Her Amish Protectors

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “She’s a suspect in a crime,” he said harshly. “We...searched her apartment and business yesterday. Right now, she hates my guts.”

  Still studying him, still seeing deep, his fey sister asked softly, “Did you find anything?”

  Ben shook his head.

  Expression troubled, Lucy said, “She may understand better than you think.”

  “She told me I’d ruined her. That she’ll have to leave Byrum. She said...she’d never dare call the police again.”

  His sister flinched.

  “You feel that way, too?” he asked, reeling. She’d never told him anything like this.

  “They made me feel so ashamed. I knew they had to ask questions, but...” She shifted, looking toward the window as if she no longer wanted to meet his eyes. “Do you know how it feels, to have that happen, and then have the police officers asking how often you date, whether you’ve been flirting with anyone, why your door was unlocked, why—” She choked to a stop, and he was shocked to realize she was blisteringly angry. “Because of course it was my fault,” she finished, suddenly sad.

  Damn. He’d felt more in the past few days than he had in years.

  “You never said.”

  “No.” She tried for a smile. “I knew what to expect. Rape victims all say the same. I suppose the police officers believed they were just doing their jobs.”

  This kick to his chest emptied him of air. His sister stared at him in astonishment. He couldn’t explain. Wasn’t sure, given her history, he ever would. Instead, he told her he had to desert her, but he’d be home as soon after five as he could manage.

  After all, he had to go do his job, didn’t he?

  CHAPTER SIX

  NADIA KEPT HERSELF BUSY restoring bolts of fabric to their proper places. Either the women signed up for today’s class would show, or they wouldn’t.

  Business had been dismal. Yesterday, she’d held a session on enlivening quilt borders, for which only three of the seven participants showed, and that was the third of four sessions. She’d been sure they were all enjoying the class. Today’s, focused on the Drunkard’s Path pattern, was the opener, so no one was midproject, or committed beyond the check written when signing up.

  A couple of her regulars had come shopping and left with fabric. Otherwise, tourists browsed and left.

  Now, when the bell above the door rang, Nadia turned.

  The petite redhead who entered wasn’t signed up for any class. She didn’t need to be. Somewhere in her fifties, although she didn’t look it, Jodi Knowles was already a superb quilter. A large Sawtooth quilt of hers had sold for $1,600 at the auction. In the short time since Nadia had opened the store, she’d sold two of Jodi’s quilts, one online.

  “I’m afraid I need to take back the quilt you have,” she said, with no preamble.

  Nadia didn’t bother asking why. She only said, “Of course,” and went for her step stool so she could carefully take down the quilt that had been hanging from a thin rod that ran through the fabric sleeve on the back. A star variation, the quilt had only been in the store for a couple of weeks.

  She gently bundled it in tissue paper and put it in a bag before handing it over. “This is truly lovely. I feel sure you’ll find a home for it,” she said.

  Jodi lifted eyebrows plucked and penciled in. “I wouldn’t want it to disappear,” she said coolly, and marched out.

  The moment the door closed behind her, Hannah, who had hovered in the background, burst out, “A week ago, I heard her telling someone how wonderful you are!”

  “How quickly we forget,” Nadia muttered, before sighing. “Hannah...I need you to know I may not be able to keep you on full-time if business stays this slow. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but you deserve a warning.”

  Her plump assistant, wearing a lilac dress and apron today along with the traditional, gauzy white kapp, shook her head. “Earning money isn’t so important for me. I have three sisters home to help my mamm, and I love the quilts. I can come when you need me, even if you can’t pay me.”

  Tears stung Nadia’s eyes. “You don’t think I stole that money, do you?”

  “No!” Hannah took her hand and squeezed. “Trust in God,” she said kindly. “He will be your strength.”

  A lump in her throat, Nadia nodded even though the advice was more easily given than practiced. It had been a very long time since she’d been able to lean on anyone, and her faith wasn’t sturdy enough to sustain her.

