by Katy Lee
Grace remembered the grunt the lawman had given when he was carrying her. Had he been shot and never said a thing?
She glanced to the floor where he had placed her and taken care of her burned feet. He had lowered her father so gently, as well, all the while hurt and bleeding from his own wound?
The idea bewildered her. It was a gesture of charity even in the midst of pain. And now he was out there searching for the gunman.
Or bleeding out.
Grace felt at an impasse. Should she go out to look for him and help him? Or stay inside and risk him never returning?
Whatever she chose would put them in danger. But if she stayed inside, she would invite the danger in.
Grace’s eyes filled with tears at her father’s feebleness. Whatever she did, she had to make sure he was safe. That’s all that mattered.
“Daed, I’m going to go out for a while. I’ll be back real soon,” she said, in the most normal voice she could muster.
Benjamin squinted up at her and she knew he wasn’t placing her. She figured it was just as well. In a sad way, his brain was protecting him through this ordeal. When this nightmare was over, hopefully he wouldn’t remember a single gunshot.
Though Agent Kaufman would.
Grace limped over to the closet and found a pair of her father’s boots. She bound wet rags around her feet and gingerly slipped them into the boots. A careful test proved she could endure walking in them. At the door, she reached for a lantern to take with her, but thought better of it. A flame would only draw attention. Still, going out empty-handed seemed just as dangerous.
An idea flickered in her mind, one that seemed so wrong.
A glance in the direction of the closet, with its door still opened wide, showed her the long box with the shotgun was still there. She’d never fired it but had seen her daed load it enough times to understand the mechanics involved.
She looked his way, and it was as though her father could read her thoughts. His head tilted, and his green eyes sought hers for an excuse valid enough to go against the Amish way of no violence.
She had none.
With quiet acceptance, she opened the door and walked out into the dark of night empty-handed. She couldn’t use a weapon to help the agent, but Grace didn’t think there were any rules about creating a diversion.
She looked to the barn and the trailer. The thoroughbred kicked up a fuss against the steel sides. Grace headed toward the horses and thought that she just might have the perfect weapon, or weapons.
Three to be exact.
* * *
As soon as Jack left Grace’s house, he shot his truck’s tire to stop the thief from riding out with the vehicle and trailer. With a flat tire, the pickup couldn’t go anywhere, but by the time Jack made it there the driver’s side door was open and the cab was empty. The man had run off.
Jack scanned the tree line, knowing he would have to go in if he was going to catch this guy. The horse thief wasn’t leaving without the thoroughbred, and Jack wasn’t leaving without his thief—or thieves, if Grace Miller was really part of the operation. Although that was appearing to be not the case, he wouldn’t rule it out yet, especially since he’d witnessed her taking the horse at the track.
Jack reached under the dashboard and pulled apart the twisted strands that had hotwired the vehicle. With the engine killed and his gun up, he headed toward the base of the cliff for a game of cat and mouse in the woods.
Jack held his weapon in his right hand. His other palm was pressed tightly against his left side, where a bullet had clipped him during his run with Grace. “Thank you, God,” he muttered under his breath. The gash burned like crazy, but could have been so much worse than a missing chunk of skin. It still could be dangerous if he didn’t stop the bleeding, of course. Judging by the feel of the wound, the gunman had nothing bigger than a .22. Most likely why he’d missed his mark from out in the woods.
Jack pulled his hand away, only to find fresh blood on it. Well, maybe it wasn’t a complete miss. But at least the bullet didn’t get Grace. At least she was still locked up safely in her home. Jack would play hide-and-seek with this gunman all night if it meant keeping him away from Grace and Benjamin.
Jack pressed his hand over his side again and tilted an ear to his right. The sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze mingled with a few far-off crickets. Then he heard what he was waiting for.
The snap of a twig.
The gunman was off to his right, just as Jack had predicted. Moving stealthily, he followed the other sounds the thief made, and soon realized the guy wasn’t very smart. So far, he had moved in the same right, right, left pattern. Jack figured it was so he could find his way out of the forest. But that also meant he could be tracked.
And just like that, Jack became the stalker with the upper hand.
He readied his gun as he took silent steps to his right. At ten feet, he turned left to keep to the gunman’s right. Jack picked up his pace to outmatch his target’s. He took one more turn, this time left, and came face-to-face with a shadowed figure in the dark, his eyes wild at being caught.
“Who are you?” Jack asked into the night, his trigger finger ready to pull. He stepped closer and noticed a bandana covered half the man’s face.
Or more like a boy’s.
Jack huffed in disbelief. “They’re hiring them younger and younger these days. How old are you? Seventeen?”
“None of your business. I’m here for the horse, but you have inconvenienced me.”
Jack laughed aloud. “That’s a big word for such a little guy. That’s a good one.” He laughed again.
The gunman’s eyes narrowed with anger. “How would you like another bullet in you?”
Jack’s laughter stopped cold. “I let you take a shot at me once. It won’t happen again.”
