her arm and gathering behind her eyes.
She tried to raise her left arm to touch her forehead but it felt heavy, weighted down, lost in its own gnawing sea of hurt. She glanced down and saw it bandaged and held against her chest by a blue cloth sling.
I’ve injured my arm. But how? Why can’t I remember? And why do I feel so scared?
She took a deep breath.
Don’t panic. Take your time. Think.
Once more she inhaled, held it for a second, and forced herself to ever so slowly release it. Repeating the process a couple more times helped her regain a sense of calm.
Okay. She could do this.
She opened her eyes and stared into the darkness.
“Sarah?”
Sarah? Is that my name?
Why can’t I remember?
Her heart almost leaped from her chest when one of the shadows moved.
The man had been leaning against the wall. She hadn’t seen him standing in the shadows until he stepped forward. He obviously wasn’t a doctor. His garb seemed familiar yet somehow different. He wore black boots, brown pants held up with suspenders and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He carried a straw hat.
“I thought I heard you stirring.” He approached her bed and leaned on the side rail. She found the deep timbre of his voice soothing.
The faint glow from the overhead night-light illuminated his features. She stared at his clean-shaven face, the square jaw, the tanned skin, his intense brown eyes. She searched for some form of recognition but found none.
“I’m glad you’re awake.” He smiled down at her.
She tried to speak but could only make hoarse, croaking sounds.
“Here, let me get you something to drink.” He pushed a button, which raised the head of her bed. He lifted a cup and held it to her lips. There was something intimate and kind in the gesture, and although she didn’t recognize this man, she welcomed his presence.
Gratefully, she took a sip, enjoying the soothing coolness of the liquid as it slid over her parched lips and trickled down her throat. When he moved the cup away, she tried again.
“Who...who are you?”
His large hand gently cupped her fingers. She found the warmth of his touch comforting. His brown shaggy hair brushed the collar of his shirt. Tiny lines crinkled the skin at the sides of his eyes.
“My name is Samuel, and I’m here to help you.”
Her throat felt like someone had shredded her vocal cords. Her mouth was so dry that even after the sip of water, she couldn’t gather enough saliva for a good spit. When she did speak, her voice reflected the strain in a hoarse, barely audible whisper.
“Where... What...” She struggled to force the words out.
“You’re in a hospital. You’ve been shot.”
Shot!
No wonder she had felt so afraid when he’d moved out of the shadows. She might not remember the incident, but some inner instinct was still keeping her alert and wary of danger.
“Can you tell me what you remember?” There was kindness in his eyes and an intensity that she couldn’t identify.
She shook her head.
“Do you remember being in the schoolhouse when the gunman entered? Did you get a good look at him?”
Schoolhouse? Gunman?
Her stomach lurched, and she thought she was going to be sick. Slowly, she moved her head back and forth again.
“How about before the shooting? Your husband was inside the building constructing bookshelves. Do you remember bringing a basket of treats for the children?”
His words caused a riotous tumble of questions in her mind. She had a husband? Who was he? Where was he? She tried to focus her thoughts. This man just told her she’d been shot inside a school. Had anyone else been hurt? Hopefully, none of the children.
“Hus...husband?”
“Sarah. There’s no easy way to tell you. Your husband was killed in the shooting.”
The room started to spin. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut.
“I’m so sorry. I wish there had been an easier way to break the news.” His deep, masculine voice bathed her senses with sympathy and helped her remain calm. “I hate to have to question you right now, but time is of the essence.” The feel of his breath on her cheek told her he had stepped closer. “I need you to tell me what you remember—what you saw that day, before things other people tell you cloud your memories.”
A lone tear escaped and coursed its way down her cheek at the irony of it all.
“Can you tell me anything about that day?” he prodded. “Sometimes the slightest detail that you might think is unimportant can turn into a lead. If you didn’t see the shooter’s face, can you remember his height? The color of his skin? What he wore? Anything he might have said?”
He paused, giving her time to collect her thoughts, but only moments later the questions came again.
“If you don’t remember seeing anything, use your other senses. Did you hear anything? Smell anything?”
She opened her eyes and stared into his. “I told you.” She choked back a sob. “I can’t...can’t remember. I can’t remember anything at all.”
His wrinkled brow and deep frown let her know this wasn’t what he had expected.
“Maybe you should rest now. I’ll be back, and we can talk more later.”
Sarah watched him cross to the door. Once he was gone, she stared at her hand and wondered why the touch of a stranger had made her feel so safe.
* * *
Sam stood in the corridor and tried to collect his thoughts.
Sarah.
He hadn’t expected to be so touched by her unfortunate circumstances. He had a policy to never let emotions play a part when he was undercover or protecting a witness. Sarah Lapp was a job, nothing more, and he had no business feeling anything for her one way or the other.
But he had to admit there was something about her. He’d been moved by the vulnerability he saw in her face, the fear he read in her eyes. She was terrified. Yet she had stayed calm, processing everything he had to tell her with quiet grace.
She’d been visibly upset when Sam had told her about the shooting. She’d seemed shocked when he informed her that her husband had been killed. But learning that she had had a husband at all seemed to affect her the most.
He hadn’t had an opportunity yet to talk with Sarah’s doctors about the full extent of her injuries. Was she really suffering from memory loss, and if so, was it a temporary setback or a permanent situation?
Sam often relied heavily on his gut. His instincts this time were warning him that he had just stepped into a much more complicated situation than he had first thought.
He needed to talk with the doctor.
When he glanced down the hall, he saw Dr. Clark, as well as several members of the police force, including his superior, with three Amish men in tow. Dr. Clark ushered the entire group into a nearby conference room and gestured for Sam to join them.
Once inside, Sam crossed the room and leaned against the far wall. He saw the men shoot furtive glances his way and knew they were confused by his Amish clothing.
He didn’t blame them. He was disconcerted by it, too. He hadn’t donned this type of clothing for fifteen years. Yet his fingers never hesitated when he fastened the suspenders. The straw hat had rested upon his head like it was meant to be there.
Jacob Lapp, identifying himself as the bishop of their community and acting as spokesperson for their group, addressed Captain Rogers.
“We do not understand, sir. Why have you brought us here?”
“Please, gentlemen, have a seat.” Captain Rogers gestured toward the chairs around the table. “Dr. Clark wants to update you on Sarah’s condition.”
They pulled out chairs and sat down.
Dr. Clark spoke from his position at the head of the table. “Sarah is in a very fragile state. She was shot twice in the back, once in the arm and once in the head. She has a long road to recovery, but I believe she will recover. To complicate matters, she is suffering from amnesia.”
“Will her memory return?” Jacob asked.
“I’m afraid I honestly don’t know. Only time will tell.”
The man on Jacob’s left spoke. “Excuse me, sir. My name is Benjamin Miller. I do not understand this thing you call amnesia. I had a neighbor who got kicked in the head by his mule. He forgot what happened with his mule, but he didn’t forget everything else. He still remembered who he was, who his family was. Why can’t Sarah?”
The doctor smiled. “It is common for a person not to remember a traumatic event but to remember everything else. What is less common, but still occurs, is a deeper memory loss. Some people forget everything—like Sarah.”
“When she gets better, she will remember again, ya?” Jacob twirled his black felt hat in circles on the table.