  Two women did appear for the class, one quiet and not wanting to meet Nadia’s eyes, the other cheerful and apparently oblivious to the weekend’s events. Showing them how to use patterns to cut out the curved pieces and then how to hand sew them together without ending up with puckers, Nadia was able to put her troubles from her mind for the hour.

  Once the class ended, she let Hannah go home. For the last hour, not a soul came through the door. She went back to restoring order, and chose another quilt to display in place of Jodi’s.

  What if several other women pulled their quilts, too? Ellen Shaw, for example; Nadia had three—or was it four?—of hers right now.

  Worrying didn’t do much good if she couldn’t fix any part of her problems, and, right this minute, Nadia couldn’t think of a single proactive thing she could do. Except remove Jodi’s quilt from the website, she reminded herself wryly.

  Somehow, the what-will-be-will-be acceptance didn’t work for her. The knot in her stomach didn’t loosen.

  Closing and locking up was a relief. As was the fact that Ben Slater hadn’t reappeared since she’d told him to get out on Monday.

  Since then, Nadia had contacted an attorney who practiced in a neighboring county. They had an appointment scheduled tomorrow. The woman had agreed that she shouldn’t talk to the police on her own again.

  Of course, paying her might become a problem soon.

  Nadia made a face. One more thing to worry about.

  She settled for a salad for dinner, and picked at that. She did update the website, which had been designed to be user-friendly, thank goodness.

  She fought exhaustion until nine o’clock, which seemed like an acceptable hour to go to bed. She might even turn her lights out before old Mr. Orton down the street did. Well, so what?

  Tonight, sleep came before she could hop onto the carousel of worries.

  Startled awake, she identified the sound of glass splintering. And...a thud?

  Nadia’s heart pounded. She scrambled out of bed, going to the window to separate blinds and peer out at the dark alley. Nothing looked out of the usual, or moved.

  After pulling on yoga pants, she hurried through the apartment to look out over the street. Except for street lamps, she didn’t see any lights. Only a few cars remained parked on this block at night. She waited, but nothing moved out there, either. Could the sounds have been part of a dream, or a nightmare?

  Still, she went downstairs, moving as quietly as she could, unwedged the chair and nerved herself to unlock her apartment door. Before stepping out into the hall, she groped for the switch and flicked on the light. A scan reassured her that the back door was closed, as were the closet and restroom doors, just as she’d left them. Through the open arch, the shop was dark but for what light fell through the front window.

  She didn’t know why she was scared. The night was quiet. She couldn’t even hear distant traffic, as she sometimes could. With her feet bare, she eased into the shop and flipped on those lights.

  Immediately, she saw the big, splintered hole in the large front window. With a cry of dismay, she started forward. A jagged rock that had to be eight inches in diameter had scored the wood floor and come to a stop ten feet or so inside.

  Movement just beyond the window made her jerk to a stop. A dark figure reared beyond the glass, the arm going back. Something sho
t through the hole, trailing sparks.

  Nadia twisted and flung herself behind the case holding the display of thread. Her arms came up to protect her head as she hit the floor, seconds before a boom rattled the building and deafened her.

  * * *

  FISTS CLENCHED AT his sides, grinding his teeth, Ben stood on the sidewalk glaring through the shattered glass into A Stitch in Time Quilts & Fabrics. Damage was easy to see—blackened fabric, a splintered wood base—and the stench of smoke was acrid in his nostrils.

  Behind him, lights flashed atop an ambulance and a police car. A raised voice inside said, “Ma’am? Can you hear me?”

  Nadia had been close enough to the cherry bomb to be deafened. Furious that she’d been targeted, he stalked inside.

  To his frustration, she was surrounded, and looked so shaken, so unguarded, he knew he had to leash his anger and the fear that roared behind it.

