by Dana Mentink
“Your mother said her long-term care was our responsibility, but your mother’s gone and I’ve had enough of your tomfoolery.”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll put an end to the problem.”
Emma wasn’t the problem Lizzie wanted to scream. Andrew was.
“Your uncle’s going on vacation after a rehabilitation symposium we’re both taking part in at the end of the week. I’ll fly home Saturday afternoon for the party that evening. Wait until Warren has left the area and I’m back in Florida before you do anything. Don’t mess this up, Andrew. If you make a mistake, I’ll disavow knowledge of her, as well as you.”
“You disowned me years ago.”
“If not for your mother, I might have. Although she’s gone, so nothing’s holding me back now. Do this right, Andy, and we’ll continue to keep in touch. Make a mistake and you’re no longer my son.”
“I don’t know why mother married you?”
“Like you, she probably wanted my money. Now get out of here.”
“Only after you open the safe.”
“What?”
“I deserve a hefty bonus for my hard work on the island.”
Mr. Thompson jeered. “The resort was better served before I gave you the assistant manager job.”
Lizzie’s chest tightened. If she had the nursing home’s address, she could find Emma.
Pulse racing, she hurried into Mr. Thompson’s office, eased the door closed behind her and shuffled through the papers on his desk. In her haste, she failed to see the brass letter opener that dropped to the floor. She stooped to retrieve the heavy object.
Her breath caught as she heard the office door open. Rising upright, she turned. Her heart nearly stopped. Andrew Thompson towered in the doorway. The hateful man Emma had gone off with that night stood six-two, with collar-length brown hair and piercing eyes that widened with surprise.
Mr. Thompson pushed past his son. “You’re still here, Elizabeth?”
“The silver, sir. I was polishing—”
“She heard us.” Andrew was beside her that fast. He grabbed her arm. His fingers dug into her flesh. His breath reeked of alcohol and his eyes flashed with anger.
“Where’s Emma?” she demanded. “I thought you killed her, but if she’s alive, I’m going to find her.”
He slapped her face. Lizzie reeled backward. Her hip crashed into the desk. Pain shot along her spine.
“Andrew, no!” Mr. Thompson stepped between them.
His son shoved him aside. The older man fell to the floor.
Andrew wrapped his hands around Lizzie’s neck.
She gasped.
Mr. Thompson tried to stand. “Stop, Andrew.”
“She was with Emma that night.”
“What!” His father’s eyes widened, his face reddened.
Andrew’s grasp tightened. “I’ll take care of both of them.”
Struggling to pull free of his hold, Lizzie raised the letter opener and stabbed his neck.
“Augh!” He dropped his hands and fell back. Blood spewed from the puncture wound.
Fear clutched her heart. She moaned, frozen in time.
A warning sounded in her head. Run!
Without another moment’s hesitation, she fled the office, crossed the foyer, dashed into the kitchen and out the back door. The cool night air greeted her.
Glancing down at her right hand, she saw blood on her fingers. Andrew’s blood. Her stomach roiled with revulsion. She wiped her hand over her apron and raced across the expansive porch. Her feet tripped down the steps. She caught herself and ran along the servants’ drive.
“Alert security,” Mr. Thompson’s voice bellowed from inside the house.
Lizzie’s heart pounded so hard she feared it would explode. She saw her bike, grabbed the handlebars and pushed off, her feet pumping as fast as they could go.
The rear gate hung open. A roar filled her ears as she zipped through the wrought iron opening, crossed the street and headed onto a back road. Less than a minute later, a security car pulled out of the property and onto the street almost directly behind her.
She peddled faster. Mr. Thompson would do anything to protect his reputation, especially when he was set to announce his candidacy. The only thing that would stop his rise to power was Andrew. His wild living and hunger for young women would wreck his father’s political aspirations.
Emma was alive!
Tears of relief burned Lizzie’s eyes along with concern for what her friend had endured. Andrew had beaten her? Lizzie’s heart broke, thinking how Emma must have suffered.
She wiped her cheeks and swallowed hard.
