Her Amish Protectors

by Janice Kay Johnson

  But he had to believe that Nadia was safer when somebody was with her. Alone, that was when she became vulnerable.

  Identifying the would-be killer was the only way to ensure her safety. His investigation into the shooting had gone dead in the water, which made him more than a little unhappy. All he had to go on was a dyed blond hair that might or might not be from the shooter, and a whopping big diamond that logic said could have lain there beneath the Dumpster for days and had nothing to do with the assailant. Ben just didn’t believe it. Given the value of the earring, it didn’t make sense that the woman who’d lost it wouldn’t be searching. Plus, wasn’t an alley an unlikely place to have an earring happen to fall off? Nobody who lived or worked on the block had claimed it. The alley didn’t see much foot traffic. Why would it, when the nearby street had wide sidewalks, crosswalks and attractive shop windows?

  Now, a woman crouched in the narrow space between Dumpster and car bumper, sighting in the dark down the barrel of a rifle, shooting, maybe losing her balance when she scrambled away...she could have jarred the earring loose with the butt of the rifle or even her shoulder.

  Women were less likely than men to use a gun even when they did kill. That said, plenty of women around here were as handy with a hunting rifle as their husbands, brothers and fathers were.

  He grumbled under his breath. This was getting him nowhere. He’d grill Nadia again this evening. Somewhere in her head was the answer. Sooner or later, he’d ask the right question.

  * * *

  “I SAW A Square-in-Square pattern that I really liked,” Lucy said, taking the rinsed casserole dish from Nadia and drying it. “I love the idea of using colors in new ways, but this time I want to leave open blocks so I can experiment with fancier hand quilting.”

  “That sounds like a good idea, but I can’t picture the pattern.” Nadia let the water drain from the sink and dried her hands. “Was it in one of my books?”

  “Uh-huh. I think I can put my hands right on it.”

  “Why don’t we go look for it right now?” With her hip, Nadia nudged Ben, who hadn’t seemed crushed when his offer to help clean up had been rebuffed. “Unless your brother is itching to get home.”

  Sitting at the table, he looked up from his phone. “No hurry.” His gaze drifted over her in a way that warmed her skin as it went. The impact when his eyes met hers had her wishing this was one of the evenings when he drove her home and stayed for a couple of hours—or all night. “Shades drawn down there?” he asked.

  Dose of reality, thank you. “Yes, I let down the ones in front every day when I close now. And I never raise the blinds in the back room.” The alley view wouldn’t exactly enhance the colorful, feminine world she had created in her store.

  “Okay.” He smiled at his sister. “I’ll stay here, if you’ll forgive me for not coming along to share my opinion.”

  She kissed his cheek. “I think I can live without it. Do you remember what you said when I showed you the fabrics I chose for the first quilt?”

  He was smart enough to look wary. “Ah...no.”

  “Direct quote—‘Those don’t really go together, do they?’”

  Nadia laughed. “Remind me never to consult him.”

  Downstairs, Lucy began in front by browsing the books for sale, some displayed face out, some spine out. “I know it was a hardback. Country something...” Her face cleared. “Wait, it might have been in back.”

  Nadia had a good selection of books available for sale, but she kept the larger library in the back room, available for customers and students to browse or even borrow. She could think of at least a couple of books with country in the title that were out here, however, so she scanned for them as Lucy turned on the light in the back room and started for the shelves.

  The explosive crack of a gunshot and the sound of shattering glass came at the same time.

  “Lucy!” Nadia screamed.

  Furniture scraped on the floor, as if Lucy had stumbled against it. Then came the thud of a falling body. Within seconds, Ben thundered down the stairs.

  Horror filled her. Once the light came on in here, Lucy must have appeared as a dark silhouette through the filmy blinds. Nadia bent low and started into the back room.

  Crack.

  Something splintered behind her even as she fell to her hands and knees. She crawled toward Lucy, who lay unmoving on the floor, an overturned chair half on top of her.

