by Laura Scott
He glanced down, taking in the blood that spattered her clothing, the gash to her forehead and the scrapes to her hands and wrists.
His heart lurched.
What had happened to this woman on the run?
* * *
“You are awake?”
Miriam blinked her eyes open to daylight filtering through the window then turned her gaze to the man standing in the doorway of the small bedroom where she lay. He had a ruddy, wind-burned complexion with a dark beard and shaggy black hair that fell below his ears. His white shirt hugged his broad chest and puckered against the suspenders attached to his trousers.
Her mind slowly put the pieces together as she glanced from his clothing to the stark bedroom furnishings and back again to her larger-than-life rescuer. Was she dreaming or had she somehow, in the dead of night, found refuge in an Amish house?
Memories flashed through her mind. Struggling to put her thoughts in order, she tugged the quilt closer to her chin.
His brow knit. “You are afraid?”
Of him? Should she be?
She glanced behind the man to where a woman stood. Petite, with wide eyes and rosy cheeks, she wore a pale blue dress and white apron. Her hair was pulled into a bun under a starched cap. Miriam strained to remember, recalling only snippets of how the woman had tended her cut and dressed her in a flannel nightgown. At least that much she could recall.
The Amish man turned to the woman next to him. “Emma, she needs to eat.”
Miriam shook her head. Food wasn’t important. Being free of Serpent was all that mattered. Then, just that fast, her stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t had more than a few crackers in four days.
Gathering her courage, she swallowed hard and gave voice to the question that pinged through her head. “Who...who are you?”
“My name is Abram. We will talk soon.”
He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind him.
“Wait,” she called.
The door opened again. He stared at her, his face drawn, eyes pensive.
Was he friend or foe? She couldn’t tell.
“My cell,” she explained. “I need to make a phone call.”
“I do not have your cell,” he stated.
“But it was in my hand, then I dropped it into my pocket.” She raised her voice for emphasis. “You have my clothes.”
He glanced at the woman. He’d called her Emma. Was she his wife?
“You have found a phone?” he asked.
“No, Brother.” The woman shook her head. “A phone was not among her clothing.”
“That can’t be right,” Miriam objected. Why couldn’t they both understand? “Do you know what a cell phone looks like?”
The man pursed his lips. His face clouded, either with anger or frustration. “My sister did not find a cell phone among your things.”
“Do you have a phone? A landline? Or a computer with internet access?”
He raised his hand as if to silence her. “You must eat. Then we will talk.” The door closed.
Miriam groaned with frustration. She threw off the covers, dropped her feet to the floor and sat upright. Her head throbbed and her mouth was thick as cotton. Gingerly, she touched her side, remembering the blow to her ribs.
Her muscles ached and the room swirled when she stood. Holding on to the wooden bedframe, she pulled back the sheer material that covered the window and glanced outside. In the distance she could see hills and a winding road, no doubt, the one she had raced along last night. She shivered, remembering her car careering over the embankment and heading for the icy water.
The muffled sound of a door slamming on the first floor forced her gaze to the yard below. The man left the house and walked with purposeful strides across the dormant winter grass. He had donned a black coat and felt hat with a wide brim and turned his head, left to right, as if to survey his land as he walked.
A crow cawed overhead. She strained to hear the sounds that usually filled her ears, of cars and sirens and train whistles. Here the quiet was as pristine as the landscape.
Glancing again at the man, she touched her hand to the windowpane, the cold glass taking her back four days.
A jumble of images flashed through her mind. The middle-of-the-night traffic stop on the mountain road. Two cops, one with the serpent tattoo insisting she leave her car. Her mother’s confused outrage, escalating the situation until the second man stepped to the pavement and brandished his gun. The shots rang in her memory.
She closed her eyes, unwilling to go deeper into the tragedy. Instead she thought of her time at the cabin when she and her sister had been held captive.
Sarah!
Grief weighed upon her heart. Hot tears stung her eyes. Her sister, just barely twenty-one, had been carted away last night by a tall, skinny, red-haired man. His threat to silence Sarah if she didn’t stop crying played through Miriam’s mind and made her gasp with fear.
She choked back a sob of despair and wiped her hand over her cheeks, intent on regaining control of her emotions. She had escaped from the cabin. Now she had to find Sarah and learn the truth about her mother.
With a series of determined sniffs, she turned her focus back to the Amish man as he neared the barn and pulled the door open. He glanced over his shoulder. Then looked up. His gaze locked on hers.
Her cheeks burned. She dropped the curtain in place and stepped away from the window. She didn’t want him to see her watching.
She had to get away, away from the mountains and back to civilization where she would find trustworthy officers who would enforce the law. Once they learned how she and her family had been attacked, they would hunt down the corrupt cops and help her find her sister.
She had to find Sarah. She had to find her alive.
Copyright © 2017 by Deborah W. Giusti
ISBN-13: 9781488019135
Sheriff
Copyright © 2017 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Special thanks and acknowledgment to Laura Scott for her participation in the Classified K-9 Unit miniseries.
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