Her Amish Protectors

by Janice Kay Johnson

  He studied her parents. “Yeah, I can see that. Does anyone else in your family quilt?”

  “Mom. She talked me into taking a class with her. I was the one who got hooked. She pieces and machine quilts things like Christmas table runners. Me, I found a passion.”

  As if her choice of word had triggered something, he carefully set the photo down in the same place it had been, then turned to face her. “Why aren’t you married, too?”

  She remembered him asking about previous relationships as part of his investigation. “I just...haven’t met the right man.” Or should she have said, I hadn’t met the right man? On a wave of shock, she thought, No, no. She was attracted to him, sure; sometimes she even liked him. But that wasn’t...whatever she’d been thinking.

  His eyes narrowed, telling her he’d seen her perturbation. No more than that, she hoped.

  Retreating to her favorite chair, she poured iced tea and waited until he’d taken a seat, too, before saying, “What about you? I assume you’re not married.”

  His dark eyebrows rose. “Are you trying to insult me?”

  “Maybe?”

  He shook his head, but one corner of his mouth lifted enough to tell her he’d suppressed a smile.

  “Never been married. I’ve had relationships, but I think I was too driven by the job to give enough to satisfy any woman.”

  Nadia noted his verb tense, just as she had hers earlier. “Something changed.”

  His “What makes you say that?” didn’t come across as relaxed as he’d probably meant it.

  “You left your big-city job and moved here.” She held his gaze in a kind of challenge. “I told you why I did.”

  Ben took a long swallow of tea and then grimaced, looking at it. “Like a little sugar, do you?”

  “Yep.”

  He sighed and set down the glass. “Lucy told you what happened to her.”

  Nadia nodded. “And that you’d found her. I assume that’s why you went into law enforcement.”

  “I will never forget what she looked like.” Roughened by rage, his voice was even deeper. “Her face a bloody mess...” He swallowed. “That son of a bitch destroyed her, physically and emotionally. Lucy could be bossy when we were growing up, but she was also my best friend. Seeing the change in her just about killed me. She was alive, but the light had been snuffed out. She was always shy, but not timid, not afraid of experiencing everything she could. Her standing up to me that day in your store was the first time I’d seen her show any spirit since the rape.”

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. It worries me, too, though. If she were attacked again...” He shook his head, as if he was trying to block even the idea. “The possibility scares the shit out of me. Could she come back from that?”

  “I don’t know,” Nadia said softly. “But what kind of life does she have if she never takes any kind of risk?”

  A nerve twitched in his cheek. “You’re right, but I don’t have to like it when she does.”

  “I’d feel the same.” She sat quiet for a minute. “Maybe it would be better if she didn’t—”

  Ben was already shaking his head. “As she reminds me, she’s an adult. I’m seeing the Lucy I remember, Nadia.” Astonishment and what might be joy made him look younger, probably more like the boy he’d been before he found his sister battered and barely alive. “This quilting thing has given her something she needs. You’re responsible for that.”

  Nadia shook her head. “She came to me because she wanted to learn.” Nadia prayed that quilting would give Lucy both satisfaction and the knowledge that she was creating something that would outlast her. What could be more healing than that?

  “She wanted to learn, huh?” His crooked grin was ridiculously sexy. “I think she was just making an excuse to take a look at you. Me and my big mouth.”

  Nadia knew she was gaping. “What did you say?”

  His grin widened. “Not going to tell you.”

  “What? Then you shouldn’t have hinted.” She shrugged. “I’ll just ask Lucy. She’ll tell me.”

  “Not a chance. She’s always on my side.”

  “Like you’re on hers.”

  His expression softened. “I guess so.”

  “You’re trying to distract me, aren’t you? This whole thing started with me asking why you threw over big-city law enforcement in favor of Byrum.”

  “You don’t have to say it that way. You chose to move here, too.”

  “This wouldn’t have happened if I’d picked any other town.” She could tell he didn’t like that. Because they wouldn’t have met if she’d bought that fabric store in Willow Springs in the Ozarks, or in any of the other states where she’d searched real estate?

  “Your business was doing well. It will do well again.”

  That remained to be seen, but she only nodded.

  “I didn’t choose Byrum,” he said abruptly. “I wanted to make a change to small-town policing. I interviewed for several jobs that were open. This one felt right.” He moved his shoulders as if uncomfortable. “I’ve always had a special rage for rapists. No mystery why.”

  She nodded.

  “Even though my last promotion had me spending a lot of time behind a desk, I’d taken lead in hunting down a man who we were pretty sure had raped at least half a dozen women. He was developing his style as he went, getting off on hurting them. The last one died.”

  Nadia listened in horror, Ben’s near-monotone delivery raising the hair on her arms.