  * * *

  THE FIRST GUNSHOT acted like a starter’s pistol. Ben tore down the stairs and sprinted for the back door, even though he desperately wanted to go to Nadia and Lucy. But Lucy and he had come separately, him straight from work, and since he’d parked in front, the shooter might not know he was here at all.

  He’d have given a lot to be wearing a vest, but turned the dead bolt and flung open the door anyway. He went through fast, gun in his hand, leaping to the side off the concrete pad.

  “Police! Put your weapon down. Now!”

  A scrape of gravel, a metallic clatter and running footsteps.

  He wouldn’t shoot somebody in the back. But if that had been a rifle, and he thought it was, he had the advantage now. He sprinted after the dark figure.

  * * *

  THIS WAS WORSE than being shot herself. It felt like a nightmare, as if the monster who still haunted her dreams was pacing just out of sight and would appear any moment to make sure none of them had moved, that they were really dead.

  No, no, no. This was different. He was dead and hadn’t come back. It’s Lucy. No children. No staring eyes.

  But it shouldn’t be Lucy. I was the target, she thought, even as she carefully rolled the other woman enough to see the bloody front of her shirt. Bone white, Lucy’s face had a familiar slackness to it, a lock of hair hanging over her open mouth. She looked dead.

  No, she was breathing. Not dead.

  Having heard Ben go out the back door and start yelling, Nadia strained to hear more. Don’t let him be shot, too, please, not him. I can’t bear it. She tore open Lucy’s shirt, finding a wound high on her shoulder.

  Then she sank back on her heels. Why was Lucy unconscious? Shock? No, smoothing back her hair, Nadia saw more blood. A bullet graze? But looking around, she spotted the smear of blood on the edge of the table, which along with the chair had been pushed askew. Lucy had hit it as she went down, knocked herself unconscious. Oh, thank God.

  She crawled back toward the doorway. She had to get to the store phone to call 911.

  Another gunshot rang out from the alley, farther away, and Nadia’s heart skipped a beat. Ben!

  * * *

  ALMOST TO THE CORNER, the dark figure slowed enough to swing the rifle around and take a shot. It went wild, of course. Ben used the chance to gain ground. His longer legs ate up the distance.

  He launched himself and they crashed down, skidding on gravel and pavement. The minute he gripped one wrist, he knew this was a woman. She fought wildly, with wiry strength, bucking and screaming, but she’d come down atop her rifle, and Ben used his weight and greater size to keep her flat.

  He managed to holster his gun with one hand. But, damn it, he didn’t carry cuffs. He hoped like hell somebody had called 911, because he’d left his phone on the table upstairs.

  He tried not to think about Nadia or Lucy.

  At last he got his hand on the woman’s other arm. He yanked both behind her and pushed himself up, one knee planted on her back. “Fighting won’t get you anywhere,” he growled. “You are under arrest.”

  Distant siren.

  The streetlight was adequate for him to see that she wore a black hooded sweatshirt. The back of his hand had brushed her breast during the struggle, verifying that he was holding a woman captive, not a small man or teenager. The why was still a mystery—but his gut told him that once he could fr
ee a hand to yank off the hood, he’d see bleached-blond hair.

  He recited her Miranda rights even as he prayed she hadn’t succeeded in killing either of the women he loved.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “CORINNE BISSETT.” SITTING in a small waiting room at the hospital, Nadia gaped at Ben, who had just joined her. “But...that’s the woman I bought the building from.”

  “Mrs. Jefferson’s heir,” he agreed. He had a secure hold on her hand, which he needed. His fear for her and Lucy had settled to a simmer, but whatever his eyes told him, he needed the contact to help him believe Nadia, at least, was safe. Unhurt.

  Lucy had been taken right into surgery, but she had regained consciousness by the time the ambulance reached the hospital. That helped when he called his parents to tell them their already fragile daughter had been shot. They were catching a red-eye to Saint Louis and would be here by morning. He wasn’t thrilled, but understood.

