by Ronie Kendig
At the mention of the Augsburger’s second eldest, Katie felt her heart scamper into her stomach. At thirty, David should have been married long ago. To a sweet, compliant Amish girl who’d taken the faith.
“I’ll get the rig ready and be right back when that pie is done.” Katie stepped back onto the porch and made her way down the steps, searching the field for the horse. She gave a call, and the mare lifted her head from the field. Katie groaned. In the corn again! Rein in hand, she hurried across the yard to the fence. David’s older brother, Isaac, was irate the last time the mare chewed a couple of ears.
Really, it wasn’t the horse. Katie knew that. It was her. He, like others in the Amish community, had rejected her, an Englischer. She bore her mother’s shame, though she’d had no control over her mother’s departure.
She slipped the rein around the horse and led her back to the yard, where she hooked up the rig. Her grandmother was there with the chicken potpie and fresh-baked bread. As she set them in the rig, Katie retrieved the pie. They made their way down the road. Though the two properties shared boundaries, the creek and distance made it too difficult for Grossmammi, especially with food.
Katie guided the rig down the lane and onto Augsburger Road. Even as the horse drew up to the white clapboard house, Katie felt her stomach squirm. Which was insane!
Miriam Augsburger hurried out to them and wrapped her arms around Katie. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
Laughing, Katie appreciated the friendship David’s sister had provided since she’d moved to the community. “Is it that bad?” She handed the potpie to Miriam.
“Worse! They act as if Lydia is dead!” Miriam muttered.
Pie tucked in the crook of her arm, Katie made sure to offer a hand of support to her grandmother as they climbed the steps. When Katie glanced up, her stomach once again flopped. Light brown eyes fastened onto hers like a homing beacon. Black hair curled around his ears, despite the typical bowl cut.
For Pete’s sake! She wasn’t a simpering schoolgirl. And she wasn’t a young, single Amish girl attending Sunday evening singings in the hopes a boy would offer to take her home.
Though, were she honest with herself, she envied those girls with their simple lives. Nothing about hers was simple. Even moving here had complicated everything in ways unimaginable.
“Ah, David. How are you?” Grossmammi asked as they reached the final step and she made her way to him, an arthritic, gnarled hand reaching for him.
David bent to her and gave her a hug. “Gut. Denki, Mrs. Gerig.” He lifted the food from her arms. “Let me help you.”
“Such a good boy,” her grandmother said as he opened the door.
His gaze once more hit Katie.
She breathed in, startled at the way his gaze warmed her.
“Katie,” he said with a nod, allowing them to enter while he held the door.
She gave a nod, unwilling to trust herself to speak. She’d negotiated exchanges for high-value targets, but around David Augsburger, where everything was simple yet profoundly complicated, she couldn’t speak. And yet she had a lot to tell him.
The spartan furnishings provided a calm balance to the throng of people filling the halls and rooms. Katie smiled at the Millers and Schrocks, who engaged her grandmother in conversation, allowing her to deliver the food to the kitchen.
“Tell me that’s blueberry,” David said as she set the pie on the table.
“I had some canned and thought I should use them up.”
Several other women bustled around the kitchen. While her grossmammi had taught her the art of pie baking, Katie wasn’t a master of the kitchen. Something anyone wanting a wife should know. Mrs. Hochstetler squeezed past, her ample size pushing Katie back.
Right into David.
“Want some air?”
“Ya,” Katie said.
“Kumm.” David tugged her sleeve and led her out the side door. He went to the fence rail and leaned against it, looking out over the fields.
Immediately a breeze wafted across her face, fluttering her prayer kapp strings as she joined him. “I… I talked with the bishop.” She’d never been very good with subtlety.
David stilled, his gaze dropping to the dirt path that led from the steps.
Was he happy? Upset? She couldn’t gauge by his expression. Which was like a stone. A wall of granite. “He…” The community of Bleak Pond knew about her mother and Katie’s past. They just didn’t know all of it. And they never could. Which is why doing this…setting foot on this path…
Katie sighed.