Headlights crawled over her. She glanced back, seeing the security vehicle, its bright light on the roof flashing. She turned into a nearby driveway and peddled around the ranch-style A-frame house bedecked with Christmas lights, through the green space and the neighboring property on the next street.
At the corner, she turned east, cut behind a gas station and sped along an alleyway.
A dog barked. Keep him at bay, she silently prayed to Gott, whom she had ignored for too long.
A siren sounded. Its shrill scream in the dark night shoved her heartbeat up a notch. Bile rose in her throat. She pushed on until her hands ached from gripping the handlebars and the calves of her legs burned with fatigue.
Her apartment was nearby, but that was the first place Mr. Thompson’s men would look.
What about law enforcement? Would security notify the police, and would they be waiting for her at home? Mouth dry, head pounding, she steered onto a narrow two-lane.
The nearby highway was awash with flashing lights as if every law-enforcement agency in the surrounding area had been called in. An accident or were they searching for her?
If so, she didn’t have a chance.
Unless she laid low until the frenzy of their search died down. A hiding place came to mind. Some distance away, but she was determined to find shelter and safety at least for tonight.
The ride took longer than she remembered from her youth. The sound of a car’s engine caused her to turn. Headlights caught Lizzie in their glare. A siren screamed to life. She peddled into another alleyway, then along a dirt path and through a backyard, fearing what would happen if security found her.
Andrew’s words played through her mind. “I’ll take care of both of them.”
Turning onto a narrow road, she crossed Phillippi Creek. Pinecraft Park was on her right. She hurried along Fry Street, passed Good Avenue and turned onto a side street. In her mind’s eyes, she saw Emma flirting with a young Amish man at the park during one of the evening singings. Later that same night, she and Emma had giggled to themselves and dreamed of the future.
The future was now, with all its terrible reality.
Her shoulders and legs burned, but she needed to find her hiding place. She turned right, then left. Surely security wouldn’t look for her holed up in one of the houses usually rented to Amish families who bused south for a winter vacation before spring planting. This close to Christmas, a number of the small cottages sat dark and unoccupied.
Gasping, she entered the backyard of the house her own family had often rented and latched the gate behind her. She shoved her bike behind a row of oleander shrubs, found the large garden stone exactly where it had been three years ago, lifted it off the ground and dug in the dirt. Her fingers found the key.
Working quickly, she brushed off the sandy soil and hurried to the back door. Sirens drew closer. Her gut tightened.
With trembling hands, Lizzie opened the screen door, stuck the key in the lock and turned the knob.
“Who’s there?” A male voice, deep, demanding.
Her heart stopped.
She recognized the voice, but how—
He stepped to the doorway. Even in the darkness, she could see his bu
lk and the outline of his angled jaw.
The squeal of sirens neared. Lights flashed. A car turned at the corner and braked to a stop. Shouts sounded in the night.
Fear lodged in her throat. She stared at the man in the doorway, her voice little more than a whisper when she spoke.
“Help—help me, Caleb.”
He hesitated for half a heartbeat, then grabbed her arm and yanked her inside. He closed the door, engaged the lock and pulled her tight against him, his lips to her ear.
“Be silent, Lizzie, so they do not hear you.”
Growing up, she had always felt safe with Caleb Zook, but tonight, with the security guards shouting outside, she doubted anyone—even the man who had planned to marry Emma Bontrager—could save her.
* * *
Caleb never thought he would see Lizzie again after he left the North Georgia mountains and turned his back on the Amish community.
How had she found him? And why?
A knock sounded at the front door.
Knowing she was in danger, Caleb hurried her into a spare bedroom. “Do not make a sound.”
He ruffled his hair, untucked his white shirt, lowered one suspender over his arm and kicked off his shoes.
The knock came again, followed by an insistent pounding that nearly shook the house.
“Patience,” Caleb grumbled under his breath.
He inched the door open and feigned a yawn. “Yah?”
“We’re looking for a woman on a bicycle who may have entered this area. Five-five, dark hair, brown eyes.” The guy held up his cell.
Lizzie stared back at Caleb from the screen on the man’s phone. She appeared to be running from a stately home and looked scared.