  “I have to see her myself,” his mother had declared, anxiety threading her voice.

  Now he and Nadia were waiting while the surgeon dug out the bullet.

  Her expression held only perplexity. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I have to believe it has something to do with her aunt’s death.” The theft hadn’t, as it turned out, but these attempts on Nadia’s life...no other possibility made sense.

  Nadia’s forehead stayed crinkled. “But...I never even met her when I was buying the building. And that was months after the murder.”

  “Did she ever stop by to say hello?” he asked.

  Nadia shook her head, but her expression changed. “Actually, I did finally meet her by chance...oh, not that long ago. I told you, didn’t I?”

  “No.” He could all but hear the ping. “When?”

  Her forehead crinkled. “I think it was the week after the auction. I mentioned Allison Edgerton cornering me at the store, right?” When he nodded, she said, “Apparently Corinne was right behind me and overheard. She commiserated and—” Her voice slowed. “Well, I recognized her.”

  “From?”

  “She and I had met, oh, months before I even considered Byrum. I’d flown to Missouri to check out half a dozen possible towns. In a couple places, fabric stores were up for sale, and in the others—” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. That day at the grocery store, it took me a minute to recognize her, because her hair wasn’t blond the first time I saw her, but then it came to me. We were in Trenton. This café was really full, and she was nice enough to tell me I could sit at her table. We chatted while we ate, just, ‘oh, are you a tourist’ kind of stuff. You know.”

  But they’d talked long enough for Nadia to recognize Corinne...how much later?

  “When was this?” he asked.

  “It was over a year ago.”

  She had confirmed what his intuition was telling him. Corinne’s alibi for her aunt’s death had always bothered him. A woman who, from all reports, rarely traveled, just happening to visit the Big Apple the weekend her aunt was murdered. But her friends had insisted she was with them, and the airline had confirmed her flights.

  Seeing his expression, Nadia said, “I kept a, well, sort of a diary. Notes about possibilities I spotted online, my trips to scout them out—that kind of thing. I’d have to look at it to tell you exactly when I was in Trenton.”

  Had Corinne driven back and forth from New York? Or, now that he knew where to look, would he be able to prove she’d taken a bus or train to get home for a day or two? Trenton made a nice stopover—just far enough away from Byrum, she’d be unlikely to run into anyone she knew, but also an easy drive. Into town, push aunt down the stairs, confirm she was dead, out of town.

  “You think...?” Nadia said.

  “I do think.”

  “So...if we hadn’t happened to meet in the store that day...”

  Ben shook his head. “You’d have met another time. This isn’t that big a town. She had a shock running into you and finding out that, of all people in the world, you were the one who bought her aunt’s building and business. But I imagine it was the theft that sent her into panic mode. I was investigating you, asking a lot of questions. I’d made it plain I wouldn’t give up on her aunt’s death. Because you bought that building, there was a connection. She had to know that if you mentioned her even in passing, I’d jump on it.”

  “That’s it, then.” Nadia sounded numb now. “She tried to kill me, an almost complete stranger, on the chance that I might blow her alibi.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Misery apparent, Nadia pulled back a little, even tugging at her hand, but he didn’t let go.

  “I’m sorry. I mean, about Lucy. You were right. She should have stayed away from me.”

  This was probably the strangest of times for him to feel a smile forming, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. “You know what she said to me, when they were wheeling her from the ER to surgery?”

  Eyes big and luminous, Nadia shook her head. She’d hung back when he walked beside his sister down the hall to the elevator. Ignoring the orderly pushing the bed, Lucy had grabbed his hand. Her eyes had been doing whirligigs—Ben guessed they’d already given her a painkiller—but she had still managed to project fierce determination.

  “Lucy told me not to dare blame you. She also said—” his voice thickened “—that she was glad you hadn’t gotten shot again.”

