Which is usually when the TCD were called in.
The last of their team finally spoke. Axel Morrow had been promoted to Supervisory Special Agent when Alana had been promoted to Director five years prior. Although he was quick to remind them that he wanted to be viewed as part of the team and not the leader, there were moments when authority shone through his words.
“Which means we need to find out who’s behind the attacks sooner rather than later.”
“Agreed.” Alana found her gaze again. Carly was hyperaware of her own stillness. Everyone on the team had a set of skills, an expertise. One such person was Axel. He was a top-notch profiler and a damn near impossible man to beat at poker. If anyone was going to pick up on her slight change in behavior it was him.
Then again, considering Carly had a PhD in biological warfare and defense, it stood to reason her discomfort had everything to do with the case.
And not a past she’d tried to keep secret since she was eleven.
“Since Carly’s specialty is in biochemical terrorism, she will be lead agent on this,” Alana added.
Then she opened the floor up to questions.
“There’s no way it was something they contracted from the soil?” Selena asked. “I mean I’ve heard that anthrax can occur naturally, right?”
“This wasn’t natural,” Carly answered. She put her hand around her coffee mug but made sure not to stare into the drink. “Powdered anthrax spores don’t just appear coating pastures. Someone put it there.”
“Who would bother the Amish?” Max shifted in his seat again. “It’s not like they’re out there living fast and hard with questionable acts of indecency.”
Aria thumbed at her engagement ring and tilted her head, thoughtful.
“Maybe it was an inside job,” she said. “Someone from the community with an ax to grind. We all know vengeance can be a powerful motivator.”
Opaline shook her head.
“One of the basic tenants of their religion is pacifism to the extreme,” she pointed out. “They’re strictly conscientious objectors to all things aggression, violence and war. They even go as far as avoiding any and all involvement with the military. They’re famously not in the murder or vengeance game.”
“But they are into shunning,” Axel jumped in. “Those who leave or break their faith get the big boot out of the community to fend for themselves. We could be looking for someone who left trying to retaliate for being forced out.”
“And they’re human, after all. They could have a sociopath in their midst,” added Selena.
That quieted the room as they all mulled the possibility.
Carly looked at her cell phone on top of the table. She had often admired the Amish’s self-control when it came to living a more simple life. She could no more leave her phone behind than she could say goodbye to her high-tech apartment downtown. Yet the Amish made every decision with their virtues of simplicity and humility in mind.
And now someone had poisoned them?
If it wasn’t an outsider, then the community of Potter’s Creek was about to be rocked tenfold.
“We can talk more about religion and possible motives in transpo. We leave in two hours,” Axel said, standing. He and Alana shared a look. They’d no doubt already had their own briefing before this one had started. He gave them all a sweeping smile. Like him, it was filled with boyish charm. It lightened the mood. “And I suggest no one wear their good shoes.”
Opaline lightly laughed from behind her laptop.
“You heard the man, Selena,” she said, looking at her sister. “That means you might want to holster any heels over three inches. I don’t think Lous pair well with mud.”
While it was common knowledge, and conversation, that Selena had a penchant for heels, the lighthearted tease clearly didn’t land the way it was intended. Selena stiffened at Carly’s side. She rallied a smirk.
“If you were in the field with us you’d know that my heels kick just as much ass as I do.”
Her snark pulled a sigh right out of Carly before Opaline could pivot a comment back.
“You know, I bet Amish siblings don’t snip at each other,” she said. “That’s part of their tenets you two might learn from.”
“The Amish don’t have a sister like Opaline,” Selena muttered.
Everyone heard it. Opaline grinned.
“You’re right. I’m one of a kind and don’t any of you forget that.”
The slight tension broke in the room. Carly felt the warmth of the coffee against her palm. She wanted to take a drink but stopped herself, readjusting in her seat to try to hide the redirect. One look at Alana, whose eyebrow was arched in question, and Carly knew the first moment the two were alone she’d go maternal on Carly.
But now wasn’t the time.
Alana addressed the team one last time before calling the meeting to a close.
“Since the community is off the public power grid, there’s only one building in town that has non-gas lighting and a phone. It’s their community barn and where you’ll set up for the duration of the case. And since the Amish typically aren’t fans of outsiders, especially law enforcement, the area doctor who originally diagnosed the anthrax has recommended you rely on local Noah Miller as a liaison. He’s a former Amish farmer who lives on the outskirts of Potter’s Creek, close to town.”
Former Amish?
Carly’s eyebrow rose at that.
Opaline clicked to the last slide.
Intense.
That was the first descriptor that came to mind at the man staring back at her.
Tall, broad-shouldered, he was a man who worked manual labor and it showed. He wore a cowboy hat, a durable jacket, dark jeans and boots. If his dark hair couldn’t be seen waving down to his chin, messy beneath the black hat, he would have looked like the poster boy for farmers of America. Someone who you, on reflex, pictured in your head when you thought of cowboys, too. Yet Carly had always imagined cowboys to be charming, outwardly hospitable people, and that wasn’t the vibe she was getting from their Mr. Miller.
