Plain Cover-Up

by Alison Stone

  SECOND CHANCE PROTECTOR

  When a speeding car almost hits Dr. Christina Jennings, it’s the quick reflexes of FBI agent Dylan Hunter that save her. They soon realize the driver’s purpose—dumping an unconscious Amish girl on Christina’s doorstep. The small-town doctor’s set on finding out who’s responsible, but doing so throws her into the path of a killer…and leads her to a past she’d rather forget. On leave after his partner’s death, Dylan can’t possibly ignore the need to keep Christina safe. But as the man who once shattered her heart, he has to convince her to trust him first. Because the deeper Christina’s propelled straight into danger, the more she comes to believe that relying on Dylan may be her only chance for survival.

  “What is it?” Christina hated the shaky quality of her voice.

  Dylan placed his hand gently on her shoulder. “Come on. We can call the sheriff. Then have your car towed.”

  “No, I need to see.” Christina brushed past him and peered through the hole in the driver’s side window. Shards of glass dangled from the hole, waiting for gravity to drop them to the ground.

  She blinked a few times, trying to process the scene. Her vision narrowed and tiny dots danced in her line of vision. Whoever did this didn’t leave a note. Instead, they had left a large knife sticking out of her headrest.

  Christina turned around, squaring her shoulders. Steeling her spine. “Who would do this?” Had Roger already made good on his promise to make her sorry if she caused trouble?

  The look of compassion on Dylan’s face weakened her resolve. She wasn’t used to relying on anyone. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice shaky.

  “We’re going to find out. And I won’t let you out of my sight until we do.”

  Alison Stone lives with her husband of more than twenty years and their four children in Western New York. Besides writing, Alison keeps busy volunteering at her children’s schools, driving her girls to dance and watching her boys race motocross. Alison loves to hear from her readers at Alison@AlisonStone.com. For more information, please visit her website, alisonstone.com. She’s also chatty on Twitter, @alison_stone. Find her on Facebook at Facebook.com/alisonstoneauthor.

  Books by Alison Stone

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Plain Pursuit

  Critical Diagnosis

  Silver Lake Secrets

  Plain Peril

  High-Risk Homecoming

  Plain Threats

  Plain Protector

  Plain Cover-Up

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  PLAIN

  COVER-UP

  Alison Stone

  You are my hiding place;

  You will protect me from trouble

  and surround me with songs of deliverance.

  —Psalms 32:7

  To Scott, Scotty, Alex, Kelsey & Leah.

  Love you guys always and forever.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  DEAR READER

  EXCERPT FROM DEAD END BY LISA PHILLIPS

  ONE

  The gathering storm clouds hastened nightfall’s arrival. In the distance, lightning split the sky. Christina groaned. If she hadn’t been so swamped at the healthcare clinic, she might have taken a second to check the weather forecast and realized a more prudent decision would have involved driving to the Apple Creek Diner for takeout versus walking the half mile.

  A gust of wind whipped up and rustled through the trees, thick with green foliage after a harsh northern winter. The air was heavy with the expectation of rain. Dr. Christina Jennings wrapped the plastic handle of the takeout bag around her wrist and quickened her pace. The thought of getting drenched when she still had hours of paperwork to do in the clinic was about as appealing as, well, dealing with the paperwork itself.

  As the soft footsteps of her tennis shoes sounded on the pavement, fingers of awareness kneaded the back of her neck and she resisted the urge to glance back at the diner. No doubt Dylan Hunter had a perfect view of her on the street from his window booth when she left the diner. She refused to let this man occupy her thoughts. A man who had broken her heart in two.

  Christina’s stomach growled, snapping her focus back to the purpose of her short break from work. The thought of the BLT sandwich in the bag dangling off her wrist made her walk even faster. She was so hungry.

  Georgia Summers, the newly hired physician assistant at the clinic, often joked that Christina probably would never stop working if she could find a way to function on no food and zero sleep. The sleep she sacrificed, food, not so much. Christina smiled at the memory of Georgia’s laugh. It was nice to have someone to work with after running the clinic by herself for so many years.

  With her free hand, Christina pulled her light jacket closed and fastened the zipper at the bottom. A shudder twined its way up her spine, making her feel unsettled.

  Had chatting with Dylan for a few moments at the diner really thrown her this off balance?

  Christina had carefully avoided him since he moved to Apple Creek earlier in the year to teach at the law school. She still had no idea why he was on leave from the FBI, his self-proclaimed dream job. And frankly she didn’t care. She figured he had lost interest and moved onto his next thing, much like he had done with her. Maybe he’d go back. Maybe he wouldn’t.

  But tonight she’d had no choice but to make small talk with him because the diner was empty and Flo, the long-time waitress, took a while to pull her order together. If Christina had been suspicious by nature, she’d have thought Flo’s delay had been intentional.