“I hope that once she returns home, familiar surroundings will help, but I cannot promise anything,” the doctor replied.
The men looked at each other and nodded.
“There is something else. Sarah is sixteen weeks pregnant.”
Sam felt like someone had suddenly punched him in the gut. Wow, this woman couldn’t catch a break. As if amnesia, gunshot wounds and widowhood wasn’t enough for her to handle. He raised an eyebrow, but steeled himself to show no other reaction to the news.
The doctor waited for the men at the table to digest the information before he locked eyes with Jacob. “Mrs. Lapp has informed me that Sarah has had two prior miscarriages.”
Jacob nodded but remained silent. The information regarding this pregnancy seemed to weigh heavily upon him.
“I’m sorry to inform you, Mr. Lapp, that even though she has made it into her second trimester, she still might lose the child. She has experienced severe trauma to her body, and currently she is under emotional stress as well.”
“With my son gone, this will be our only grandchild.” Jacob’s eyes clouded over. “What can we do to help?”
“You can allow me to protect her.” Sam pushed away from the wall and approached the table.
The bishop’s expression revealed his confusion. “Protect Sarah? I don’t understand, sir. The man who hurt Sarah is gone, ya? She is safe now.” Jacob looked directly at Sam. “Excuse me, sir. We do not recognize you. What community do you call home?”
Captain Rogers nodded permission for Sam to answer the questions.
“My name is Detective Samuel King. Standing to my left is my partner, Detective Masterson. To his right is Special Agent Lopez from the FBI. We believe Sarah is in grave danger.”
“From whom?” Benjamin spoke up, gesturing with his arm to the men sitting on either side of him. “Her family? Her friends?”
Sam addressed his words to Bishop Lapp. “Since I was raised Amish, Captain Rogers thought it might be easier for me to blend in with your community as Sarah’s protective detail.”
All three men gasped, then turned and whispered in their native Pennsylvania German dialect commonly known as Pennsylvania Dutch.
Sam understood not only the words, but also the emotions and objections the men were expressing. The Amish do not care for law enforcement and try to keep themselves separate from the Englisch way of life.
“With respect, sir,” Jacob said, “although grateful, we do not feel we need your protection, and neither does Sarah.”
Sam sighed heavily. “You are wrong.” When he had their full attention, he said, “If you do not allow us to help, Sarah will be dead before this week is over, as well as her unborn child and many of the kids who were inside that schoolhouse when the shooting occurred.”
Samuel noted the sudden pallor in Jacob’s face. He recognized bewilderment in the other men’s eyes and glimpsed hesitation in their body language, but they continued to listen.
Sam pulled out a chair and faced the men. He explained about the diamond heist and the murders of the other thieves, which led to the shoot-out in the school.
Matthew Kauffman, the third Amish man in the group, spoke up for the first time. “If you were once Amish, then you know that we cannot allow police to move into our homes. It is not our way.”
“I understand your dilemma,” Sam responded. “I assure you that although I left my Amish roots behind, I never abandoned my respect for the Amish ways.”
“You do not speak like us,” Benjamin insisted. “You sound like an Englischer.”
Sam slipped easily into the lilt of the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect. “Many years of living with the Englisch, and you can start to sound like one, ain’t so?”
“Why did you leave your home, sir?” Benjamin asked.
Sam took a moment to decide just how much he was willing to share with these men.
“In my youth, I witnessed too many things for a young boy to see. I witnessed theft of Amish goods that went unpunished. I witnessed bullying and cruelty against the Amish people, yet I could not raise my hand to retaliate.”
The men nodded.
“I witnessed worse. I witnessed drunken teens race their car into my father’s buggy just for the fun of it. My parents did not survive their prank.”
Several heartbeats of silence filled the room as everyone present absorbed what he’d said.
“The Amish forgive.” Sam shrugged. “I could not. So I left.”
“It is difficult sometimes to forgive, to not seek vengeance and to move on with life.” Jacob’s quiet voice held empathy. His eyes seemed to understand that Sam’s emotional wounds had not healed and still cut deep. “I understand how hard it can be. I just lost my only son. But...” He looked Sam straight in the eye. “It is not our place to judge.” When he spoke, his voice was soft and sad. “Judgment belongs only to God, ya?”
“And vengeance belongs to the Lord, not us,” Benjamin Miller added.
“I am not talking about vengeance,” Sam said, defending himself. “I am talking about justice.”
Jacob scrutinized Sam as if he were trying to determine his character from his words. “How do you know whether what you call justice, Detective King, is what God would call vengeance? Is it not best to leave these matters in God’s hands?”
A sad ghost of a smile twisted Sam’s lips. “I believe God intended for us to love one another, to help one another. I believe He expects us to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Children. Unborn babies. An innocent woman who doesn’t even know the gravity of her loss yet. Isn’t that God’s will?”
Jacob remained silent and pensive.
Sam had to work hard to control his emotions. There was no place in police work, particularly undercover police work, to let emotions control your actions or thoughts. But he understood these people. He’d been one of them. He knew they were pacifists who refused to fight back. If a gunman walked up and shot them dead on the street, they’d believe it was God’s will.
How was he going to make them understand the danger they were in? Or worse, defend against that danger? Jacob was their bishop. He was the one he had to win over. Sam knew the only hope he had of convincing Lapp to go along with the plan was to drive home the pain the man was still feeling from his loss. He challenged him with a hard stare.
“Are you willing to accept responsibility for the deaths of your loved ones, Bishop? Your neighbors’ loved ones? To never see your grandchild? To attend the funerals of your neighbors’ children? Because you will be killing them just as if you held the gun and shot them yourself.”
Sam’s voice had a hardened edge, but he made no apologies for his harshness. He had to make these men understand the seriousness of the situation if he stood any chance of saving their lives.
“Please, sir, listen to me,” he continued. “A stranger entered your Amish schoolhouse on a beautiful, peaceful spring afternoon. He cared only about diamonds, not about God or the sanctity of life.” Sam placed his forearms on the table and leaned closer. “This isn’t his first crime. We suspect him of many other crimes, but have been unable to bring him to justice.
“No one who would be able to describe him has lived to talk about it—except Sarah. Don’t be fooled. He will return. He will find a way to walk freely among you. He is not above using your children—perhaps killing your children—to accomplish his goals. You will never sense the danger until it is too late.”
The three men shot concerned glances at one another.
“Please,” Sam pleaded. “Even with your help, we cannot promise that he won’t succeed. We are chasing a shadow.”
Sam paused, letting the men absorb his words. He gestured toward the other law-enforcement officers in the room.
“We are not asking you to take up arms or fight back. But we cannot protect you from the outside alone. If we stand any chance of stopping this man, then we must be close. We must be on the inside. We are asking for your help.”
Jacob’s head bent, and his lips moved in silent prayer. After a few moments of silence, he wiped a tear from his cheek and turned to the other Amish men.
“How can we not help?” he asked. “This is our Sarah. Hasn’t she been hurt enough? These are our children he speaks of. Is it not our duty as parents to protect them? And what of the innocent child Sarah carries? Must we not protect that child, too?”
“Jacob, you know if this horrible thing he speaks of happens, then it is the will of God.” Benjamin’s voice was insistent. “We must accept the will of God.”