  She sat on the floor, legs outstretched, back against the wall next to the arched opening into the hall beyond. Her hair was wild, her face bleached white. EMTs crouched to each side of her. One had fingers to her wrist and was presumably taking her pulse. The other used an otoscope to peer into her right ear. While Ben watched, the man and woman changed places so her other ear could be checked.

  The minute he started forward, her gaze lifted to him. She didn’t so much as blink, and he didn’t think he did, either. He quit being aware of anyone else. When a place beside her opened, Ben dropped to his knees, able to see how shell-shocked she looked. Without even thinking about it, he took her hand, disturbed to discover that it once again felt icy.

  “Nadia.”

  She kept staring at him, but didn’t respond.

  He wrenched his gaze from hers to look at the EMT holding the otoscope. Marty McClun. Ben knew him.

  “How is she?”

  “Her eardrums are intact, but her hearing is impacted. Shock may be disguising some injury, but she’s refusing to be transported.”

  He made sure she was still focused on him. “Nadia, you need to go to the ER, get checked out.”

  She shook her head in mute stubbornness.

  After a minute, Ben sank back on his heels. “All right. I’ll drive her if she changes her mind.”

  The pair cleaned up and departed, leaving only the officer who’d been first responder, currently taking photos of the rock, window and damage.

  “Let’s get you upstairs,” Ben said, rising to a crouch and grasping her elbow.

  She hesitated, her gaze going to the shattered window.

  “I’ve already called someone to cover it with plywood,” he said, feeling like he was shouting but wanting to be sure she heard him.

  After a minute, Nadia nodded and let him boost her to her feet. She went ahead of him, keeping a hand on the rail, him poised to catch her if she sagged or faltered. He had to curl his fingers into fists again to keep from reaching for her.

  Partway up, she stopped, head hanging, and rested. If they had faced another flight of stairs, he would have scooped her up in his arms whether she liked it or not and carried her. She drew a deep breath, grabbed the railing and plodded on. She kept going through the small living room into the kitchen and sank down at the table.

  As if he’d been here a hundred times, he put on water to boil and took the box of tea bags out of the cupboard. Caffeine wasn’t ideal in the middle of the night—but she needed a stimulant. After spooning sugar into the mug, he turned to find her watching him.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, her own voice pitched louder than usual.

  “Your neighbors called 911. Please tell me you’d have done the same once you had the chance. Or called me.”

  Her chin tipped up. “I told you I wouldn’t. In my experience, calling the police doesn’t do any good. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  What did she mean by that? Hadn’t he responded every time she needed him? But he shoved aside her dig.

  “The night-duty sergeant let me know what happened.” He had a feeling his teeth were showing. “Damn it, Nadia, this was an attack on you.”

  “You don’t know that. It was...it was vandalism.”

  “Yeah?” He took a couple of steps closer, the better to loom over her. “Why were you in the shop at three a.m.?”

  “I heard the rock come through the window.”

  “And where were you when you heard it?”

  Wariness in her eyes, she said, “In bed. The window breaking woke me up.”

  “So you got up, put on pants—or were you sleeping in them?”

  Lips pressed together, Nadia shook her head. She wasn’t a stupid woman. She knew what he was getting at.

  “You turned on lights, made your way downstairs, stepped into the shop.”

  She continued to meet his stare, but her shoulders hunched just a little, making him think of a turtle.

  “How long did that take, Nadia?”

  Her lips tightened, but finally she answered. “I don’t know.”

  “Five minutes? Ten?” Behind him the teakettle rumbled. It would be screeching any second. He ignored it.

  “Maybe.”

  Bending forward, Ben flattened his hands on the table so he could get in her face. “He waited for you, Nadia. He waited to toss that bomb in through the window until he saw you. You were the target.”

  She seemed mesmerized. So much so, she jerked when the teakettle screamed.

  He’d have kept ignoring the damn thing, but Nadia’s ears had already suffered an insult. With a growl, he shoved off from the table and went to the stove, filling her mug and turning off the burner. He brought the mug to the table, setting it down in front of her.

