by Marta Perry
He moved through the house, observing but not touching. In the kitchen all was as it should be, and the dishwasher had a load of clean dishes waiting to be put away. No cup in the sink, and the coffee maker was cold, clean and dry. It looked as if whenever she’d gone, it hadn’t been in a rush, which probably meant she’d been gone when he’d come by earlier.
His jaw tightening, he moved into the bedroom. He didn’t know her well enough to know what clothes had disappeared, but there was a gap on the top shelf of the closet between a suitcase and a carry-on bag...just about big enough for a backpack or a duffel bag.
Rachel had fled. He had to face it. So much for the half-formed notion that she was an innocent pawn caught in the middle between her ex-husband and his angry employer. She’d been stringing them along until she could make arrangements with her ex to take off.
Did that mean the information had been passed on? Possibly. He hadn’t heard from Attwood this morning. How much could they rely on his conviction that he’d hear something if his creation had surfaced?
Clint had no idea. The limited info they’d received had been beyond his grasp, and his only concern was to retrieve the file and Paul Hartline, in that order of preference. If Attwood got his precious project back safely, he probably wouldn’t bother chasing after Hartline.
There was nothing else for it but to trace Rachel Hartline and hope she led him to the prize. With that in mind, he began a methodical search for any clue as to when and where she’d gone.
At the end of an hour, he was no further along than he’d been when he walked in the door. All he had to show for an intensive search was Rachel’s cell phone, hidden inside a boot in the closet. She must’ve been afraid he could trace her from it, so she’d just taken the burner phone.
He slid the cell phone in his jacket pocket and went out the front door, locking it behind him. He’d take a cursory look through the phone before passing it on to Logan to work his technological magic on it. If there was any hint or information there, Logan would find it.
Clint had barely started out the walk before a woman came rushing from the house next door, waving her hand to stop him. A small spaniel ran in circles around her, entranced by this new game.
“Goodness, I’m so glad you’re here. We told Rachel she should call the police last night, but she insisted on waiting until this morning to notify you. I was afraid she wouldn’t do it.” With a sudden onset of caution, she eyed him. “You are the police, aren’t you? I mean...”
“I’m an investigator,” he said quickly. Obviously something had happened the previous night, something that had concerned Rachel’s elderly neighbor enough to have her in a flutter. What? She thought he knew already, so he’d have to be careful.
“Have you seen Ms. Hartline this morning? I’m eager to get her firsthand account, you understand.”
“Yes, of course.” Her white curls bounced as she nodded vigorously. “Just like on television. The detectives always want to hear it all over again.” She shook her head regretfully. “I looked out in particular this morning because I wanted to see how she was after her ordeal. But she must have left early for school. Or to stop at the police station, of course.”
How early? It seemed clear the woman hadn’t seen her at all this morning. But what ordeal? He had to get her to tell him without betraying his own ignorance.
“She was very upset by what happened, wasn’t she?”
“Goodness, yes. I wanted to stay with her, but she wouldn’t hear of it. Kept insisting she was all right, but she had to be shaken. I mean, anybody would be.”
The woman was maddening. She was the type who’d talk all around a subject without ever getting to the meat. His nerves were stretched to the breaking point. So much for his conviction that Rachel was just a manipulator. All it took was a hint of danger to her, and he was right back to being protective.
“And my husband said it was so fortunate that we’d put the dog out just at that time. It was his barking that scared off the burglar, I’m sure of it.” She patted the dog. “He’s a good baby, isn’t he?” she crooned.
“It’s not quite clear from the report I saw whether the man actually got into the house or not,” he said, trying to sound like someone who’d consulted a written report on the incident.
“No, no, my husband looked all around when we helped Rachel inside, and there was no sign. She said she must have arrived home just as he was trying to get in. He actually knocked her down trying to get away. It’s amazing she wasn’t hurt more than she was, but she said she was fine. Bumped and bruised and scratched, and it stands to reason she was shaken up.” She made it clear that she’d have relished the chance to fuss over Rachel a bit more.
“Now, dear, if Rachel said she was all right, she should know.” The man approaching them looked like a perfect fit for his wife, with the same round face and curly white hair. Some said long-marrieds grew to look alike, and these two were the perfect example.
“Mr....Barton,” he said after a quick look at the name on the mailbox. “I take it you folks came to the rescue last night.”
“Mostly it was Buster,” he said, bending in his turn to caress the spaniel that sat panting, one silky ear flopped up. “He raised such a fuss I knew something was wrong.” He turned to his wife. “By the way, I noticed that soup you’re cooking was boiling pretty hard.”
The woman made a clucking sound. “And you didn’t turn it down? If that isn’t just like you.” She hesitated, obviously torn.
“I’ll tell the officer anything else he needs to know,” he said, giving her a gentle push toward the house. “You go on.”
When she’d gotten safely out of earshot, he turned back to Clint. “I didn’t want my wife getting any more upset. She’ll be nervous any time she’s alone in the house, thinking someone’s trying to break in.”
“I can understand that, sir. Did either of you get a good look at the man?”