  What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger. Franny’s favorite expression floated to mind. Well, one of many favorite expressions of her parents’ housekeeper.

  A deep rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Maybe she should have taken the ride Dylan had offered.

  She probably would have taken the offer if it had come from anybody else.

  Christina hustled past the stores on Main Street to the residences with postage-stamp-size lawns. She used to rent one of these apartments, until she’d realized she wanted a more rural setting where she could have privacy.

  Cigarette smoke wafted in her direction. Instinctively, she turned to see where it was coming from, but could only see the red glow of a cigarette in the shadows. Feeling like she was being watched, she squared her shoulders and walked with an air of authority.

  Don’t walk like a victim.

  The notion that a victim somehow asked for it by acting a certain way made her bristle. However, being aware of one’s surroundings was always a good idea. A college student had been attacked in the nearby apartments a couple of weeks ago.

  Christina had treated the woman for minor injuries, including a superficial knife wound across her cheek. Thank goodness the young woman had gotten away, but Christina and her brother, Deputy Nick Jennings, worried the attacker might grow bolder. The w
oman couldn’t identify whoever had assaulted her, and any leads had dried up.

  Maybe that’s where Christina’s apprehension stemmed from. It had everything to do with a recent attack and nothing to do with seeing Dylan Hunter again.

  Christina kept her steady pace, refusing to live in fear.

  Been there, done that.

  However, there was something to be said about being smart. Safe. Christina walked more briskly, ignoring the whisper of dread sending goose bumps across her flesh.

  A gust of wind picked up and whipped loose strands of hair across her face. She hooked a piece of hair with her free hand and dragged it out of her mouth. Even though they were a month away from the official start of summer, a storm could sweep in and drop the temperature by ten or even twenty degrees. All she had on was a light jacket.

  A fat drop of rain hit her head. Christina held up her palm to confirm what her head already knew. With her free hand, she flipped up the hood on her spring jacket.

  Christina untwisted the plastic bag from around her wrist, fearing it was cutting off the circulation to her tingling fingers. She switched hands and focused on the crunching of the gravel under her feet as she turned onto the country road. The healthcare clinic was only a hundred yards or so away, across the street from some ball fields. If she hurried, she’d make it before the skies opened up.

  Too late.

  The intermittent drops turned into a wall of torrential rain. Holding her jacket closed with both hands—the bag dangling from her hand—Christina ran toward the clinic with her head down. Her dinner in the plastic bag banged against the tops of her thighs. Already she lamented the demise of her sandwich.

  The slam of a car door made Christina glance up. The headlights of a sedan parked in front of the clinic blinded her. She squinted against the brightness, the rain peppering her face. Unease slid its way up her spine.

  Heart thundering in her chest, she raced toward the car. Perhaps someone had had an emergency. She waved to them in case they had come looking for her and found the clinic locked. Christina had told Georgia to leave if she needed to and to put a sign on the door that the physician would be right back.

  As Christina got closer to the vehicle, the hairs on her arms prickled to life as if charged by an electrical storm. The pounding of rain on the metal gutters of the nondescript building mingled with her frantic heartbeat. The car’s tires spun before gaining traction in the gravel parking lot.

  Christina dropped her takeout bag and waved her arms frantically. Maybe they couldn’t see her in the rain. The car covered the ground between them. Christina froze for the briefest of seconds before she saw a dark form bearing down on her out of the corner of her eye.

  Christina closed her eyes tight as she was shoved sideways and a man landed on top of her. Her shoulder hit the ground with a resounding thud. She groaned. The sound of gravel churning close to her head sent terror racing through her heart.

  Shivering with icy panic, Christina opened her eyes a fraction and saw Dylan Hunter staring down at her. “You okay?”

  “I...um...” Christina shifted her head to see the rain and dusk swallowing up the taillights of the vehicle that had officially ruined her evening.

  Dylan rolled off her and stood. He held out his hand to help her up, his gaze locked on the departing car. Her wet hair whipped against her face. Before she had time to mourn the loss of her BLT—now scattered across the gravel—she acknowledged her gratitude.

  Thank you, Lord, for protecting me from that car. For keeping me safe.

  Getting to her feet, her hand still in his solid grasp, she shook her head in disbelief. “What in the world...?”

  “I was only able to get a partial plate. It’s something. And he had a busted taillight,” Dylan bit out between breaths.

  Where had Dylan come from?

  It was then that she noticed his truck and the driver’s side door yawning open on the side of the road, as if he had arrived just in time to push her out of the way.

  Something drew her attention to the front door of the clinic. In the dim light of the bulb on the overhang, she saw a heap of fabric. Renewed fear zinged through her system, immediately making her forget about her near-death experience.

  Christina yanked her hand out of Dylan’s and ran toward the door. As she approached, she recognized the traditional Amish dress, boots and bonnet.