  Nadia looked at her tea, even stirring with the spoon he’d left in it. But then she lifted her gaze again. “It was meant to scare me. I couldn’t have been hurt that badly.”

  “You could have two shattered eardrums if you’d been a few feet closer,” Ben said flatly. “What if it had landed right at your feet and then went off? Kids lose fingers or vision from firecrackers. This was a lot more powerful than a firecracker.” He knew his voice was rising.

  “Don’t yell at me!”

  He planted his hands on his hips and glowered.

  “And why would I call you?” Her voice was almost soft now. “Give yourself a few hours, and you’ll decide I threw the thing through my own front window. I could have, you know. I must have wanted the attention. Or maybe I’m trying to make you see me as a victim instead of the thief.” She shook her head. “I didn’t call you because I don’t want you here. You need to go. My attorney told me not to talk to you again.”

  “Your attorney?” he repeated, incredulous.

  Her look held pure dislike. “You should have told me I was your principal suspect. I was foolish enough to trust you.”

  He was close to exploding himself. This burn wasn’t the fury that demanded violence; it was... Shit. Hurt?

  Not sure he trusted himself right now, he took a step back and summoned an invisible shield around himself. “If you’re certain you don’t need to go to emergency, I’ll leave you now,” he said impassively. “I’ll make sure the window is covered before I go, and request drive-bys for the rest of the night. From now on, pull the blinds at closing.”

  Her lips parted. He didn’t want to hear it, so he nodded and left.

  A second officer had showed up and was hammering a large piece of plywood in place over the bottom two-thirds of the window. It looked like hell, but Ben presumed she’d get the glass replaced tomorrow. He spoke to the two, who promised to drive by at no more than fifteen-minute intervals for the remainder of their shifts, street and alley.

  And then he went home, grateful when Lucy didn’t emerge from her bedroom. Talking was the last thing he wanted to do.

&nb
sp; * * *

  HEARING THE BELL on the door, Nadia tucked her needle through the fabric and dropped her thimble onto the quilt as she rose to her feet. Hannah had come in for a few hours this morning, but with the absence of business, Nadia had sent her home. Now Nadia walked out of the back room to see a woman hovering just inside the door.

  “Hi, can I help you?” Nadia asked.

  The woman offered a shy smile. “Yes. I’m...well, visiting. I’d like to try quilting.”

  No more than midthirties, she was tall and model thin with ash-brown hair and eyes. Unlike with most beautiful women, nothing about her posture or clothes suggested she wanted to advertise. To the contrary.

  Visiting. With sudden suspicion Nadia realized there was something a little familiar about this woman.

  “You have family in town?” she asked, trying for casually friendly.

  The newcomer wrinkled her nose. “I hoped you wouldn’t notice.”

  “You’re Chief Slater’s sister.”

  “That would be me.”

  Nadia crossed her arms. “Are you here undercover?”

  A smile lit her face. “Spying for him? No, he has no idea what I’m up to. What I said about quilting is true, but also... I guess I was curious. You have him tangled in knots, you know.”

  “I have him?” Nadia snorted. “Did he tell you I’m new in Byrum? He’s pretty well destroyed any chance I had of making a life here. All he wants is to slap cuffs on me.”

  Which even she knew wasn’t true; there was a definite spark between them, but he was doing his damnedest to stamp it out. Nadia hated that he’d come rushing to her rescue again last night. She hated even more knowing that she had lied when she told him she didn’t want him here. Because she’d ached to feel his arms around her, to let herself lean against him and draw strength from him.

  The man who’d humiliated her and, by shredding any reputation she had left, was driving her to leave town. She gave her head an unconscious shake.

  “That’s...not really true,” Slater’s sister said. “He told me—” She grimaced. “In confidence. Shut up, Lucy. Besides, that’s not why I’m here.”