Jacob nodded slowly. “Ya, Benjamin, you are right. We must accept the will of God.” After a moment, he made eye contact with Benjamin. “Your Mary was in that classroom...and your Daniel and William.” Jacob glanced from him to the other man. “Matthew, your children, Emma, Joseph, John, Amos...they were there that terrible day, too.” His eyes implored both men. “Are we so eager to let the wolf snatch them away that we stand aside and open the door?”
Benjamin blanched as the realization of what was at stake finally hit him. Visibly shaken, he lowered his head, his voice almost a whisper. “But if it is God’s will...”
“I agree. We must accept God’s will.” Jacob leaned forward and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “But I have to ask you, Benjamin, how many detectives do we know who used to be Amish? Maybe sending Samuel to us is the will of God.”
The men exchanged looks, whispered together in hushed tones and then nodded their heads.
This time, Jacob looked directly at the police captain. “We will agree to this. But please, sir, find the man you seek quickly. We cannot endure this situation for long.”
The captain stood and thanked the men for their cooperation. “We will be placing undercover officers in your town. They will deliver your mail, pick up your milk and serve in your local shops and restaurants. But only one will actually enter your home—Detective Samuel King.”
Sam hadn’t been back on Amish soil for more than a decade. He’d have to keep his emotions in check, his mind clear and his thoughts logical. A woman’s life, and that of her unborn child, were at stake. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he prayed he’d be up to the challenge.
TWO
Sarah stared out the window. It had been one week since the shootings, two days since she’d awakened in this hospital room and they still hadn’t caught the shooter.
She watched the people below in the parking lot.
Was he out there? Waiting? Plotting? Biding his time like a poisonous snake in the grass, coiled and ready to strike?
Would he come back for her? And if he did, this time...
Sarah didn’t have to remember the past to know that she had no desire to die in the present.
She studied the men passing beneath her window. Did any of them look up in her direction? Was the killer watching her even now?
Fear shuddered through her.
How could she protect herself when she didn’t even know what the man who posed a threat looked like? How could she help the police catch him before he could hurt more people if her mind continued to be nothing more than a blank slate?
Her mother-in-law, Rebecca, and the doctor had filled her in on what they knew of the details of that day.
The story they had told her was tragic. But she had no emotional connection to that schoolroom, or to the children who had fled out the back door and summoned help, or, even worse, to the man who had once shared her life and was now dead and buried.
She knew people expected an emotional response from her—tears, at least—but she felt nothing.
Surprise? Yes.
Empathy? Of course.
Pain? Grief?
No. They were the emotions she saw every time she looked at the sadness etched in Rebecca’s face. She had lost a son.
Sarah had lost a stranger.
Earlier Rebecca had told Sarah that she’d been raised Englisch until the age of eight. Try as she might, she couldn’t find any memory of those childhood years.
Following her mother’s death, she’d been adopted by her Amish grandmother, who had also passed on years ago. Then she’d come to live with Jacob and Rebecca, embraced the Amish faith and married their son. Sarah found it more difficult to come to terms with the person she was supposed to be than to try to summon grief she couldn’t feel.
She was a pregnant Amish widow recovering from multiple gunshot wounds and suffering from amnesia. That was her reality. That was the only world to which she could relate.
She couldn’t conjure up the slightest recollection of Peter Lapp. Had he been of average build? Or was he tall? Had he had blond hair like his mother? Or maybe brown?
Rebecca had told her they’d been married five years and were happy together.
Had they been happy together? Were they still as much in love on the day of his death as they’d been the day they married? She hoped so. But can true love be forgotten as easily as a breath of air on a spring day? If they’d been soul mates, shouldn’t she feel something? Have some sense of loss deep in her being, even if she couldn’t remember the features of his face or the color of his hair?
Rebecca had also told her that she’d had two prior miscarriages. Had Sarah told her husband about this pregnancy? Were they happy about this blessing or anxious and fearful that it, too, would fail?
A surge of emotion stole her breath away. It wasn’t grief. It was anger.
She wanted to be able to grieve for her husband. She wanted to be able to miss him, to shed tears for him. Instead, all she felt was guilt for not remembering the man. Not the sound of his voice. Not the feel of his touch. Not even the memory of his face. What kind of wife was she that a man who had shared her life was nothing more to her now than a story on someone else’s lips?
She was no longer a complete human being. She was nothing more than an empty void and had nothing within to draw upon. No feelings for her dead husband. No feelings for an unborn child she hadn’t even known she carried. No memories of what kind of person she had been. She was broken, damaged goods and of no use to anyone.
Please, God, help me. Please let me climb out of this dark and frightening place.
In the stillness of her empty room, the tears finally came.
* * *
Sam stood up from the chair outside Sarah’s door and stretched his legs. Hours had passed since Rebecca had left with Jacob. He hadn’t heard a sound lately, and the silence made him uneasy. Quietly, he opened the door and peeked inside.
He was surprised to see Sarah out of bed and standing at the window. Her floor-length robe seemed to swallow up her petite, frail figure. The swish of the door opening drew her attention.
“Hi.” Sam stepped into the room. “Are you supposed to be out of bed?”
Sarah offered a feeble smile. “The nurses had me up a few times today. I won’t get stronger just lying in bed.”
Sam could see she wasn’t having an easy time of it. Dark circles colored the skin beneath her eyes in a deep purplish hue. The telltale puffiness told him that she’d been crying. Her sky-blue eyes were clouded over with pain and perhaps even a little fear.
“It is kind of you to show concern, Detective King.” Her voice sounded fragile and tired.
“Please, call me Samuel.”
He flinched at the sound of his true Amish name slipping from his lips. Donning Amish clothes had returned him to his roots. But the sound of his given name instead of Sam sealed the deal. He had stepped back in time—and it was the last place he wanted to be.
“Samuel.” The sound of his name in her soft, feminine voice drew his attention back to her. She smiled again, but it was only a polite gesture. Happiness never lit her eyes. “What can I do for you?”
“I thought I’d poke my head in and make sure you’re all right.”
“Thank you, but you needn’t bother. I’m fine.” A shadow crossed her face.
Fine? He didn’t think so. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the puzzled expression on her face until she questioned him.
“Who are you, Samuel?”
She stood with her back to the window and studied him.
Who was he? He’d told her he was a detective. Was her loss of memory getting worse?
Sarah went right to the point. “You dress like an Amish man. Our men are not detectives.” Her eyes squinted as she studied him.
She looked as if she might be holding her breath as she waited for his answer.
“I assure you, Sarah, I am a detective.”
“And the Amish clothes? Is it a disguise?”
“Yes—and no. I was raised Amish. I left my home in Ohio and joined the police force about fifteen years ago.”
“Ohio? You are very far from home, aren’t you?” she asked.
Was that empathy he saw in her eyes? She was feeling sorry for him. Didn’t that beat all?
“I wanted to get as far away as I could.” Sam shrugged, and his mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “Memories aren’t always good.”
She pondered his words before she spoke again. “Don’t the Amish shun you if you leave?”
He found her words interesting. She could pull the definition of shunning from her memory banks but talked about it as if it wasn’t part of her own culture, as if the term was nothing more than something she had read in a dictionary.
“I have no family to shun me.”
