by Sharon Dunn
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 thin
gs 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.
Christina had to find justice for this young woman, her friend, one way or another. Over the years, Christina had taken pride in helping a handful of abused women escape their abusers and create new lives elsewhere.
The adrenaline surging through her veins was making her thoughts race out of control. She didn’t even know what happened to Naomi, yet. Maybe Christina had completely misread the situation.
Naomi struggled to sit up, her bonnet askew on her head. Christina held Naomi’s arm and helped her to a sitting position. She stood close, watching Naomi for any signs that she was going to pass out or be sick. She conducted a few tests to check for a concussion. Christina suspected the young woman had been drugged. The normally chatty Amish woman’s eyes were wide with fear. A tremble seemed to ripple through her when she locked gazes with Dylan.
Understanding better than most, Christina smiled apologetically at Dylan. “Can you give us privacy for a minute?”
“Sure.” Unspoken understanding stretched between them. “I’ll be in the hallway.”
“And Dylan,” Christina added, “don’t call the sheriff.”
The Amish woman gasped in relief. “Denki.” Thank you.
The door clicked closed and Christina turned back to the young woman. “Naomi, who did this to you?”
Naomi averted her eyes and shook her head. “Neh.”
“What happened?”
Silence.
“You can trust me. I’ll help you.” Christina brushed her fingers along a tender bruise on the young woman’s cheek. Naomi flinched.
“I don’t know.”
Christina took a steadying breath. “You don’t have to be afraid.” A memory never far from the surface weighed on Christina’s lungs. With determination, she focused on what was right in front of her. Naomi. Her patient. Christina could help her.
Christina had always focused on what was right in front of her. Her education. Her career. Never deviating from the path.
It’s what kept her sane.
Naomi looked up and fear flickered across her face. “I went to a barn party with a friend.” She blinked slowly. “I don’t remember much else.”
Christina clasped her hands in front of her, suspecting Naomi was intentionally being evasive. However, she feared Naomi had been drugged. Perhaps someone had spiked her drink. Or maybe she had been unaccustomed to drinking and had overdone it?
“Have you been drinking?” Christina cringed at the unintended accusation in her tone. Even if Naomi had been drinking, she didn’t deserve to be attacked and dumped like yesterday’s garbage in a parking lot.
Christina’s mind flashed back to her college roommate’s accusatory tone when Christina began to relate her own story after an incident with a man she had trusted.
Are you sure you weren’t a tease? I can’t believe he’d do that to you. He’s such a nice guy. And a friend of your brother’s. He has a wife and kid. Why would he attack you?
As if any of those reasons would stop a predator. As if her roommate’s disbelief and uncertainty had made what happened to Christina less real. Despite the unease quivering in her stomach, Christina placed her hand on Naomi’s shoulder. “Even if you did drink, you didn’t deserve to get attacked.”
“One beer,” Naomi said, her voice hoarse. The Amish woman studied her clenched hands in her lap, shame radiating from her hunched posture. “I didn’t plan to drink. I wanted...” Her voice trailed off as if she was carefully measuring how much to reveal.
Christina had been drinking the night she was attacked. Perhaps too much.
A night of hazy memories and accusations.
“Naomi, you can trust me. I’ll do whatever I can to help you. Tell me what you remember.”
The Amish woman tugged at a blue and purple yarn bracelet on her wrist, such a small thing but it showed she was straddling two worlds. “I told you everything I remember.”
“Who brought you here?” Christina asked, trying to coax out the answers Naomi was holding back.
Naomi shrugged. A single tear trailed down her cheek. “It’s all so fuzzy. Where did you find me?”
“Outside in the rain.” Christina tilted her head to study the young woman. A deep line creased Naomi’s forehead as if they were discussing someone else altogether.
“You don’t remember?”
Naomi shook her head again. “My Englisch friend Cheryl brought me to the party, but I lost track of her.” Her eyes flashed wide. “It wonders me if something happened to her.” Naomi’s entire body trembled and her lower lip had turned a disconcerting shade of blue.
“Is Cheryl the friend who sometimes drives you to work?”
“Yah. Do you know where she is?”
Christina placed her hand on Naomi’s arm. “We’ll find out. First I need you to change into this gown for an exam.”
“Neh, neh...” Naomi fisted the fabric of her dress at her chest. She shook her head and what little color she had in her cheeks visibly drained.
“You have a right to refuse any exam, but if someone hurt you,” Christina spoke softly so as not to further spook her young Amish friend, “we need to collect evidence.”
“Neh, I don’t want anyone to know. Please.”
Christina’s heart broke for the young woman and she fought to remain calm. She patted the sweatpants and sweatshirt sitting on the exam table. “Would you give me a urine sample? It would help us determine the drugs in your system. You can use the bathroom right there.”
“I didn’t take drugs. I don’t do drugs.”
“Someone could have slipped you something in a drink.”
“I only had one beer.” Naomi bowed her head. “I shouldn’t have had that.”
“No, one’s blaming you.” Christina smiled. “I’d like to do a test to check.”
Naomi seemed hesitant at first, then agreed.
“Okay, then. Take care of the sample, then change into these dry clothes. We’ll chat once you’re dry.”
“You’re not going to call the sheriff?”
Again, Christina carefully phrased her reply. “No, not unless you agree. I believe we should, but I’ll respect your wishes.” She smiled again, trying to reassure Naomi that she could trust her. “Take care of this—” she tapped the specimen container “—then get dressed.”
Naomi looked up at her with trusting eyes and Christina worried that she wasn’t worthy of such confidence. Such trust. Trust she had repeatedly sought from other victimized women who had come through her clinic over the years.
It was a long road.
Christina had failed m
iserably in protecting herself. She had allowed one night—one man—to define her. To shape her choices.
But would helping Naomi put Christina in harm’s way? Had it already? Christina touched her arm, tender from landing hard on it when Dylan pushed her out of the path of the racing car.
None of that mattered. She had to help Naomi.
Christina patted Naomi’s hand, making a silent promise that she’d protect the woman. To help her not let tonight define who she was.
Dear God, help me do right by this young woman.
Copyright © 2016 by Alison Stone
ISBN-13: 9781488008603
Fatal Vendetta
Copyright © 2016 by Sharon Dunn
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