Barton shook his head, regretful. “Wish I had. If I’d thought to bring a flashlight out with me—but I didn’t, and there’s no use regretting it now. Rachel’s all right. That’s the important thing.”
Clint studied the shrewd wrinkled face. “You saw a little more than your wife did, I take it.”
“Nothing helpful, I’m afraid. But my wife jumped to the conclusion that Rachel had fallen when the man rushed past her trying to get away.”
Clint stiffened. “It wasn’t that way?”
“Well, the thing is, I couldn’t see very well. And I don’t want the wife getting all upset and thinking we’re going to be murdered in our beds.”
“I’m sure I won’t need to bother her again.” Clint answered the unspoken concern. “If you’ll just give me your impressions.”
“Judging by the time it took me to get out here—” Barton spoke carefully, as if concerned not to give any false impressions “—and taking the way the dog was carrying on, well, it seemed to me that Rachel was actually struggling with the man. It wasn’t just a matter of him running off when she spotted him.” He hesitated, and then gave Clint a questioning look. “Didn’t she say anything more in her statement?”
“People are often inclined to minimize things like that after they’re over,” he said. “I suppose it’s a way of rationalizing something that seems unthinkable.”
That seemed to satisfy him, because he nodded. “Well, like I said, I wish I’d helped more, but it was dark, and I don’t see all that well. The guy went running off the other way. I did notice I didn’t hear a car start up, so if he drove here, he didn’t park real close.” He shook his head. “Rachel’s a nice woman—not somebody bad things happen to, I’d have thought.”
“Random crime can happen to anyone,” he said vaguely, holding out his hand. “Thanks for your help. I’ll do my best to clear this up. You can count on it.”
The man gave him a firm handshake, seeming satisf
ied. Clicking his fingers at the spaniel, he headed back toward his own house.
Clint strode to the car. Rachel was on the run; he was sure of that. But given what had apparently happened the previous night, it was no longer safe to assume that she’d just gone to meet her erring ex.
Who had reason to attack Rachel? Her ex-husband, for reasons he couldn’t even guess? Nobody from Attwood Industrial, he felt sure. They wanted their property back, but reputable professionals didn’t go around acting like hit men.
He was beginning to wonder if Hartline had double-crossed his prospective client. Or were they dealing with a middleman who specialized in industrial espionage and might not be above such tactics?
More was going on here than they’d yet discovered. He didn’t know from whom or why, and he needed to find out. But one thing was clear—Rachel Hartline was in danger.
* * *
AFTER THE WAY Clint had found her so quickly when she and Lyn traded cars, Rachel knew she had to take every precaution she could. She might not be a match for a professional like Clint Mordan, but she wouldn’t make it easy for him to follow her.
She’d called Lyn, explaining as little as possible and carefully not telling her where she was going. Lyn had caught on to all the things she didn’t say.
She’d rather keep her friend out of it entirely, but she couldn’t risk having Lyn go to the police when she didn’t turn up for school the next day.
So far so good. She settled into a bus seat, averting her face from the passenger across the aisle. The older woman looked the type to while away a tedious trip by endless conversation, so Rachel slid over to the window and stared fixedly out. She couldn’t afford to do anything that might cause someone to remember her. The jeans and sweatshirt she wore were the sort of thing every other young person would have on, and she’d pulled the hood up over her hair.
She had driven her car to the Philadelphia airport before the sun was up, escaping most of the usual morning traffic on 95. Leaving the car in the long-term lot, she’d waited for a shuttle to take her to the train station, fearing a taxi might be too easily traced to her.
Surely Clint would first assume she’d taken a flight when he found her car at the airport. She didn’t doubt he’d find it—that was probably child’s play to a man like him. That’s why she’d switched to a train to Harrisburg, and now she was on a bus to State College. The bus service was often crowded with students going back and forth to Penn State, and at the moment she welcomed the idea of losing herself in a group.
The bus filled up gradually, and she slid the new cell phone from her bag and checked it. But it remained stubbornly blank. No reply from Paul to her texts. Was he even receiving them? Not being able to contact him was a constant irritant, separate from all the other fears and frustrations she felt.
Exasperation had her biting her lip. What was Paul playing at? She’d texted him about the attack, told him she was leaving town until he straightened out this mess. It was hard to believe he wouldn’t be alarmed that someone had come after her.
Paul might figure out where she’d gone. But he had visited the farm at Echo Falls only once, and the visit hadn’t been a success. Not that her grandfather would say anything against him, but Grossdaadi’s silence on the subject spoke volumes. Even Grossmammi’s voice had sounded hollow when she’d wished them happiness.
If Rachel had taken their opinions more seriously, she might not be in this predicament today. It had been useless to expect good advice from her several-times-married mother, but despite their restricted lives in the quiet Amish countryside, her grandparents understood people. She could have trusted them.
It was far too late for regrets of that sort. All she could do now was focus on staying out of Paul’s affairs as best she could.