  “He screwed up with her, though. A neighbor, an older man who doesn’t sleep very well, had seen this guy parking and then walking away down the sidewalk shortly after midnight. It bothered him, because this was a residential neighborhood. Most people had garages, which left plenty of street parking. Why leave his car there if he wasn’t going to one of the houses on the block? The guy shrugged it off, but he was woken up a couple hours later by a car engine starting. Same car. He didn’t even know why, but he wrote down the license number. When he saw the flashing police lights, he called 911 and told us what he’d seen. Turned out, the car belonged to a woman who had reported it stolen the evening before. Middle of the night, we went to talk to her. Funny thing, I’d been to that same apartment complex several times. Investigating the rapes, a name kept coming up. This time, thanks to the witness, we were able to move fast, catching him arriving back at his apartment. Later, we found out he’d ditched the car a mile away and hoofed it. His hair was wet, like he’d just washed it or dunked his head. He didn’t want to explain. He was carrying a duffel bag. I asked him to open it, and he ran.”

  Nadia rubbed her arms, unable to take her eyes off his face. It was expressionless, but he couldn’t do anything about his eyes. They were turbulent, betraying everything he’d felt.

  “We’d come straight from seeing that woman’s body. It looked too much like—” For the first time in this speech, his voice broke, but he recovered quickly. “I wanted to kill him.” He paused. “I think I would have if one of my men hadn’t stopped me.”

  The unemotional tone and the words didn’t go together. Nadia grappled with what he’d said. She’d always known his capacity for violence. Maybe...maybe this was what she’d sensed, the first time she set eyes on him.

  Even while wearing a badge, he would have freed his rage and killed a man instead of taking him in.

  Nadia had such mixed feelings about his confession, she couldn’t figure out what to say. Why weren’t you arrested? Well, that was easy—nobody, including him, had told his superiors that he had lost control. I’m shocked? She was, but...something else lurked beneath.

  The silence must have stretched too long, because he stirred. “Now you know you were right to be afraid of me.”

  “No.” Wait. No? “What you felt, what you al
most did,” she began slowly, “was because you’re human. If you’d gone through with attacking him, you would have violated your own beliefs.” She had to think this through even as she talked. “But he was vile. And he’d reenacted your worst nightmare.”

  Ben stared at her, not even blinking.

  “And would you really have done it? Hit him, maybe, but to keep on until he was dead? When you hadn’t even seen yet what he had in that duffel?” Nadia found herself shaking her head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “I told you.”

  “How many times in your life have you really lost control?” A thought darted into her head: even making love with a woman, would he?

  He still hadn’t blinked. “Twice,” he said hoarsely. “The first time was after we found Lucy and got her to the hospital. Once I was home, alone in my bedroom, I lost it. I threw things, punched holes in the walls, broke my hand. Sobbed.”

  “That doesn’t really count, you know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you waited. Even as a teenager, you had the self-control to know you needed to be alone before you vented everything you felt. How many hours did you hold it in? Eight? Ten? More?”

  Ben shuddered and closed his eyes. She wanted to think he was seeing the past in a new light, but he could as well be angry that she presumed to know him better than he knew himself.

  She blurted, “I wished—”

  When she didn’t finish, he opened eyes now red rimmed. “What did you wish, Nadia?”

  Despite the rasp in his voice, he sounded gentle, the way she remembered him being so many other times.

  “The police in Colorado Springs. The cops who just stood around outside the house. For hours. The crisis negotiator.” She’d hated him most of all, the burn worse than the pain from her wound. “He was calm and deliberate and sympathetic. And I know that’s what he is supposed to do! But Damon refused to let any of us talk on the phone. Why did they give him a hundred chances? Why didn’t they understand?” She was crying, yelling and didn’t care.

  Ben moved fast, kneeling in front of her and spreading his hands on her thighs. “That none of you were capable of coming to the phone? That you were suffering, waiting?”

  “That our lives were in their hands,” she whispered. “Trickling through their fingers, and they never got mad at what he’d done. Why didn’t they care more about us than they did him?”

  “You do know they thought they were protecting you by bringing him down slowly, don’t you?”

  Face wet, eyes blurry, Nadia nodded. In her head she did. But not in her heart.

  “You and Molly held out.”

  “But Keenan didn’t.”

  He rocked back. “Another of the kids was alive?”

  “Yes. I don’t know exactly when he died, but if they’d mounted an assault in the first hour, he might have survived. Their job wasn’t to pacify a monster, it was to rescue us. I was so angry.” She balled one hand into a fist and pressed it to her stomach. “I still am. That’s why—”

  “You reacted the way you did to me. Oh, honey.” In a single motion, he got to his feet and scooped her up, then sat in the chair with her in his lap.

  And she cried. Hot, angry tears, sad tears, tears that stung. She pounded his chest with a fist, hearing his murmur, “That’s it. Hit me all you want.” In the end, exhaustion brought emptiness that might even be peace.

  Ben kept holding her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DAYS LATER, NADIA still hadn’t come to terms with her breakdown. How could she not have known how much she’d been keeping pent up inside? Struggling with grief, that was one thing, but anger corrosive enough to eat through the walls... That was different.

  Too much like what Ben had gone through, after finding his sister?

  And why did it disturb her so much to discover they had this in common?