“Are you going to do it?” David squinted against the sun but didn’t move. Didn’t look at her.
David was the epitome of a dichotomy. Dressed in dark pants, a white shirt, and suspenders, he was every bit Amish. Until you knew that he owned a car and had a license. The elders had made an exception, quietly looked the other way, since David’s family had a daughter with a congenital heart defect and needed medical care often.
“He said I could start instructions next month.”
David slid his hands into his pockets. Handsome. Very intelligent. Sought after. “That’s not what I asked.”
Katie wrung her hands. Her pulse pounded, like a cadence. A military cadence trying to remind her of who she really was.
But she’s gone. Died five years ago.
“Yes,” she finally said with conviction.
David met her gaze. Surprise and relief—or was it something else—surged through his handsome face. “You sure about that?” Now he faced her full-on. “You realize what this means?”
Did he not want her to do it? They couldn’t ever court or think of being anything other than an Englischer and her Amish friend if she let things stay as they were. And she’d done that for many years now.
“I think I’ve lived here long enough to understand,” she answered softly. “I want this.”
“So you believe in God? You’re willing to keep to the Ordnung?”
“I do—yes.” Surprised at the conviction spiraling through her answer, she once more looked to the fields. The expanse. The beauty and simplicity of it all. How had her heart changed so much? She’d hated the rules, the constraints, the utter rejection, when she first came. It didn’t take her long to realize it wasn’t rejection but a fear of the unknown that her presence created. Her mother’s shame and past.
But as she and David developed a friendship, him renting their barn for some new horses they’d brought in for breeding, she wasn’t as feared or shunned. She had really started winning them over by attending service with her grandmother—more out of necessity to aid the elderly woman—but slowly, as a hunger gnawed at Katie’s insides to know more about God. Thankfully, she’d always had a curiosity about her Germanic heritage and learned German when most of her classmates were learning Spanish or French. Though the words were slightly different, she’d been able to translate. And learn.
Now she embraced Bleak Pond as her home. Embraced the safety and security here. Embraced God and the peace that had come with that decision two years ago in her grossmammi’s kitchen, holding those parchment-like hands.
But would it be enough?
“You realize, if you take the faith, we could marry before winter.” David’s words hung on the suddenly still breeze.
Katie couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Would he really take her?
He doesn’t know! You can’t do this to him!
Keeley
Little Cayman Island
29 April – 0945 Hours
Growing up with an overprotective mother and an obsessive father, Keeley Shay could serve as a glow lamp with her fair complexion and auburn hair. As a classic Irish girl, she used to burn to a crisp, then the color would peel away and she’d once again have neon white legs.
Until she moved here.
Keeley lugged her gear down the pristine stretch of sandy beach to the dock. A burst of laughter drew her attention to the resort that anchored the north side
of Little Cayman. Though she couldn’t see the tourists, their noise carried clearly.
Her Bobs plodded softly against the dock, the camo the only indication of her former life. Minus the sparkles. She glanced at her shoes, twitching her toes so the sun caught the sequins stitched across the canvas top, glinting. “If you’d wanted a signal beacon, I’d have bought you one.” Boone would’ve had her head for buying something so…girly.
Keeley’s smile faded. She missed him. Missed her friends. After tossing her gear into the dive boat, she lifted her iPhone from her pocket. Checked the e-mail account. Weird. Why hadn’t she replied yet? They had a deal. Reply ASAP then clear the message. Erase the trail.
“More rich kids to entertain today?”
Heart doing a jig, Keeley glanced over her shoulder. She squinted behind her Oakleys, the sun sparkling off the blue-green waters in the distance, and spotted the thick-chested form of her boat captain, Henri. “Corporate execs.”
Henri waved a hand, his almost-black skin satiny smooth in the bright sun. “Worse!” Feet sandaled and khakis cut off at the knees, he made his way onto the boat, chugging a container of water. “They all—‘Do this, man. I pay, you do it.’ ”
Keeley still smiled at the way he said man as “mahn.” He was out of his element here as much as she was, and maybe that’s why they’d hit it off so well. “All I care,” Keeley said with a laugh as she checked one more time for a message, “is that they pay.”