  He didn’t tell Nadia that the last thing his sister had mumbled was, “Only fair to spread it around.”

  “I still feel—”

  “Don’t.” Ben pulled until she was leaning against him, her head resting on his chest. With the wooden arm of the chair denting his ribs and probably hers, too, the embrace wouldn’t last long. But he had to hold her. He’d have lifted her onto his lap if the chance of someone walking in on them hadn’t been so good.

  Nadia said something he didn’t catch. He rubbed his cheek against her already disordered hair. “What?”

  “She’s the best friend I’ve made here. I wish she didn’t have to go home.”

  That let him ease his grip. He nuzzled her temple. “I kind of doubt she has any intention of leaving Byrum.”

  Nadia lifted her head. “But you don’t want her to stay.”

  “I’d love to have her live here. My fear is that the Amish were the draw for her, and that she might make some decisions for the wrong reasons.”

  “I really don’t think...”

  “I don’t, either.” He smiled at her. “Quit worrying.”

  Her eyes shimmered, and for a moment he was afraid she’d cry, but instead she said, “It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she and Jacob hooked up, would it?”

  Ben laughed. “Do you think that’s how he’d put it? Hey, babe, wanna hook up?”

  Nadia giggled—just as Ben heard a soft footfall. The graying surgeon in his green scrubs, face mask pushed below his chin, stepped into the small room.

  “Lucy is in recovery,” he said briskly. “We had no difficulty getting the bullet out, and the damage is less than we feared. I’ll be surprised if she isn’t ready to go home tomorrow, the next day at the latest. Oh—I saved the bullet for you.”

  The bullets from Nadia’s shooting were already in the evidence room. Ben had no doubt that they would match up with the Marlin Model 336 hunting rifle Corinne had carried. The shell casings she hadn’t had a chance to pick up tonight might well have her fingerprints on them, too.

  “Thanks,” he said huskily. “When can we see her?”

  “I’d suggest tomorrow morning. Sleep is what she needs.”

  Ben hesitated, but finally nodded. He felt drained himself. “You have my number.”

  “Yes.” The surgeon nodded at both of them and strode away.

  After a moment, Nadia said, “I�
��m glad we didn’t have the same surgeon. He’d be really wondering about us right now.”

  Ben’s chuckle left him feeling loose. “He’d figure it was all in the family.”

  Her eyes widened in what he was afraid was shock. Did that mean she wasn’t ready for what he had in mind?

  As they walked out to the car, he called his parents, getting his father this time, who in his usual way received the good news with a long silence. Call over, Ben said to Nadia, “I asked for your window to be boarded up—”

  “Déjà vu,” she muttered.

  His mouth quirked. “—but I’d like it if you’d come home with me tonight.”

  “Yes. Please.” And Nadia tucked her hand in his.

  Emotion swelled in him, complex, painful and good. Since he’d started his freshman year in college, an eighteen-year-old boy who didn’t yet know his big sister would be brutally raped a year later, he wouldn’t have used the word happy to describe himself. Happy, he discovered now, was no longer the same, simplistic concept...but, damn, it was powerful.

  * * *

  NADIA SHOWERED IMMEDIATELY, frantic to wash the blood off herself. The sharp scent made her want to gag. Ben had promised to find her something to wear. Toweling herself dry, she discovered his idea of something was one of his T-shirts. Period. She considered putting her panties back on beneath the soft knit T and decided not to bother. She felt sure he’d have her out of them in no time.

  She emerged from the bathroom to find him waiting in the hall, leaning against the wall. The sight of him in nothing but low-slung sweatpants made her whole body cramp with longing.

  Ben made a rough sound in his throat and straightened. Nadia walked right into his arms, her head against his shoulder.

  “When I heard that gunshot...” His voice broke. “I was so scared. Not knowing which of you had been shot, how bad you were hurt—”

  “If you hadn’t gone after her, we still wouldn’t know who and why. I’d still be in danger.”