by Alison Stone
Heather bent over and righted the chair and tucked it under the table. Wrapping her hands around the back of the chair, she leaned toward him. “I’m not going to run. I don’t want to bring danger to anyone else’s doorstep. I’ve run too often in the past to have established any solid friendships to impose upon. And I have no money to leave on my own.” She placed her hand on her midsection. “It’s like I’m trapped all over again.”
“There have to be options. It shouldn’t be long before they track Fox down. They have NYS Troopers, FBI Agents, and every other law enforcement agency between Quail Hollow and Peters Correctional Facility looking for him. They’ll find him soon. But you must lie low for a few days.”
A determined look settled in her eyes. “I’ve worked too hard. I refuse to let him control me again. The bed-and-breakfast is booked for opening weekend in a couple weeks. I have lots to do to get ready before then. If this place isn’t ready and I cancel the reservations, I won’t be able to pay my bills. I fear everything will spiral downward from there.” She crossed her arms again and gritted her teeth. “I’m not going to live in fear anymore.”
Zach stood to meet her frantic gaze. He knew this was anger and fear speaking. Not logic. “It’s only temporary,” he spoke softly.
She locked gazes with him. “I’m not leaving. I bet you can call your boss and convince him to have someone stay here to protect me.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, no longer bothering to hide his frustration. “My superiors are going to insist you go to a safe house.”
“It’s not going to happen. I’m staying here so I can continue getting this place ready and your office is going to see that I’m kept safe.”
He cocked his eyebrow. “If I can’t convince you to leave, how do you suppose I’m going to be able to convince my superiors to allow me to stay?”
“Because New York State won’t like the bad press if they not only allowed a killer to escape from one of their secure correctional facilities, but in doing so, they let him get to one of his prior victims.” Her tone was oddly cool, as if living in fear had made her numb. Or maybe she had reached the end of her rope and instead of letting go, she had decided to swing out with her legs and kick with all she had.
* * *
Heather held up the plastic sheet while Zach used the staple gun to secure the edges. She was glad she had something to occupy her hands, but she wished she could say the same thing about her mind.
Brian was out of prison and headed her way.
Her ex-husband had haunted the periphery of every part of her waking life and he had visited many of her nightmares.
But ever since he had been locked up in Peters Correctional Facility, she had allowed herself to hope, to dream, to make plans for a brighter future. Push him out of the center of her mind.
Tonight, Brian had come roaring back. The worst possible scenario was laid out before her. Despite her rioting emotions, she was not going to let him ruin this dream.
Erring on the side of caution, Zach had searched her house for any intruders. Thankfully, everything other than the construction zone was secure.
“The workmen will be here in the morning, but if we’d allowed this rain to keep coming in, it would have ruined the plywood. I’d hate for the workmen to install the new hardwoods on top of warped subflooring,” she said, feeling the awkwardness of the silence stretching between them.
“Yeah, no problem.”
Cha-chink. Cha-chink. Cha-chink. Three more staples went through the thick plastic into the raw wood. Per Heather’s instructions, Zach carefully aligned the staples so any holes they left would be hidden by the frame of the new window.
After they finished the task at hand, they sat in the rockers quietly, interrupted only by the occasional polite chitchat. Heather was unwilling to leave and Zach was unwilling to leave her alone. Heather’s bones ached by the time the sun crept over the horizon. Finally she stood. “I’ll make us some coffee.” She started toward the kitchen when a knocking on the front door drew her attention. She glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised since it was so early.
“Hold up,” Zach said, stretching out his hand to block her from going to the front door.
Heather did as he said, her heart in her throat. Would Brian actually knock on the door?
A soft voice floated in from the entryway. “Um, is Heather here?”
Ruthie! Heather rushed to the front door to find her Amish friend standing there with a basket full of fresh fruits and vegetables. “Hello, you’re here early.”
“I figured you’d be up, ready to start the day. If not, I figured I could let myself in and start without you.”
Heather had forgotten she had given Ruthie a key.
“Gut morning.” Ruthie cocked her bonneted head and gave Zach a pointed stare. “Have you hired extra help?”
“Um, no.” It was too early to think on her feet.
Ruthie held up her basket of fresh foods. “I thought you might be low on groceries. Meanwhile, knowing what’s in season, we can plan the menu for your first guests before the days get away from us. We have lots to do.”
“Of course.” Heather led the woman past Zach toward the kitchen. “It will be good to plan ahead.” Get her mind off Brian.
As they passed near the new addition, Ruthie whispered, “You don’t have to hide the fact that you hired workmen outside the Amish community.”
Heather’s lips formed into a perfect O, but she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to alarm her friend and employee. Nor did she want to offend her. Ruthie had recommended her good friend’s work crew.
Guilt threaded through her. Was Heather placing others in jeopardy by not going into hiding? How long would it really take to capture a fugitive?