He wasn’t looking directly at the camera, instead staring just off to the side. His green eyes had a cut to them that said he was angry, or maybe, more aptly, annoyed. Carly could almost hear the sigh that had probably escaped his lips just after the picture was taken.
Or maybe she was wrong.
Maybe Noah Miller, former Amish, was trying for smoldering and overshot the mark.
Because, regardless of his intention with the standoffish pose, there was no denying he was a good-looking man.
And their first suspect.
Rihanna stood and collected her iPad. She was a straitlaced professional from tip to tail, but she’d spent enough time with the rest of them to be less formal when it was just the team. She nodded toward the picture.
“I already let him know that we might need his help and, let me tell you, he sounded as stubborn as he looks right there,” she said. “He might be as forthcoming as a rock, but he agreed to at least meet us at the barn when we arrive.”
They sat with that a moment, then the meeting was over.
The team filtered out, already making calls and preparations. Carly, who could have been among them, decided to stay seated. It was better to get what came next over with now rather than later. Alana must have agreed. She was quick. The moment the last of the team was out the door, she was hovering next to Carly, a look of pure concern on her face.
“A tough case,” Alana opened with. “How do you feel about it?”
Carly felt the urge to sigh, right alongside the pain that never went away. But, as she’d thought before, Alana Suzuki had thirty years under her belt with the FBI. During those thirty years she’d seen things that most never would. Not even the TCD team.
Discounting her concern was almost akin to discounting the trauma, pain and sorrow she had
undoubtedly lived through.
So, Carly didn’t.
Instead she finally looked down at her coffee and told the truth.
“To be honest, I don’t know.”
Alana put her hand on Carly’s shoulder. A small moment that reminded Carly that she wasn’t a kid anymore. She wasn’t in that house. She wasn’t in that kitchen.
No.
She was an agent with the FBI, an expert.
With a team who always had her back.
The same went doubly for their boss.
Carly felt the old fear inside of her harden into resolve.
Alana let go, realizing the change was happening.
When she met Alana’s gaze, Carly was nothing but determined.
Justice wasn’t just a word to her.
It was a promise.
One she was making to a stranger, someone who just didn’t know it yet.
“What I do know is that whoever is behind this is in for a world of hurt,” she said. “Because I’m coming for them and there’s not a place on this green Earth where they can hide.”
Chapter Two
Noah didn’t know what he had expected next, but this wasn’t it. He was standing outside of the community barn, hands deep in his jacket pockets and boots wet from the dusting of snow still on the ground, when the dark SUV appeared in the distance. It was followed by another SUV and a sleek black car.
Noah had spent the first sixteen years of his life seeing mostly horse-and-buggies along the main road in Potter’s Creek. Even with buggy lights, it was a simpler existence. A way to stay closer to the world. Seeing the posh caravan go between open fields and modest buildings was a contrast Noah wasn’t sure how to feel about now.
The group of Amish standing around the barn’s doors weren’t helping.
They were honest, humble men.
And they honestly and humbly did not like the idea of the Englishers invading their community with badges, guns and their own agenda.
Noah tried not to listen to his long-standing resentment as it reared its ugly head, reminding him that he was included in that group. At least as far as the outsider aspect went. His father might have called him to the Yoder farm originally, but Noah was as welcome as the group of strangers from the federal government driving up now.
Nope. Not one bit.
The Amish of Potter’s Creek didn’t want him at all.
Which made the fact that he’d been asked to the meeting by the Tactical Crime Division’s liaison even more awkward.
Noah hadn’t been rude to her, but he also hadn’t been kind at the request. He was all for helping in an emergency, but any other time he’d rather be on his farm, soaking up the scenery and tending to his cattle. Not an outcast, whose father and brother, no more than five steps away, wouldn’t even look him in the eyes.
That is, unless it was to glare.
Though the glaring was left mostly to Isaiah Yoder’s oldest son, Isaac. The Amish might not be a violent bunch, but Noah was sure if looks could kill, he’d already be a goner from Isaac’s piercing gaze. And that was saying something considering Noah’s younger brother, Thomas, was present. Thomas had been three when Noah left the community. Noah was sure his younger brother had heard over the intervening twelve years just how disappointing and sinful his older sibling was.
At least you’re not dead in a field.
Noah shifted against the barn’s worn wall as his inner voice reminded him that his personal issues rated low to nil at the moment.
Someone had targeted the community and that had ended in the death of a father and son, plus the loss of countless heads of cattle. Lives and livelihoods had been destroyed.
Just because Noah’s own father could barely stand him didn’t mean he couldn’t feel the loss around them weighing on his chest.
Elmer and Stephen Graber hadn’t deserved to die like that.
No one did.