The gentlest of smiles teased the corner of her lips. “Everyone has a family at one time or another, Samuel.”
Her words hit a tender spot. She was getting much too personal. He didn’t want to open that door for her. He didn’t want to share that pain. He was acting as her bodyguard, nothing more, and the less emotional connection between them the better.
Attempting to change the subject, he said, “I’m sure you’ve been up and about enough for one day. Why don’t you let me help you get back into bed so you can get some rest.”
She allowed him to hold her elbow and support her as she crossed the room. “It must have been difficult for you to leave your Amish religion behind.”
Her soft blue eyes stared up at him.
Sam smiled. He was fast learning that she was a stubborn woman, not easily distracted when she wanted to know something, and right now it was obvious that she wanted to know about him.
“I left religion behind, not God,” he replied. “I carry God with me every day—in here and in here.” He pointed to his head and his heart. “Memories were the only thing I left behind, painful ones.”
Since her left arm was useless because of the sling and the IV bag and pole still attached to her right hand, Sam put his hands on both sides of her waist to lift her up onto the bed. Although tiny and petite, he couldn’t help but note the slightly thickening waist beneath his touch. The signs of her pregnancy were starting to show, and the protective emotions that surfaced surprised him.
Her saucerlike eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and he fought not to lose himself in their beauty.
“I wish I had some memories,” she whispered.
The minty scent of her breath fanned his face, and the slightly parted pose of her lips tempted him to lower his head and steal a taste of their tantalizing softness.
Instead, he removed her slippers and, after she positioned herself back on the pillows, he covered her with a blanket.
“Memories aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, Sarah. I have memories, but no one to love me. You don’t have memories, but you have people who love you very much.”
She acknowledged his words with a nod and a pensive expression.
Her fragile beauty spoke to him, stirring emotions and feelings better left dormant. Stepping back, he subtly shook his head and reminded himself of his own rules.
Rule number one: never get emotionally involved with anyone in a case.
Rule number two: remember, at all times, that when working undercover none of it is real. You are living a lie.
“So, you didn’t answer me. Why are you dressed like an Amish man, Detective King?”
He searched her face, looking for any signs of fear or weakness. He found instead only interest and curiosity.
“This shooter is highly intelligent. He managed to pull off a massive diamond heist without leaving a trace. No images on surveillance cameras. No witnesses. No mistakes. Until now.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “This time he left behind a pouch full of diamonds. The doctors found the pouch pinned inside the waistband of your skirt when you were brought into the emergency room.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath, but otherwise she remained still and waited for him to continue.
“This time he was sloppy. He left behind a witness. You.” His eyes locked with hers. “He believes that you still have the diamonds in your possession. And he doesn’t believe in leaving witnesses behind. There is no question. He will be back.”
Fear crept into her eyes. “But you told me the doctors found the diamonds. I don’t have them anymore, do I?”
“No. But he doesn’t know that.”
“Then I have to go away. I have to hide. I can’t be around anyone who could be hurt because of me.”
His admiration for her rose. She was worried about people she couldn’t remember, and not about the imminent threat to herself.
“The safest thing for you and for everyone else is for you to return to your community. It will be harder for him to reach you and easier for everyone involved to recognize an outsider.”
“Is he a threat to anyone besides me?”
“He is a really bad man, Sarah. He will stop at nothing to get what he wants. He could snatch a child. Harm one of your neighbors while looking for information. He is evil in human form.” Gently, he tilted her chin up with his index finger and looked into her eyes. “But you and I will work together, and we will not let that happen. I promise.”
Sam couldn’t believe he had just said what he did.
Promise? The two of them working together? Was he crazy talking to her like this? Like they were a team fighting against evil?
Had he lost his mind?
“How can I help? I seem pretty useless to everyone these days.” She smiled but seemed totally unaware of how the gesture lit up her face like a ray of sudden sunshine.
He liked making her smile. He liked easing her pain and stress. He tried to identify this tumble of feelings she stirred within him despite his attempt to stay neutral.
Pity? No. Sarah Lapp was too strong a woman to be pitied.
Admiration. Respect. Yes, that was it. He refused to consider there was anything more.
“I will be moving back to the farm with you,” he said. “I’ll be your bodyguard while the rest of the police force concentrates on finding this guy. With my Amish background, it makes me the perfect choice for the job. I can blend in better than any of the other officers. I can help maintain respect for the Amish way of life.”
“Move in? With me?” Her eyes widened. Her mouth rounded in the shape of a perfect letter O, and a pink flush tinged her cheeks.
“We will both be staying with Rebecca and Jacob. We believe you will be the primary target because the shooter still believes you possess the diamonds. You also saw his face and lived. He can’t afford to let you talk to the authorities. He will try to make sure that doesn’t happen. If we can apprehend him when he makes his move, then everyone else will be safe as well.”
“So I am going to be the bait to hook the fish?”
Now it was his turn for heat to rush into his face. He felt embarrassed and ashamed because she was right. He was using her as bait.
“It’s all right, Samuel. I understand. I will do this thing if it will help keep the others safe. When do we begin?”
“Soon.” He gave her fingers a light squeeze. “You will be in the hospital a little while longer. You still need time to heal. But try not to worry. I will not let anything happen to you while you are in my care.”
“I am not in your care, Samuel.” Her smile widened. “I am in God’s hands.”
“Then that is a good thing, ya? With God on our side, we can’t lose.” Sam grinned, hoping his cavalier attitude would build her confidence and help her relax. “Concentrate on regaining your strength. Let me worry about all the bad guys out there.”
The door pushed open behind them. Captain Rogers and Sam’s partner, Joe Masterson, stood in the doorway. “Detective King, may I see you in the hall for a moment?”
Sam released her hand. “I’ll be back. Remember, no worrying allowed. Everything is going to work for good, just the way the Lord intends.”
* * *
Sarah tried to still the apprehension that skittered over her nerve endings when she found herself alone in the room. The police were going to use her as bait to catch a killer. Her breath caught in her throat, and she could feel the rapid beating of her heart beneath her hand on her chest. Was she strong enough, brave enough?
You can do this. You must do this. These people need you to help them.
These people? Where had that thought come from? These were her people, weren’t they? Her family? She knew she felt a warm affection for both Rebecca and Jacob. They had been wonderfully kind and attentive to her since she’d come out of her coma.
But as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t feel a connection to them. At least not the kind of connection they seemed to expect. They were kind people. Loving people. But were they her people?
She tried again to conjure up a memory, even the slightest wisp of one, of Peter. Rebecca had told her that they’d grown up together and were the best of friends. They were happily married. They were expecting a child.
Sarah placed a hand on her stomach, feeling the slight swell beneath her touch. Their child. And she couldn’t even remember Peter’s face.
A stab of pain pierced her heart. She must be a shallow person to not remember someone she had obviously loved. Love goes soul deep, doesn’t it? Love wouldn’t be forgotten so quickly, would it?
Maybe it hadn’t been love. Maybe it had been friendship or convenience or companionship. Maybe it was an emotion that hadn’t claimed her heart at all. She would never know now.
Her eyes strayed to the hospital room door, and her thoughts turned to Samuel.
She was certain if a person were to fall in love with Samuel, it would be a deep, abiding love. It would be two souls uniting before God. It would last a lifetime and not be forgotten by injury or time.