The boy lifted his gun straight at Jack’s head. Jack wasn’t about to give him another chance to fire.
He jerked to the right as his left hand reached for the gun and pushed it away. The weapon blasted, but the boy gripped it firmly as they grappled together.
The sound of a horse running interrupted them. Then Jack heard the thud of several horses’ hooves on the hard ground.
“There’s more than one,” he said aloud.
“The horses!” the boy yelled frantically. “The horses are loose!” He took off in the direction of one of the running animals, then veered to go after another. “Which one is it?”
Jack could see the boy knew what was at stake if he didn’t return with the thoroughbred.
His life.
“Tell me who you work for, and I can help you,” Jack said. He hadn’t moved from his spot, just turned to watch the boy grow more and more frustrated.
“She did this!” the boy wildly yelled. “I knew she would be trouble. I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.”
“You think the Amish woman did this?” Jack asked, biting back an amused laugh at the idea. Then he gave the remark some thought. The boy had to be right. Only Grace could have released the horses and caused the confusion.
But that wasn’t all she’d managed to do.
“That little Amish woman not only freed the horses, but she managed to disarm you,” he said with a smirk.
The boy looked down at his hands, now empty. He lifted confused eyes and saw two guns now in Jack’s possession. The boy’s own gun was now aimed at him.
“So tell me who you are,” Jack ordered.
The boy’s eyes flitted from side to side before resting on Jack. Slowly, he peered through angry eyes. “I’ve got all night. How long do you have before you bleed out?” He lifted his head in defiance.
Jack recognized that smug expression. He’d been just a little bit older when he had given that same look to his family and walked away forever. Only Jack had gone into law enforcement. This kid wouldn’t make it out
of his teens if he stayed on a track of crime much longer.
“You’re a dead man,” Jack said. “You know that, right? And it won’t be me pulling the trigger that does you in.”
“That only means I’ve got nothing to lose.”
Jack shook his head. “You’ve got everything to lose. You’re just too blind to see it right now. Let me help you.”
A crunch of leaves to Jack’s left alerted them to the presence of someone else. Jack expected to see a horse trotting in, but at the silhouette of an Amish woman, he knew it was Grace. His weakening state held him back a fraction of a second too long. Just the time the boy needed to reach down to his ankle, then spring into a run at Grace. He wrapped an arm around her neck just as Jack leaped toward them.
Grace shrieked and flailed. Quickly, her body stilled, and she whimpered.
Jack rushed the last few steps until he realized the boy had a knife to her throat. It must have been strapped to his ankle, Jack thought distractedly, while his brain raced to figure out his next move.
He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to shoot you. I only want to help you get away from these people before it’s too late for you.” He set the guns at his feet to show his words rang true.
But he readied himself to spring in and take the boy down.
“You forgot one thing,” the youth said, keeping Grace’s back pressed tightly against him. “I don’t want to get away. I was going places. And this is so much bigger than a few horses.”
Grace struggled to get free and cried out again when her assailant twisted her arm. She was yelling as Jack took another slow step forward. He was nearly there when he saw her lift her right foot and jam it down hard on the boy’s instep. He noticed she wore large boots now just as the boy hollered out in pain, and she did the same.
The young thief let go of her, and she fell to the ground. Boots forgotten, Jack took the opportunity to run at the boy, but just as he was about to make contact, his opponent turned and ran into the dark.
Jack started to go after him, but knew that in his current state he’d never catch up. Still, he had to try.
Then he heard Grace crying behind him.
Jack stopped where he stood, torn in two directions.
But he couldn’t leave Grace sobbing.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, retracing his steps to her. “Did he cut you? Or is it your foot? I saw you stomp on him. With your burns that took some guts.”
Grace lifted her face to him. Fear shone in her widened eyes. “I fought back,” she whispered in despair.
Jack grabbed his side with a grunt as he knelt to face her. He frowned at seeing her agony, both physical and emotional, then sighed and helped her to her feet. Automatically, they leaned together for support. “I know you think you fought back, Grace, but actually, you saved his life. For at least tonight. I was going to have to take him down.”
“But he’s only a boy.”
“It was either you or him, and trust me, it wouldn’t have been you.”
Her face lifted to his. So close, he could feel her soft breath on his chin. He studied her bewildered expression and knew before she said a word what she would have had him do. He knew the Amish way of turning the other cheek. “In my line of business, I do my best to avoid bloodshed, but if there must be some, I aim for the one who’s holding the weapon, not for the innocent bystander caught in the fray.”
“Like yourself?” she asked, her gaze locked on his. “I know you were shot. I found your blood in my home.”
Jack didn’t deny it. With a shrug, he said, “I’ll live. It’s just a graze.”
“We still need to tend to the wound. It could become infected.” The angle of her chin told him she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“I thought Amish women were supposed to be passive,” he grumbled.
“I’ll take that as the pain talking.”
Jack bit back a grin. She was different from the Amish women he’d grown up with. Maybe she would have stuck up for him when he was younger, even when his family hadn’t.