  She had managed mostly to avoid him since Tuesday evening. Lucy had been here almost every day, but Nadia hadn’t seen any questions in her eyes. There’d been no searching looks, or pity. Which meant Ben hadn’t told her about their talk. He must have come up with some excuse for being later than Lucy had likely expected him that evening, but whatever it was couldn’t have borne any resemblance to the truth.

  See, I told her I’d tried to kill a man, which led to Nadia confessing that she wished the police back home had killed the guy who shot her. She told me a little boy died when he didn’t have to, and that made her so furious, she sobbed and punched me.

  No, Lucy would not be looking at her the same way if she’d heard that story.

  Hannah and Lucy had left a few minutes ago to have lunch together. Even though Nadia had declined their offer to bring her a sandwich, she half expected them to return with one of the fabulous—and fattening—Amish goodies. A slice of shoofly pie, maybe, or perhaps a butter cookie.

  Two browsers thanked her and departed without making any purchase. She had to hope they’d be back. A few real shoppers had come and gone. Not enough to justify paying Hannah for eight hours, but this was Saturday, usually the busiest day.

  Now the bell tinkled and another woman walked in. Ellen Shaw, a quilter who lived right here in Byrum. She’d become a good customer and Nadia had sold half a dozen of her crib-or wall-hanging-size quilts. In fact, just yesterday she had called Ellen to let her know one of the small ones she had on consignment had sold.

  Nadia smiled and took a few steps to meet the stocky woman who at a guess was in her early sixties. “Oh, I’m glad you came by. I can give you cash or a check, whichever you’d prefer. The young woman who bought your quilt was so excited. She didn’t show yet, but said she’s almost four months pregnant.”

  Any of the Amish women would have expressed pleasure that the work of their hands had found a gut home. The right home.

  But Ellen only nodded, her expression cool. “Cash would be handy. And I’d like to take back my remaining quilts, Nadia.”

  Nadia went still. “I would regret losing you as a friend and customer.”

  “I kept waiting for you to do the right thing. Since apparently that isn’t going to happen, I can’t continue to support your business.”

  Stung, she still kept it together. Maybe she had developed an emotional callus, if such a thing was possible. “I loved the place I was making for myself here. I offered to work on the auction out of a desire to help other people. How can you believe I would steal the money we raised?”

  “If somebody had really broken into your place, I have to believe the police would have made an arrest by now.”

  She knew arguing was hopeless, but had to try. If she could convince one person... “Whoever it is had a key.”

  Ellen raised her eyebrows. “And who might that be?”

  “I don’t know. Mrs. Jefferson might have handed out keys to any number of people. How would I know?”

  “All thieves, of course.”

  “You might recall that one of those people killed her.”

  Ellen took a step back. “That was never proved. She might have fallen.”

  “Chief Slater seems certain.”

  “If someone did push her, he hasn’t managed to arrest that person either, has he?”

  The spiteful tone told Nadia she was wasting time and hope. “Excuse me. I need to get the ladder to take down your quilt.”

  Neither spoke while she carefully lifted a queen-size Lady of the Lake quilt from the hooks, climbed down, and folded it and two smaller quilts before putting them into bags. At the end, she opened the cash register and carefully counted out bills. She also brought out the forms she had every quilter sign, setting the terms of their agreement, noted the sale and money she was giving Ellen, and asked her to sign all four forms.

  She should have insisted Jennifer Bronske count the cash she’d be
en given and sign, too.

  Ellen’s signatures were closer to slashes than the more rounded handwriting she’d used when she’d brought these quilts in.

  Nadia said, “You do beautiful work. I hope you have luck selling these.”

  “Thank you,” Ellen said stiffly, dropping the cash into her purse before she gathered up the bags and walked out.

  Watching her go, Nadia felt all-too-familiar humiliation, anger and dread. Whatever Ben believed to the contrary, she couldn’t see how bouncing back from this was possible.

  * * *

  SUNDAY MORNING, BEN and Lucy attended church services.

  He had drifted away from organized religion after he left home. College life was new and exciting, and there were better things to do on Sundays. The faith he had taken for granted as a boy probably lingered—until the attack on Lucy. If God existed at all, Ben was too angry to worship Him. Later, nothing he encountered on the job led him back to that faith. He saw too much brutality and hate, too many senseless deaths.

  But it had become clear to him shortly after moving to Byrum that he was expected to choose a church and show his face every Sunday morning unless he was desperately needed elsewhere. Amish, Baptist, Methodist or Seventh Day Adventist, the people in Henness County were believers, and they’d look askance at a police chief who wasn’t.

  He wouldn’t have blamed Lucy if she hadn’t wanted to join him, but the first Saturday of her visit, she’d asked him what time they needed to leave for church in the morning. This week, she seemed to take it for granted they would go.

  After the service, he suggested they go out for brunch. Instead of eating in Byrum, he drove to Hadburg, the next-largest town in the county. He knew the food was good at the Amish-owned Hadburg Café, and he hoped to pass unrecognized.

  The minute they walked in, he saw Henness County Sheriff Daniel Byler and his wife, Rebecca, alone in a booth. He’d learned the previous week that they were in San Francisco, where Rebecca was testifying in court at the trial of one of the men who had tried to kill her last year.