Her heart fluttered in her chest at just the thought that she might be starting to have feelings for Samuel, before she angrily shooed them away.
Foolish notions. That was one thing she was quickly learning about herself. She was often a victim of foolish notions.
THREE
“There’s been another murder.”
Apprehension straightened Sam’s spine. “Another murder? Who? When?”
“Not here. Follow me.” Captain Rogers, Joe and Sam strode briskly to the conference room and took their seats. The tension in the room was almost palpable.
Sam stole a moment to study his superior’s face. The past seven days had made their mark. He noted his captain’s furrowed brow, the lines of strain etched on each side of his mouth, but what caught his attention the most was the bone-weary fatigue he saw in his eyes. The political pressure to find a quick solution to a complicated, ever-worsening scenario was taking its toll.
The captain folded his hands on the table. “There’s no sugarcoating this, so I’m just going to say it. Around 2:00 a.m. last night, Steven Miller was murdered.”
“Steven Miller?” Sam leaned back in his chair. “Isn’t that the name of the second diamond-heist robber?” He threw a hurried glance at both men. “Didn’t we have him in custody?”
“Yep. Same guy.” Joe’s expression was grim. “We had him under armed guard in a secluded room in a medical center in the Bronx.”
“Special Agent Lopez called me first thing this morning.” Captain Rogers wiped a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. “The man was suffocated with one of his own pillows.”
“How could something like this happen? He was under armed guard. Did they at least catch the guy?”
“No. He did it on the graveyard shift, when there would be fewer people roaming the halls or in attendance. Once Miller’s heart stopped, the monitors went off at the nurse’s station. By the time the nurse and crash cart personnel arrived at the room, he had disappeared.”
“Any leads? Witnesses?” Sam tried to calm his racing thoughts. This shooter had walked into a hospital and murdered a man in police custody. The degree of difficulty to keep Sarah safe just rose several more notches.
“We believe it was the ring leader of the group,” Rogers said. “The same guy we’re expecting to show up here. We figure he left here right after the schoolhouse shootings and returned to New York. He spent the week tracking down the whereabouts of his partner in crime, did his surveillance of the medical center and set a plan in motion. He’s never left anyone alive who could identify him. He wasn’t about to leave one of his team in the hands of the enemy.”
“I don’t believe this guy.” Sam ran his hand through his hair. He could feel his blood throb in a rapid beat on each side of his temple. “You’re telling me that he just walked up to a guarded room, slipped inside, killed our witness and left? Why didn’t our guards stop him? What did they have to say when they were questioned?”
“Nothing.” Joe’s expression grew grimmer. “The perp slit the guard’s throat. Nobody knows whether it was coming or going, so we’re not sure if that’s how he gained access or how he covered his tracks when he left. But we think it was on the way out, because a nurse reported that she had stopped and asked the police officer if he’d like a cup of coffee only moments before. She’d just sat down at her desk when the monitor alarm went off.”
“What about the surveillance cameras?” The throbbing in Sam’s temples became a full-blown headache. He closed his eyes for a second or two and rubbed his fingers on the tender spots beside his eyes before locking his gaze on Rogers. “We’re not chasing a shadow. He’s a flesh-and-blood man just like the rest of us. Somebody had to see something.”
Captain Rogers frowned. “Lopez identified someone he believes is the perp on the tapes. The suspect shows up in multiple camera shots and hides his face every time. Lopez sent the digital images to the FBI labs for further enhancement.”
“How did he get into the room in the first place?” Sam shot a glance between his partner and Captain Rogers. “We discussed his security plan with Lopez before he left. It seemed solid.”
“It was solid.” Rogers sighed heavily. “There was a police presence visible at the elevator banks, both in the lobby and the floor in question. There was an officer at the door of the patient’s room as well. Matter of fact, Lopez had created a dummy room with an armed guard, so it wouldn’t be easy for someone off the street to easily identify the actual location of our prisoner.”
“Yeah, I thought that part of the plan was brilliant myself,” Joe said. “I guess the dog we’re chasing is smart, too.”
“I don’t get it.” Sam was finding it difficult to process this new information. When he spoke again, he addressed his captain.
“Lopez told me he had a dual checkpoint in place. Every person entering that room would have had to be cleared—not just the doctors and nurses, but housekeeping and
dietary would have had to follow the same protocol. They had to be wearing a photo identification badge, and as a fail-safe that photo ID had to match the image in the guard’s laptop.
“Even if this guy did manage to create a fake badge, are you telling me that he was able to hack into the hospital personnel files and upload his picture so he’d pass the guard’s scrutiny?”
A slow, steady burn formed in his gut and spread through his body. Sam leaned back and threw his arms in the air. “If the guy is that good, we need him running the FBI, not running from it.”
“He found a loophole,” Captain Rogers said.
Sam arched an eyebrow. “Ya think?”
Rogers ignored the sarcasm.
“Lopez set up a failsafe plan for hospital personnel. He even went one step further and insured that the same police personnel rotated shifts on the door so anyone would question a stranger in uniform, and the officers would recognize their replacements. The guard would also log the time in and out of the room for each visitor.”
Sam leaned forward, waiting for more.
“What Lopez didn’t consider was that the culprit would create a fake FBI identity. There wasn’t anything on the laptop for FBI because Lopez intended to be the only one accessing the room. Unfortunately, he failed to make sure the guards knew it. That’s how we figure he got past the guard. He pretended to be one of Lopez’s own.”
“I told you,” Joe said. “The guy’s smart.”
Sam jumped to his feet. “Sarah...”
Captain Rogers waved Sam back down.
“Sit down, King. We’re taking care of it.”
“We need to move her to another floor ASAP,” Sam urged.
“I already talked with her doctor,” Joe said. “She’s stable enough to be moved out of ICU, so they are making arrangements for a private room as we speak.”
“Our men will be handling security on the door—not FBI, not hospital security guards—us.” Rogers glared at both of them. “Nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to happen to that woman on our watch. Understood?”
Sam’s heart started to beat a normal rhythm for the first time since he’d heard of Steven Miller’s murder. He didn’t know how this guy could keep slipping through traps, avoiding surveillance cameras and sidestepping witnesses, but it didn’t matter. No matter what it took, Sam wasn’t going to let the jerk anywhere near Sarah or any of the people who loved her.
With renewed determination, he shoved back from the table and stood. “Captain, with all due respect, don’t you think we’ve talked enough? The ball is in our court now. We’d better get busy setting things in motion. The FBI botched this one, but we can’t afford to. If he shows up here, I intend to make sure he’s sorry he didn’t stay in New York—deadly sorry.”
“King.” The censoring tone in his superior’s voice cemented his feet to the floor. “Your Amish background gives you a leg up over my other officers. I picked you because I believe you can deal with the nuances of this case the best. But for that same reason, you need to be careful. You can’t let your emotions color your judgment and jeopardize this case. Everything by the book. Got it?”
Sam nodded.
“Good. Now get back to Sarah. I’m going to finalize the room move with the hospital administrator while Joe coordinates the shift coverage outside her door.”
Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He was halfway down the hall with the door easing shut behind him before the captain had stopped speaking.
* * *
The man made a final adjustment to the fake beard that covered the lower part of his face, being sure to keep his upper lip clean, as was the Amish custom. He stared at the reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the door and admired his handiwork.