Caleb scrubbed his hand over his face and chuckled as he pointed to the picture. “The only place I would have seen this pretty woman is in my dreams.”
“Look, buddy. Don’t play games with me.”
“I am not playing, but I am hoping to return to my bed as soon as possible.”
“What about your neighbors? No one’s answering their doors.”
“It is December, yah? Pinecraft will draw more visitors after Christmas.”
“Yet you’re here,” the guy sneered.
“I work in the area.”
“If you see this woman—” the guy pointed again to Lizzie’s picture, then jammed a business card into Caleb’s hand “—call my number.”
Estate Security.
“She has done something wrong?” Caleb asked.
“You got that right. Happened little over an hour ago. Stabbed a guy in the neck and forced him to open his safe.”
“She does not sound like someone from Pinecraft. Most people in this neighborhood are peace-loving Amish.”
“Amish or Englisch,” the guy snarled. “We need to find her. Watch your back. She’s dangerous.”
The guard hurried on to the next house. Caleb eyed the four men, wearing khaki slacks and navy shirts, who continued to knock on doors. Eventually, they headed back to their car. As they drove away, Caleb stepped into the cottage and locked the door behind him.
Hearing footsteps, he turned to see Lizzie in the hallway, her face pale, her lips drawn.
“Why did you come here?” he demanded.
“I... I never thought the house would be rented this close to Christmas.”
Caleb pulled in a deep breath, checked that the curtains were drawn and then flipped on a small light. He glanced at the uniform she wore. His chest tightened.
Stepping closer, he pointed to the streaks of blood that covered her apron. “Are you hurt?”
She glanced down and groaned. Her left hand reached for a nearby chair as if to steady herself. “Someone grabbed me. I had to protect myself.”
Pulling in a deep breath, she untied her apron, dropped it into the trash can near the kitchen sink and washed her hands over and over again as if trying to cleanse herself from what had happened.
When she turned back to him, her eyes were wide, her mouth drawn. “I need to stay here tonight, Caleb. I’ll leave in the morning.”
Growing up in the North Georgia mountains, Lizzie had been energetic with an adventurous spirit. As the years passed, she had become more levelheaded and deliberate in her actions. Tonight was different. Without a shadow of a doubt, she was in danger and unable to think beyond the moment.
He lowered his voice. “Where will you go?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure, Caleb, but I do not want to cause any more problems. I’ve already hurt you enough.”
Hurt me? He wanted to ask what she meant, but he saw the raw emotion in her gaze and the way her shoulders slumped with fatigue. He would brew a pot of coffee and feed her, as well as provide lodging for the night. Or as long as she needed refuge.
As much as he did not want to get involved, he could not stand by and do nothing to help Lizzie. He owed her that much. The three of them—he and Lizzie and Emma Bontrager—had been close friends who explored the hillsides together, fished in the river and often speculated about the future. Emma had been the flirt who seemed confident of his attention, while Lizzie had grown reserved and careful not to show her feelings as they aged. Especially when Emma was in one of her moods. Caleb appreciated the thoughtful way Lizzie approached life, but their friendship had been torn apart the night Emma went missing.
For the last three years, Caleb had tried to forget his own role in Emma’s disappearance. The day she had gone missing, she had asked when they would marry. Her brazenness had rocked him to the core, especially since he had done nothing to make her think he cared for her in a romantic way. Unsettled by her remark, he had explained that marriage wasn’t in their future. Her shocked expression and the way she had turned away from him in a huff was proof enough that Emma had gone to the beach on the rebound, in hopes Caleb would reconsider his plans for the future. All this time, he had tried to bury his own guilt in throwing her off balance that day. How ironic that now, because of Lizzie, he was once again face-to-face with the past.
The Englisch said Gott had a sense of humor, but Caleb was not laughing.
Copyright © 2020 by Deborah W. Giusti
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ISBN-13: 9781488061394
Cold Case Pursuit
Copyright © 2020 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Dana Mentink for her contribution to the True Blue K-9 Unit: Brooklyn miniseries.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book, please contact us at [email protected].
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