No, probably not.
He let the wishful thinking go and said, “First we need to round up the horses. They’re my first priority.”
“Not me anymore? Does this mean you believe I’m innocent now?” Hope brightened her eyes.
Jack paused before answering. The image of Grace tying the stolen horse to her buggy was fixed in his mind. “It’s not my job to determine your innocence.”
“But—”
“Let’s go. Our shooter could return at any second with backup.” He took her elbow to guide her out of the woods.
“But do you still think I’m guilty?” she asked as they moved gingerly through the trees. If her feet were paining her, she didn’t mention it. He’d give her points for that.
But he still avoided her question. “Tomorrow, you’re taking me to the track, and you’re going to show me what you do there. Cooperate with me, and I might put in a good word to my supervisor.”
They left the woods, but before they descended the hill toward the house, Grace clicked her tongue, and two horses came stomping up behind them. They approached her and stood by, panting and nickering, and nosing her outstretched hand.
She had a gentle way with horses that Jack found sweet.
But not enough to make him walk away.
“I’ll round up the other horse,” he said. “Before he’s long gone.”
“Please do find him.” Grace worried her lower lip. “I don’t want another animal in these people’s hands. I won’t let it happen. And I need to get the others back from them. It sounds like they’ve been doing this for a while.”
“How do you plan to do that? Do you know who the kid’s boss is?”
“No, but I’ll be ready when he comes back.” She took slow steps, almost hobbling toward the house.
Jack hurried to take her arm again. “You don’t get it. Horse thefts are big business. If the boss thinks you can identify him, he will make sure you never do. You’re not safe here. Especially with the boy. In fact, he’s more dangerous than ever now because you embarrassed him by making him lose his gun. You won’t be safe until I know who he’s working for.”
“How will you find out?”
“I don’t know yet, but at least I know one thing beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“What’s that?”
“Innocent or not, the danger has only begun for you. And it’s nothing you can be ready for.”
FIVE
From her upstairs bedroom window, Grace watched the sun rise over the cliff behind her home. Her head had never hit the pillow all night, and she still wore her blue dress from the day before. A glance down to the truck showed Agent Kaufman changing a tire. They hadn’t said a word to each other since they’d come back to the house. She’d asked about caring for his gunshot wound, but he quickly refused her aid and left to retrieve the thoroughbred.
A thoroughbred.
Such a liability for her, especially during these times with her daed. But then, so was having an English FBI agent on the property. How would she explain either of these scenarios to the bishop and elders? With each passing day, she lost a little more of her grasp on the farm.
Agent Kaufman had told her to leave out some of her father’s clothes, but even though she chose articles from her daed’s younger, more robust days, they still wouldn’t make the English man look Amish. Everyone would be able to tell, and that would lead to more trouble for her. It was no wonder she couldn’t think of sleeping. When so much turmoil hung in the balance, sleep would have to wait.
The truck started, the sound of its engine startling her from her reverie. Jack was now behind the wheel.
Was he leaving?
Grace leaned forward in her chair to watch the truck and horse trailer drive up to the barn. The agent didn’t turn a
nd head down the driveway toward the road, but instead pulled around the outbuildings and past the cornfields, heading to the cliff. From the window, the truck remained in view until it reached the trees and disappeared.
Grace stood, intending to run from the room, but immediately whimpered in pain and fell back into her chair. She bit her lower lip as she breathed through the burning ache on the soles of her feet. Even with the salve she’d lathered on, they would take time to heal. Grace decided to wrap them again with clean bandages, to allow for protection and padding. Her father’s boots were still beside her bed, and with them back on, she gave it another attempt, this time walking slowly and cautiously.
She padded out into the hall and down the stairs just in time to hear the closing of a car door. She made her way to the front door and opened it, expecting to see that the agent had returned.
But it wasn’t a truck in her driveway.
“Good morning, Grace. Sorry to come by so early.” Sheriff Hank Maddox walked up the steps to the porch. He removed his brimmed hat and held it in front of him with both hands. His hairline receded more and more as he approached his sixties, and beneath his forehead, he wore big sunglasses, even though the morning sun wasn’t burning brightly just yet. “I got a call from a neighbor who was concerned about some possible gunfire they heard a few hours ago. Have you had any trouble out here?” He leaned to the right to look behind her into the house.
Grace’s attention moved from him to his police cruiser, then over to the tree line where the agent had gone. With no sign of him, she answered, “Yes, Sheriff, the horse thief returned last night, and he shot off a gun.”
Sheriff Maddox pressed his lips into a tight line. “I don’t like the sound of that, Grace. I want you to consider installing a phone in the barn. If guns are involved, then this thief is not Amish as you thought. I want you to be able to call me at a moment’s notice. I do hope no one was hurt.”
Grace curled her sore toes. She also thought of Agent Kaufman’s bullet injury.
Before she could respond, Hank Maddox stepped close and put a black boot over the threshold. “This has crossed a dangerous line. You can’t be naive, Grace. This is serious.”