The blond shaggy wig brushed the back of his neck. It made him twitch the way one might with an errant insect racing down your arm, and he shivered with disgust.
He was a man who took great pride in his appearance. His chestnut-brown hair was always faithfully groomed in a short, concise military cut. His fingernails were manicured at all times, his clothing choices impeccable. He’d be glad when this distasteful costume was no longer necessary.
He leaned in for a closer look at the blue contacts he’d worn to conceal his brown eyes. He finished off the look by donning a pair of plain, wire-rimmed glasses. The transformation was amazing.
He glanced down at his outfit. His clothes looked like they’d been woven a century ago. What kind of people willingly dressed like this?
He couldn’t wait to get out of this outfit and back into one of his expensive Armani suits. He longed to sit in his butter-soft leather chair, sip the prime Scotch from his private collection and gaze out his plate-glass window overlooking the ocean.
He hooked his fingers behind his suspenders, turned sideways and grunted with satisfaction.
One obstacle still remained.
He glanced at his immaculate nails. He’d have to go outside and dig in a flower bed. The thought of dirt under his fingernails actually caused his stomach to roil. But these men worked on farms. He imagined they grew used to the feeling of soil and debris as their manicure of the day. The thought made his lips twist into a frown of disgust.
Well, it wouldn’t be for long. Diamonds valued in the billions were definitely worth this ridiculous costume and a little dirt, weren’t they?
He sighed heavily. He’d have a very limited opportunity to interrogate the woman. But he wasn’t worried. If he couldn’t get her to tell him where she’d hidden the diamonds before he eliminated her, then he’d find them another way.
He rolled his white sleeves up to his elbows and smiled with satisfaction. Even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him. If she had still been alive, that is. He paused for a moment and allowed himself to remember the look of panic and fear he’d seen in her eyes moments before he squeezed the life out of her.
He’d learned many things in his lifetime. One of the most important lessons was that when you needed to infiltrate enemy lines, it was best to blend in, give off an air of confidence, act like you belonged exactly where you were.
It had served him well over the years. His enemies had never sensed his presence—even though he was often right in their midst, hiding in plain sight, as the saying goes.
He stepped back, donned his straw hat and headed to the door.
* * *
Nighttime in hospitals always gave Sam the willies. Fewer staff. People speaking in whispers. Tonight his “willies alert” was operating on full throttle. Some cops called it gut instinct. Either way, Sam hated the tension that shot along his nerve endings, the fingers of unease that crept up his spine.
The only discernible sound as he moved through the empty corridors was the soft whirring of machines from open doorways, an occasional whimper of pain or a soft snore.
He was tired. Bone tired. He hadn’t had more than two hours of uninterrupted sleep in the past thirty-six hours, and it was beginning to catch up with him. He wasn’t a kid anymore—thirty-four on his next birthday, and he needed those eight hours of sleep. Or at least six. Who was he kidding? He’d settle for four if he could snatch them.
He glanced into the rooms as he passed by. They’d taken a risk when they’d moved Sarah to the pediatric floor. He didn’t want to imagine the uproar the parents of these children would unleash if they had any idea that the bait to catch a killer had just been moved into their midst.
Captain Rogers had arranged the move. He firmly believed this would be the last floor in the hospital the perpetrator would expect to find Sarah. The captain didn’t seem worried about the sensitive location. He was certain that even if the killer did locate Sarah, the children would be safe because they weren’t his target. Sarah was.
Sam moved past the rooms filled with sleeping children. He offered a silent prayer that the captain hadn’t made a horrendous mistake. As he drew near Sarah’s room, he recognized the officer sitting in front of the door.
“Hey, Fitch, how’s it going?”
The policeman folded his newspaper and grinned when he saw Sam approach. He gestured with his head toward the door.
“You’d think she was a Hollywood celebrity or something. Orders came down from the top that this is the last day allowed for visitation. It’s been a steady stream of Amish folks in and out all afternoon saying their goodbyes. First thing tomorrow morning, the only Amish visitor allowed to visit is her former mother-in-law, Rebecca Lapp. No one else. Period.”
Sam nodded. “Good. How did everyone else take the news?”
“Truthfully, I think they were a little relieved. They’ve been taking turns keeping vigil at the hospital all week. I’m sure they want to return to their homes and their farms.”
Officer Brian Fitch stood and stretched his back. “I must admit I’m glad they’ve cut back on visiting. Less work for me. I hear the Amish go down when the sun does, so that’s probably why it’s been quiet the last few hours.” Fitch shot a glance at Sam’s Amish attire. “No offense intended or anything.”
Sam grinned. “None taken. You’re right. The Amish do go to bed early because they are up before dawn each day to begin their chores. Running a farm is not an easy task.”
Sam leaned his hand flat against the door and then paused before he pushed it open. “You look beat. Why don’t you go stretch your legs? Maybe grab a cup of coffee while you’re at it? I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“You sure?”
Sam opened his jacket and patted the gun in his shoulder holster. “I’m still a cop. Remember?”
Fitch grinned. “Yeah, well, you sure could fool me. You look like a natural fit with the rest of those folks. If I hadn’t recognized you from our precinct, I’d be checking your ID and trying to talk you out of visiting altogether.”
Sam grinned. “That coffee is calling your name, Fitch.”
“You want me to bring you something back?”
“No, I’m good.”
Taking advantage of Sam’s offer to cover the room, the guard nodded and hurried to the elevator banks, not giving Sam a chance to change his mind.
The telltale ding of the arriving elevator filled the silence of the night, and Fitch waved. Sam gave him a nod and then entered Sarah’s room.
FOUR
The night-light above the hospital bed cast the room in a soft, white haze. Sam looked down upon the sleeping woman, and his breath caught in his throat.
With stress and pain absent from her expression, she looked peaceful, young and surprisingly beautiful.
Long blond hair poked from beneath the bandages that swathed her head and flowed like golden silk over her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed, giving her smooth complexion a rosy glow. Lost in sleep and probably dreaming, her lips formed a tiny pout. For the second time in as many days, he had to fight the temptation to taste the softness of those lips.
She was young and vulnerable and...
And she took his breath away.
Although he’d found her attractive when they’d first met, he’d been consumed with the business of ensuring her safety and nothing else.
But now...
In the quiet semidarkness of the evening, she reminded him of a sleeping princess and, for one insane moment, he felt an urge to awaken the princess with a kiss.
Shocked by that unexpected and traitorous thought, he stepped back from the bed as quickly as if he had touched an electrified fence, and then chuckled at his foolishness.
His eyes fell on a white kapp resting on the hospital tray table beside Sarah’s bed. Rebecca must have placed it there. Sam wondered why. Rebecca had to know that Sarah’s injuries would not allow her to wear the kapp for quite some time.
Then he glanced around the room and grinned. The middle-aged woman was sly like a fox. This room was a sterile slice of the Englischer’s world. Monitors. Hospital bed. Even a television hanging on the far wall. This kapp resting in plain sight and at arm’s length would be a constant reminder of the Amish world waiting for Sarah’s return.
He glanced at Sarah’s sleeping form one more time before he forced himself to turn away. Before exiting the room, he stepped inside the bathroom. He needed to throw some cold water on his face and try to wake up. His exhaustion was making him think crazy thoughts, have crazy feelings.