The bus began to move, lumbering slowly through traffic. The large young man who’d taken the aisle seat next to her propped his knees against the seat in front of him and fell asleep. That left her plenty of privacy to focus on her own problems. Her mind returned, inexorably, to Clint Mordan. For a crazy moment or two after the attack, she’d almost called him.
That would have been a mistake. He was, if not the enemy, at least someone to be avoided. Those moments when he’d seemed sympathetic had lured her into saying more than she’d intended. It had been so tempting to tell him everything. She had to keep reminding herself that his duty was to Attwood, not her. Lyn had been right about that.
Clint might be a man of integrity—it was too soon to tell. But he was also a person who probably considered deception a professional requirement. She couldn’t trust her reputation and her safety to someone whose loyalty lay elsewhere.
Some part of her still regarded that as a shame. It would have been reassuring to unload her burdens on those strong shoulders.
She dismissed the thought, annoyed with herself. She didn’t need anyone to rely on. Just because there had been a moment when they’d touched, when wordless communication flowed, that didn’t mean she could trust him.
Leaning back, Rachel forced herself to simulate sleep, but behind her closed lids, her mind was busy. She considered getting off at one of the intermediate stops, but if she headed for the farm too quickly, she might lead any followers straight to Echo Falls. Better to get off at State College in the exodus of students and then backtrack. Each change she made surely would create more difficulties for anyone tracing her.
She’d been thinking about Clint as the follower, but what about the man who’d attacked her? She forced herself to relive those moments. She’d known instantly that it hadn’t been Paul. That same instinct told her the man wasn’t Clint, either. It wasn’t just emotion. Clint was taller, harder, more muscular. Whoever he was, she’d be naïve to assume he wouldn’t come after her again.
What had he wanted? Had he thought she knew where Paul was? Or where the flash drive had gone? Surely, if Paul had turned it over to someone else already, the pressure would be off her.
Now that she had time to think instead of react, she began to wonder if the obvious assumption, that Paul had taken the information to sell, was really so simple. Quite aside from the fact that she couldn’t see Paul betraying his friends, surely he’d end up with more continuing benefit when his own firm developed it. Unless he’d had some desperate immediate need for money. If he was in debt, if he were threatened...maybe he would act out of character.
Why didn’t Paul answer? He was the only one who could tell her the truth. As soon as she considered it, she realized how ridiculous that hope was. When had Paul ever followed through on his responsibilities toward their marriage? Because like it or not, he was responsible for the trouble she was in.
Addicts lie. The unpalatable truth had been spoken by the leader of a group that helped the family and friends of addicted persons. They lie all the time. They lie whenever it’s the easiest thing to do. That’s the first thing you have to accept in dealing with them.
She had no idea if his generalization was true of all addicts, but he’d hit the gold when it came to an assessment of Paul. It had taken longer than it should have for her to accept that, but life had been, if not easier, at least less unpredictable when she had.
Despite herself, she actually fell asleep on the bus, waking only when it pulled into State College. It took a few moments to collect herself, and when she disembarked she looked around with apprehension.
But it was ridiculous to imagine that Clint could have gotten here before her. He might be good at his job, but he couldn’t read minds. That was true of anyone else who might be chasing her, too.
Making her way to the counter, she consulted the schedule of outbound routes. There were several possibilities, but only one that would get her out quickly. Silly, she supposed, but she had a sudden aversion to the thought of sitting and waiting. As long as she kept moving, she felt relatively safe. If anyone had followed her...
But no
one had. It was absurd to feel as if unknown eyes were watching her, waiting to see what she did next. She bought a ticket for the first eastbound bus, found it already waiting and boarded. With a sense of urgency she watched the platform, her hand shielding her face, until the driver closed the door and pulled out.
She inhaled deeply, forcing her taut muscles to relax. Everything was going according to plan. There was no reason for her fears.
It wasn’t until the last leg of Rachel’s trip that her luck ran out. The closest she could get was a stop five miles away from Echo Falls...probably a little less to the farm. There was only one option left. She shouldered the small backpack and started walking.
Five miles had never seemed so long, and her spirits took a nosedive when it began to grow dark. She could have driven from her house to the farm in under four hours, if she’d dared use the car.
As it was, the two-lane blacktop road stretched before her, featureless in the gathering shadows. Telling herself no one knew where she was didn’t help when she could still feel hard hands grasping her in the dark.
She was near enough that most of the farms on either side of the road were Amish-owned. Sitting well back from the pavement as the farmhouses did, their dim lights didn’t penetrate very far.
Headlights appeared, reflecting from the trees along the verge, and she heard the sound of a motor. A car was coming up behind her, fast.
No reason to think it was someone looking for her, but it was dangerous to walk along the narrow road in the dark. She stepped off onto the side, weeds brushing the legs of her jeans. The ground sloped down to a ditch, and a leafy branch from a bush tangled in her hair.
The car swerved around the bend in the road, careened crazily across the pavement and scraped the branches of an overhanging bush. Rachel stepped back, up to her ankles in water, heart pounding as the brakes shrieked. If the car stopped—but it was only a momentary pause before the driver straightened the vehicle and sped off.