“I don’t like this,” Noah’s father said as the first SUV came to a stop just behind his truck. The barn behind them was almost exactly in the center of their community, equidistant from most of the farms. Yet all of the men had walked from their respective homes to meet, leaving their horse-and-buggies at home. Noah expected this was so their families had a means to get to them and their neighbors fast if something else happened.
“They are here to help, Samuel.”
Their religious leader, Levi Raber, spoke the truth but there was a stiffness to his words. Noah didn’t know the man well, but appreciated he was trying to keep the men around him in less hostile spirits.
Judging by the wave of tension that rolled over their group as the SUV unloaded its passengers in front of them, the bishop failed in his attempt.
It probably didn’t help matters that the first person to approach was a woman wearing a tailored dark peacoat, high-heeled boots and lipstick that shone in contrast to her dark skin. She was tall and gave the immediate impression of being a professional. There was no hesitation as she strode over to the men.
“You must be Bishop Raber.” She greeted Levi. Her confidence at whom she was speaking to was impressive. Noah recognized her voice as the woman whom he’d spoken to on the phone. “My name is Rihanna Clark,” she continued, giving no room for a response. “I work as the liaison between the TCD team and local police, press and the public. Basically, I work at keeping everyone on the same page.” She smiled and motioned to the barn behind them. “Thank you for allowing us to use your community barn for our headquarters. It will be extremely helpful to the team and the case.”
Levi nodded, a curt movement.
“We were told you would need phone service. The man from the Center for Disease Control is inside using it now.”
Rihanna swept her gaze across him, Noah’s father and brother, and Isaac, smile holding strong.
“Great. I’ll need to speak to him sooner rather than later. But first—” She turned toward the rest of her companions from the SUV. Noah watched as his father took each new member in with an impassive face.
He knew he wasn’t much better.
Noah didn’t have a distaste for outsiders like the rest of the community, but he wasn’t enthused about an FBI team setting up camp so close to his home, either. He lived a private, solitary life. The sooner they did their job and put whoever was behind the attacks behind bars, the better. Then the community could heal after their losses, all while going back to ignoring him and his quiet life just outside of it. So he let his natural default of being the original outsider become his mask as Rihanna introduced her team.
Which was hard considering the first person up was not at all what Noah had expected when he had pictured the FBI.
“Let me introduce you to the Special Agent in Charge, Dr. Carly Welsh.”
Noah struggled to hold tight to his unfazed expression. A feat, considering one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen outstretched her hand at her introduction. She was smiling, but it wasn’t friendly like the woman next to her. Instead, it almost seemed strained. Impatient, even. Like it was just one tedious thing to do before she could get right into the case.
She also didn’t look like any doctor he’d ever seen. Then again, that was on him and his small-town living. There weren’t many in circulation for a comparison.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, adjusting the hood of her long, black coat. The blond hair that was trapped beneath it splayed out over her shoulders. It was on the shorter side, with a wave to it. Much more free than the tight smile across her lips.
Bishop Raber shook her hand and introductions were then given for the men around him. They didn’t include Noah. Rihanna extended her introductions to the last passenger, but Noah didn’t catch his name. Instead, Dr. Welsh turned her dark eyes directly on him.
There was no smile this time, tight or otherwise.
He stood s
traighter than before as she excused herself and walked over.
There was a confidence to her walk that gave Noah the distinct impression before she even said a word to him that Dr. Carly Welsh was a force to be reckoned with.
And she had her sights set on him.
* * *
PICTURES DIDN’T DO the man justice.
Not one itsy little bit.
Their link to the Amish was more than six feet of brooding masculinity and, in any other circumstance, Carly would have had to stop a moment and revel in how attracted she would have been to him.
But it wasn’t as if she was with her adoptive parents, vacationing in Amish country.
She was here to catch a murderer. One with access to and the absolute nerve to use a deadly powder that had already taken several lives.
So Carly’s brain put her body on lockdown the moment she saw the cowboy leaning against their headquarters.
She had a job to do, and that job included vetting their potential link to the community.
Though, judging by the berth the rest of the group was giving Noah, maybe Rihanna had misunderstood his significance.
In less than a minute of standing outside, Carly had already seen Isaac Yoder giving the farmer looks that could curdle butter.
It was interesting and concerning at the same time.
And absolutely the reason why she was about to take tall, dark and brooding aside and flex her FBI muscles for a quick interrogation.
“You’re Noah Miller.”
She didn’t phrase it as a question because they both knew that was exactly who he was. Since she’d already been warned that the farmer could be standoffish, she wasn’t giving him an inch to wiggle. Though Carly did know that it was easier to catch flies with honey, so she at least made sure to keep her body language loose rather than ready to strike.
To his credit, he nodded.
“And you’re Dr. Carly Welsh, from what I’ve just heard.”
His voice was a low baritone. Not only did the man look intimidating, he sounded like it, too.
Thankfully, Carly had never been someone easily intimidated.
Toxin Alert Page 2