He used the facilities and washed his hands. He turned off the water and was drying his hands on a paper towel when a sound caught his attention. He paused and concentrated, listening to the silence.
There it was again. Just the whisper of sound, like the soft rustling of clothing against skin as a person moved about.
He crumpled the paper towel into a ball, tossed it into the trash can and pushed open the bathroom door. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the change from bright to dim light as he reentered Sarah’s room. A tall man dressed in Amish clothing stood in the shadows on the far side of Sarah’s bed.
A feeling of unease slithered up Sam’s spine. Why would an Amish man be visiting at this time of night, and without a female companion in tow? Sam slid his jacket aside for easy access to his gun and stepped farther into the room.
“May I help you?” he asked in Pennsylvania Dutch dialect.
The visitor didn’t reply. He removed his straw hat and nodded as a person who was apologizing for the late-night visit might. He sidestepped around the bed.
Sam stood too far from the light switch at the door to be able to fully illuminate the room. He had to rely on the soft glow from above Sarah’s bed. Because the visitor held the hat higher than normal, Sam was unable to get a clear view of the man’s face. His gut instincts slammed into gear. He drew his gun and aimed for the middle of the man’s chest.
“Don’t move.” Sam made no attempt to hide the steel resolve beneath his words. Slowly, he stepped toward the main light switch. He shifted his glance just long enough to see how much farther he had to go.
The visitor immediately took advantage of this momentary distraction, dived sideways and simultaneously threw a pillow at Sam.
Instinctively, Sam raised an arm to protect his face. He pushed the pillow away, recovered quickly from the unexpected gesture and fired his weapon at the man’s back as he sprinted out the door. The splintered wood of the door frame told him he’d missed his mark.
Sam sprang forward in pursuit. He’d almost reached the door when his right foot slid out from under him. He struggled to regain his balance and not fall. When he got his footing again, he glanced down and saw a syringe poking out from beneath his foot. He bent down and picked it up.
Suddenly, the monitor beside Sarah’s bed erupted in a loud, continuous alarm. Sam’s gaze flew to the screen and horror filled his soul. A flat, solid green line moved across the screen. Sarah’s heart was no longer beating.
Before Sam could react, the door burst open. The room flooded with light. A nurse, quickly followed by another, burst into the room and rushed past him to Sarah’s bed. While one nurse tended to the monitor and alarms, the other began CPR on Sarah. Seconds later, several other staff members hurried into the room with a crash cart pulled by the doctor close behind.
Sam knew he should be chasing the man who had done this, but his feet wouldn’t budge. His eyes flew to Sarah’s face. She lay so still, deathly still. He couldn’t believe this was happening and, worse, that it had happened on his watch. Feelings of failure were quickly replaced first with fear that he’d lost her, and then by a deep, burning rage that he was helpless once again.
Sam had to leave—now. But he could barely find the inner strength to pull himself away from Sarah’s side. This was his fault. But there was nothing he could do for her now. She was in better hands than his, and he refused to let the lowlife who did this escape. Not this time. Not ever again.
Sam pressed his hand on the shoulder of the nearest nurse. When she turned to look at him, he shoved the syringe in her hand. “I found this on the floor. I believe something was injected into her IV.”
As soon as she took it from him, he raced for the hospital room door. Before he could pull it open, a woman’s scream pierced the air, and the sounds of chaos filled the corridor. Something was terribly wrong. Had the mystery man grabbed a hostage or, worse, hurt one of the children?
Whispering a silent prayer for Sarah, Sam wrenched open the door and darted into the corridor.
A small gathering of people congregated at the end of the hall around the elevator banks. One woman had collapsed on the floor. Sam figured from the shocked expression on her face as he drew near, and from the sobs racking her body, that this was the woman who had screamed. An older gentleman hovered over her and tried to offer comfort.
A man dressed in green scrubs knelt half in and half out of an open elevator. Another man, also dressed in hospital garb, leaned close behind.
Sam pushed his way through the few gathering spectators and up front to survey the scene. For the second time that night, he felt like a mule had kicked him in the gut.
Officer Brian Fitch was sprawled on the elevator floor. One look at his open, sightless eyes and the trail of blood pooling beneath his body said it all. The officer hadn’t made it downstairs for coffee.
Sam remembered the sound of the elevator arriving. Their surprise night visitor must have been on it. When the door opened, Fitch was busy nodding to him and must have been caught unaware. One quick, deadly slice across the officer’s throat guaranteed that Fitch would never need coffee or exercise again.
Sam pulled out his badge and ordered everyone back, including the hospital staff. There was nothing any of them could do for Fitch now, and he had to protect whatever forensic evidence they’d be able to gather. Sam called hospital security on his cell phone, which he had put on speed dial for the duration of Sarah’s hospital stay.
But somebody else had beaten him to it. The second elevator bank hummed to life. He held his hand on his gun and watched two startled guards emerge and stare at the carnage in front of them.
Sam identified himself as an undercover police officer, despite his Amish garb, and flashed his detective’s shield and identification. He hoped he hadn’t just blown his cover, but at the moment it couldn’t be helped.
“Shut down every possible exit,” he commanded. “Do it now.”
Without hesitation, one of the guards barked orders into his radio while the other attended to crowd control. Sam offered a silent prayer of thanks that if this had to happen, it had happened late in the evening and gawkers were at a minimum.
He hit speed dial on his phone and barked orders the second his partner answered.
“Joe, we have a problem. Get over here, stat.”
They’d been partners long enough that when Joe heard the tension in his voice, he was on full alert, and any drowsiness in his tone from interrupted sleep was gone.
“What happened?”
“Fitch is dead. Sarah might be, too. It’s total chaos here.”
Muttered expletives floated through the receiver. “On my way.”
“Notify Rogers and call for backup.”
“Okay. Where can I find you?”
“Making sure that every window, door and crack of this hospital is sealed shut so this piece of slime doesn’t escape.”
Sam ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He stole one more precious second to glance down the hall at Sarah’s door. Every fiber of his being wanted to know what was going on in that room. Had they been able to save her? Or was she dead? The fact that no one had come out of the room yet must be a good sign, right? He had to fight the urge to run back and see what was happening. But no matter what was going on inside that room, he would not be able to help. This time logic won out.
He did what he was trained to do. He compartmentalized his emotions and focused on doing his job. He sprinted down the stairwell, his feet barely touching the stairs, and made it from the fourth floor to the lobby in record time. The sound of approaching sirens and the sight of flashing red-and-blue lights as vehicles slammed to a stop in front of the building told him that both Joe and hospital security had also gone straight to work.
Security guards were already at the entrance. They looked confused and highly nervous, but Sam had to admire how quickly and well they had sprung into action. No one was getting in or out of the building right now except cops.
Sam met with the head of security and asked to see the building’s floor plans. Once they were in hand, he began to coordinate a thorough hospital search room by room, floor by floor, while making sure that all exits were covered. For the time being, no one would be allowed to exit, for any reason, from anywhere.
Twenty minutes after he’d called Joe, Sam saw his partner flash his badge and hurry through the front door. He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped forward to greet him.
Joe stopped short when he saw Sam approach. He shoved both hands into his coat pockets and scowled. “Want to tell me what happened?”