“You and me both, Kendall-girl.”
For a second, she hated that she’d fooled this wonderful man, given him a lie for a name. Traded the truth of Keeley Shay for Kendall Shine, a moniker she’d desperately wanted to reflect. But Henri always made her smile, and his laugh reminded her of voices she’d heard in New Orleans each year during spring break. She went below and changed into her dive suit. When she came topside, Henri started the engines. Mixed in the rumbling wake was a familiar sound that tugged her gaze upward.
“Hey, lookie there, Kendall-girl,” he said, stabbing a finger toward the sleek white plane descending. “More rich. Maybe we stay busy this week, eh?”
She grinned at him. It wasn’t uncommon for a Leer to show up here, but it wasn’t exactly normal either. Most aircraft were puddle jumpers going from one island to another. “Now you can do something for Dorinda?” She joined him at the wheelhouse and slapped his tattooed bicep. “Like buy her a ring.”
“Why? She already got more than she can wear!”
Keeley slapped him again.
“All right, I hear you,” he said, laughing and protecting his arm.
“Promise me,” Keeley said as she lined up the suits and tanks for their gig and checked the oxygen levels. “If we get two more gigs this week—you buy her a ring.”
“What is this? Skull Island? You torturing me, Kendall-girl!”
“ ’Scuse me,” a voice called from the beach. “Are you with Little Dive Spot?”
Keeley shoved her hair from her face as she looked toward the sandy area. Three men stood there in almost matching shorts and tank tops. They seemed comfortable and casual. Well-tanned, well-muscled, and well… everything perfect.
So why had her spine shut down? Why did she want to reach for the weapon that wasn’t there?
“I got this, Kendall-girl,” Henri said as he hopped onto the dock. “You are with Tibbo Consolidated?”
“We are.” The dark-haired guy motioned to his buddy. “My friend here is a little scared of the water. We thought we could get him over that.”
The blond thumped his hand against his friend with a scowl but said nothing. The other man, also dark haired, remained unmoving.
“No worries, man,” Henri said as he motioned them onto the rig.
Something in her stomach curdled. Warned her to stay in the wheelhouse. Through the window, she watched as Henri showed the men below to change into the suits and gear up. She eased the boat from the dock and started out toward the favorite dive haunts, her nerves upended. They weren’t right. The men weren’t right.
But what was wrong?
She couldn’t put her finger on it, but somehow they felt familiar.
Before they got too far, she checked her phone one last time. Unfortunately, she’d already lost the signal. Tossing her phone on the chair beside her, she bit back a curse. Curled her hands around the wheel. Told herself to calm down.
“I do not trust them,” Henri said as he came into the wheelhouse.
Keeley said nothing. Focused on steering away from the island, navigating around the populated areas. On what she’d do if these men were trouble.
The familiar racking of a slide snapped her around. She widened her eyes when she saw the gun in Henri’s hand. “What are you doing with that?”
“Take precautions, Kendall-girl.” Ferocity laced Henri’s expression. “I protect me and mine.” He bobbed his head, those tied-back dreadlocks swaying.
“Do you even know how to use that?”
He laughed. “Kendall-girl, you know me now. You didn’t know me then.”
Whatever then was, he wouldn’t tell her. And she wouldn’t push his imposed anonymity. Just as he wouldn’t impose on hers.
“You feel it, too?” She nodded toward the area where the men were changing.
“How can you not?” he asked as she cut the engine.
The silence proved deafening. As if announcing the end. Their end.
Needing to shake that thought pushed Keeley toward the open sea air. As she moved, a shadow loomed behind Henri.
Keeley reacted with instinct. She elbowed Henri out of the way. Saw the knife coming. She caught the wrist. Yanked, using the attacker’s momentum against him. When he came forward, she shoved the heel of her hand up against his nose.