  Her pulse spiked. “Naomi!” The young Amish woman, now curled up by the brick wall of the clinic, cleaned her office twice a week.

  “Naomi,” Christina said again, this time more urgently. She touched the young woman’s face and her head lolled back, her eyes closed. Christina glanced over her shoulder and yelled to Dylan who was only steps away, “Help me get her into the clinic.”

  With wet, cold, shaky fingers, Christina struggled to dig her keys out of the back pocket of her jeans, all the while repeating a prayer for poor Naomi. The metal key skidded across the lock before Christina was able to insert it into the slot and unlock the door.

  Christina pushed the door wide for Dylan and pressed herself firmly against it as he carried her Amish friend over the threshold like a bride. “Follow me to the back exam room.”

  Christina strode down the narrow hallway, slapping at light switches as she went. Her heartbeat jackhammered, her body’s automatic response to an emergency. It had served her well as a physician. Her brother always laughed at her and told her she would have been good in times of war. But that had been his gig.

  Hers was helping people who couldn’t afford healthcare.

  Hers was saving lives.

  “Back here,” Christina repeated unnecessarily as Dylan strode down the hall right behind her, carrying Naomi. The young woman’s head flopped against Dylan’s chest. Christina willed Naomi to open her eyes. Respond to them. Respond to something.

  Christina reached the first exam room and pushed open the door. It bounced off the wall with a force she hadn’t intended. She reached in and flipped the last switch. The fluorescent bulbs flickered and buzzed to life. One of these days she’d have to replace these migraine-inducing lights, but she hated to ask her parents for additional funds that didn’t go directly toward patient care.

  Despite her parents’ wealth and generosity, funds weren’t unlimited. They had drilled that into her when she was a little girl. The Jenningses understood the value of money and what it could achieve. People had to be good stewards of their blessings. And, like on most everyone else, the economy had been tough on Jennings Enterprises.

  Christina shuffled out of the way and grabbed her stethoscope from the hook. Dylan laid Naomi down on the crinkly paper covering the table. Christina found a steady pulse and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Grab a blanket from the top shelf in the closet in the hallway,” she commanded Dylan without turning to look at him.

  He slipped out of the room.

  “Hello, hello... Naomi.” Christina patted the young woman’s cheek. “You’re at the healthcare clinic with Dr. Christina... You’re safe.”

  “Here, I have the blanket and I found some dry clothes in the same closet,” Dylan said as he burst back into the room. He moved with the efficiency of a man who was good at dealing with emergencies. The FBI had probably instilled that in him.

  “Thank you.”

  Dylan unfolded the blanket and placed it over the Amish woman. “You know her?”

  Christina nodded. “Yes, she does some light cleaning for me here at the clinic a few days a week. Her name’s Naomi Mullet. I’ve gotten to know her because I’m usually still working when she arrives to clean.”

  The young woman stirred and Christina snapped her attention back to her patient and placed a comforting hand on her arm. “You’re safe, Naomi. It’s Dr. Christina.”

  Dylan pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. “I’
ll call the sheriff.”

  “Neh...neh...” The Amish woman muttered, her voice groggy.

  “You’re safe,” Christina repeated. She brushed the back of her knuckles across Naomi’s cool cheek—Christina would have to get her to change into the dry clothes—and watched as Naomi struggled to open her eyes a fraction.

  The woman strained against the blanket and Christina put her hand on her shoulder to reassure her. “Take it easy. You’re safe. You’re at the clinic.”

  “No police. Please. And don’t tell my mem and dat.” Naomi’s voice was racked with panic as she gained awareness of her surroundings.

  Christina nodded, understanding Naomi’s aversion to the police, but not sure why she wouldn’t want her parents notified. As far as the police went, the Amish customarily preferred to deal with things on their own.

  However, someone had hurt Naomi and dumped her at the clinic’s front door. This was the second woman who had been injured in Apple Creek in recent weeks. Christina’s mind immediately jumped to the first logical thought: were the assaults connected? It seemed a stretch, yet both women were rendered unconscious and things like this didn’t often happen in the small town.

  But Naomi’s panicked expression gave Christina pause. Calling the sheriff would have to wait. Naomi’s well-being came first. Maybe she could convince the young Amish woman later, once she had a chance to clear her head. Christina had to swallow the anger simmering below the surface. Not only for this woman, but for the other victim and a younger version of herself. A younger version who had been too afraid to accuse her attacker. A younger version who had also chosen to remain silent.

  Christina brushed her hand across her face and forced away the thought. She studied Dylan, hoping he hadn’t noticed her moment of weakness.

  “Hold off on making any calls.” Christina’s tone was far calmer than the emotions rioting inside her. She wanted to find whoever had dumped her dear friend off and nearly run over her. She wanted to find him and... She shook away the less-than-Christian thoughts.