“The killer entered Sarah’s room dressed in Amish garb.” Before Joe could ask, Sam said, “He killed the police officer assigned to guard the door. It was Brian Fitch.”
The detectives knew the officer well. A deep frown etched grooves on both sides of Joe’s mouth.
“Has anybody notified his wife?”
“Not yet.”
“And Sarah?”
“I think the guy injected something into Sarah’s IV to stop her heart.”
“Is she dead? Were they able to resuscitate her?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to check. I’ve been organizing the search.”
Joe’s shocked expression echoed the one Sam was sure he wore as well. “How did this happen? Nobody can be this lucky. The guy’s a ghost.”
“The guy’s no ghost. He’s as much flesh and blood as you and me.”
“I just don’t understand. What happened?” Joe shot a bewildered look at Sam.
“I was there, Joe. Right there.” The remorse in his voice was evident. “He got past me anyway and got to Sarah.”
“Were you hurt? Did he hit you over the head or something?”
A red-hot flush of shame and embarrassment coated Sam’s throat and face. “Sarah was sleeping. I’d stepped into her bathroom to throw some cold water on my face. I didn’t hear him come in until it was too late. The room was dark. He threw something at me. It distracted me enough that he was able to get past me.”
Joe nodded. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. It could have happened to any of us.”
“But it didn’t. It happened on my watch. Mine, Joe.”
Joe grimaced. They’d been partners long enough that Sam knew Joe understood this was about more than what was happening now. This shame and pain and anger stretched back to another time and another place, when Sam had been helpless to save loved ones or bring perps to justice.
Joe patted Sam’s arm, empathy evident in his eyes, and then changed the subject. “Where do we stand with the search?”
“The best I’ve been able to do is get all the exits covered. We’re dealing with graveyard shift. We don’t have a lot of warm bodies in the security department right now.”
“Where do you want me?”
“Downstairs.” Sam walked with Joe to the elevator bank. “I don’t believe the guy will try to walk out any of the obvious exits. He’s got to know they’re the first places we’d shut down. Check every single room in the basement. Housekeeping has storage rooms, supply rooms. I think there are even some employee lockers and break rooms down there. And, of course, the morgue and the autopsy rooms. I’ve sent security guards to the loading platform by the morgue, but I’ll feel better if one of us is checking things out.”
“You got it.”
The elevator doors opened, and Joe stepped inside.
“Be careful. Fitch was found dead with his throat slashed.”
“Great. Just what I want to hear.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin just as the doors shut.
Within thirty minutes of the initial alert, the SWAT team, special weapons and tactics, arrived, quickly followed by Captain Rogers. Sam shared what he knew, and they took over command of the ongoing search.
They hadn’t located the perpetrator yet. But the hospital looked like a military camp in Afghanistan for all the uniformed and armed personnel swarming the halls. They’d catch him.
Sam threw a glance at his captain and saw the man in a deep conversation with both the SWAT team leader and the head of hospital security. Everything that could be done was being done. Finally, he’d have a moment to find out what had happened to Sarah.
* * *
Adrenaline hammered through the intruder’s blood stream, and the beat of his heart thundered in his chest. Who knew all those morning jogs along the beach outside his home would have prepared him for the race of his life? He’d made it down five flights of stairs into the basement without anyone seeing him and, he was certain, before anyone could even sound the alarm.
What a rush! He thought it had been too simple when he caught the cop sneaking away for a break. But that’s why he loved operating during the graveyard shift. People often snuck away or fell asleep. Made his job so much easier.
But when he’d slipped inside the darkened hospital room, he’d never expected someone might be in the bathroom.
The man had been dressed like an Amish guy, but he wasn’t any more Amish than he was. Not carrying that 9 mm Beretta he had fired at him. He was probably an undercover cop.
Undercover cop. Undercover villain. Both disguised in Amish garb. The whole situation was laughable—and dangerous.
He stood with his back against the wall of the storage closet, trying to quiet the sound of his heavy gasps.
He could hear the pounding of feet racing down the corridor and hear the anxious, high-pitched whispers the guards shot to each other as they did a quick search of every room.
The sounds grew louder as the men approached his hiding spot.
He pushed into the far back corner of the room and crouched behind a utility cart with a large white mop and aluminum bucket attached. His hand tightened around the pistol grip of his gun, and he waited.
The door to the closet swung open. One of the security guards scanned the room with a flashlight. Just as quickly, he was gone.
Idiots.
They hadn’t even bothered to throw on the light switch or step into the room. No wonder hospital security guards had the reputation of being toy cops. How did they expect to find anyone with such a lazy, half-done search?
He grinned and relaxed his hand, lowering his weapon.
Lucky for them they were stupid, or they’d be dead security guards just about now.
He stepped out from behind the cart when a sudden flash of light made him squint and raise his hand to his eyes. Someone had thrown on the switch, illuminating the room, and it took his eyes a second to adjust.
“Don’t move! Drop your weapon and slide it over to me. Do it now!”
This wasn’t a security guard. He looked into eyes of cold, hard steel. This must be a detective. A smart one, too.
Slowly, he lowered his weapon to the floor and kicked it in the detective’s direction.
The detective moved farther into the room, never lowering his gun. He stepped to the side and withdrew a pair of handcuffs with his free hand. “Nice and easy now. Put your hands out where I can see them, and slowly walk over here.”
Again, he did as requested.
The detective clasped a cuff onto his right wrist.
With speed resulting from years of martial arts training, he spun, released the blade sheathed on the inside of his sleeve and slashed the detective’s throat.
The killer grinned. He always loved the look of surprise and horror on his victims’ faces, and this detective looked shocked, indeed.
He removed his Amish clothes and quickly donned the detective’s cheap brown suit. His lips twisted in disgust. The pants were about two inches too short, the waist at least two sizes too big, and the sleeves of the suit jacket revealed too much forearm. He shoved some towels under his shirt and cinched his belt tight to hold them in and his pants up.
He glowered at the pant length. When a scenario like this played out in the movies, the exchanged clothes were always a perfect fit. Just his luck this wasn’t a movie. But he’d have to make do.
He slipped the detective’s badge onto his belt, retrieved both guns from the floor and took one last look around to make sure he left nothing of significance behind. His eyes paused on the dead body.
“Sorry, buddy. You were good. Much better than those security guard wannabes. But I’m better. You never stood a chance.”
He used a towel to wipe away fingerprints on the light switch and doorknob. He shut off the light, glanced up and down the empty corridor, stepped into the hall and leisurely walked away.
FIVE
Sam couldn’t breathe.
He tried. But only shallow wisps of breath escaped his lips.
As soon as he could move...or react...or feel anything but pain, he’d remind himself to inhale deeply.
Yep. He’d do that. Just as soon as the world stopped spinning.
“Do you recognize this man?” A male nurse kneeling beside the body on the floor glanced up at him. “Is he one of yours?”
Tears burned Sam’s eyes. His throat clenched, making it impossible for him to speak. The nonchalance of the strangers doing their jobs roiled his stomach. To them, this was just another body. To him...
Sam glanced at the body of the man, dressed only in underwear, lying on the utility room floor. He hated what his eyes relayed to his brain, but he couldn’t seem to turn away.

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