Crack!
The man stumbled back, blood spurting from his face as he dropped to the deck.
Keeley spun toward Henri, who stood wide eyed. “Go!”
He sputtered then shook himself out of the daze. “How…we…call for help!”
“No time. They won’t make it.” She manhandled Henri, turning him from the wheelhouse. “We have to take care of the others.”
“How do you know to do this, Kendall-girl?”
“Just go!” Over the whoosh of her own pulse, she couldn’t hear his reply. But he moved. That’s all she cared about now—that and getting off this boat alive!
Henri stumbled.
Did the man not know how to—
He went to all fours. Collapsed, facedown on the deck. A dark stain exploded across his back.
Catching Henri by the collar and dragging him backward, Keeley threw herself against the corner of the wheelhouse, searching for the shooter at the bow of the boat. Had to be at the bow or they’d have struck her, too. She peeked around.
Wood splintered, stinging her cheek.
She ducked. Glanced back. Nothing back there except—dive equipment.
As an idea gripped her, she verified the tanks were still where she’d stowed them. If she could…
Creak.
She whipped around.
A fist rammed into her face.
Knocked her back. Her vision blurred. Her ears rang! She stumbled, caught her balance as the man rushed forward. She readied herself. When he struck out again, she bent, once more turning the attacker’s momentum against him. He fumbled over her. She shifted. Sliced the side of her hand into his solar plexus. Waited to hear that gasp. Then shoved as hard as she could, sending him over the side.
As she pivoted, looking for the third man, she felt something warm trickling down her side. She checked the spot, stunned to see she’d been shot. When did that happen?
She clamped a hand over the spot, searching for the last guy.
A silenced Glock 17 slid into her view, followed by the final assailant. Firm grip. Tactical precision. How did they find me?
The man leered. “Game’s up, little girl.”
Oh God…help me. Even as she said the words, she realized the ring
ing in her ears wasn’t ringing. It was a siren.
The man realized it, too. He shifted his gaze toward the roar of a speedboat. Whoever was coming, she didn’t know. But she did know one thing—she wasn’t dying on this boat!
She hooked the guy’s knee. Jerked it out from under him.
He went down into a squat but swung the gun at her.
Fire exploded through her abdomen.
Just as quickly, the man jerked and stumbled backward. Jerked again. Keeley couldn’t move, the sudden gush of blood pooling around her. She felt cold. Crazy cold for the sun that shone in her eyes.
Thud!
A shape burst over the side rail. After a few meaty grunts, someone scrabbled up to her side. “Keeley!”
Hearing her real name, she blinked and looked up into the gray eyes she’d known and loved. “Boone…”
Pain exploded through her side. She grabbed the spot with a guttural scream. Covered it with her hands, surprised to find Boone’s there.
“Hold on, Keeley. Help is coming.” He worked quickly. Sternly. Fiercely. It’s what she’d loved about him all those years ago. Even as the light began to fade—why was it fading? Had clouds come? She didn’t recall a storm warning—she was just glad he was here. She’d be fine now.
“How you doing, Keeley?” Boone demanded, his tone gruff. In charge. Just like the drill sergeant he’d been.
“My shoes,” she mumbled.
She went limp. Felt…nothing. Her eyes drifted.
“Keeley! Talk to me!”
She blinked. “Shoes…” A cocoon of warmth and comfort surrounded her. Boone was close, his breath skidding over her cheek. “Sparkly.” She tried to smile. “My…shoes…sparkle.”
Annie
Manson, Washington
29 April – 2130 Hours
Stars of shattered glass. Glittering under a red moon.
Grief pushed Annie down, her shoulders hunched against the memories. Eyes closed to the nightmare that revived itself every year. Every day. She gripped the balcony and fought back the swell of emotions. The memories.
Lifting the lighter, she dragged her gaze from the glass-like lake to the six candles lined up on the rail. Annie flicked the striker wheel and aimed the flame at the first wick, remembering. “They…”