Heather racked her brain about how to best explain Zach’s presence, when Zach approached and extended his hand, making the decision for her. “I’m Zach Walker, a friend of Heather’s.” Ruthie tipped her head in greeting but didn’t take his hand. Zach smiled and dropped his hand. “I stopped by to see how the new construction was going.” He pointed toward the window. “Good thing. The rain was pouring in the opening for the window.”
“Another early riser?” Ruthie muttered, then turned her attention to the plastic covering the window. “I’m so sorry. Sloppy Sam should have had the window in already.”
“I believe there was a delay by the manufacturer,” Heather said, eager to ease Ruthie’s concerns.
“I’m sorry for your inconvenience.”
Heather waved her hand in dismissal. “It’s fine. I suspect he’ll have it in today. Then we’ll have a beautiful new eating nook.” She wandered over to the far corner of the window and inspected the staples. “I trust they’ll be able to stain the woodwork the same color as the original wood throughout the house.”
“My friend is gut. Just let him know, yah?” Ruthie nodded at Heather. “I’m going to take inventory of the canned goods in the pantry. I’ve been doing a little shopping since you hired me. We need to start planning our menu.”
“Okay.” Heather watched Ruthie walk away. She dragged her hand along the unfinished edge, marveling that yesterday her sole concern was getting the addition completed on time.
“Ruthie is going to help me with the day-to-day operations of the bed-and-breakfast.”
Zach nodded his understanding.
Heather drew in a deep breath. She loved the smell of raw wood. She started to smooth her hand along the drywall when her eye caught something on the wall near the corner. In red permanent marker it read: Brian + Heather 4Ever.
Nausea swirled in her gut. She spun around, fear blurring her vision as she struggled to focus on Zach’s face. “Brian. Brian Fox was here.”
THREE
“I’ve already searched the house. He’s not inside. Not anymore.” Zach touched Heather’s arm
in what she assumed was intended as a comforting gesture, but how could she possibly be comforted?
Her ex-husband had been in her house. He’s here in Quail Hollow.
Stars danced in her line of vision. Less than twelve hours ago this room had held so much promise for the future. For all the potential customers to her quaint bed-and-breakfast. Now its walls and the graffiti pulsed. A hot flush of dread crashed over her. She was suffocating. Trapped. She tugged on her collar and focused on her breathing.
“Are you sure he isn’t still in here?” Her lower lip quivered. “Hiding.” She found herself whispering to protect Ruthie from her past. Her chest grew tight at a memory of a confrontation with Brian. She had been out with friends. Having fun. Something she hadn’t done much since they got married. Brian hadn’t let her. But she had been uncharacteristically defiant. Determined to reclaim some of her life.
A mistake.
Brian had been waiting. In the dark. Insanely jealous that she had been out with her friends. He had accused her of picking up guys. Something she would never do. She had grown to fear Brian, but she had never been unfaithful in her marriage.
That was the first time he had hit her. His fist had struck her, hard and fast, a shocking surprise in the darkness. She had been an easy target backlit by the hall light.
“Yes. I checked the house thoroughly.” Zach interrupted her racing thoughts. “But we can’t stay here. He’s close.”
“Who’s close?” Ruthie asked, concern etched onto her pretty features, free of makeup, as she returned from the pantry on the other side of the kitchen. “Did someone break in?” She tugged nervously on the loose strings of her white bonnet.
Heather smiled tightly. “I’ll explain in a minute.”
Zach pulled back a corner of the vinyl sheeting covering the window. “What’s in the building in back?”
“You saw the shed. It just has supplies for the remodel.” She pointed to the stapler and vinyl. “The barn’s empty. Needs some repairs.” A thumping started in her head. “He’s hiding in there, isn’t he? He’s in there.” The hysteria welled in her chest, squeezing her lungs, making it difficult to breathe.
“Look at me,” Zach said, a determined forcefulness in his tone. “Look at me.”
She met his eyes and saw warmth, compassion and something she always saw in her own eyes when she looked in the mirror—anger. Anger aimed at a man who had ruined so many lives.
“I am not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”
Something about the sincerity in his voice, in his eyes, made her believe him. But hadn’t she also believed her husband when he told her he’d never hit her again? That he was sorry.
She had been fooled by a charming liar.
But Zach wasn’t Brian. Zach had come here to protect her. She had to trust him.
But trust didn’t come easily.
He pulled back his jacket and she noticed his gun, immediately relieved that they weren’t sitting ducks. He plucked his cell phone from his belt. “I’m going to call the local sheriff. Let them know Brian Fox may be close.”
At the mention of his name a shudder raced through her. Apparently sensing her renewed dread, he reassured her that she’d be safe. “I need you and Ruthie to go to a room that locks. Your bedroom? A bathroom? And stay away from the windows.”
Instinctively Heather reached out and grabbed his wrist. “No, wait for the sheriff before you go into the barn looking for him. Brian’s evil.”
Zach shook his head. “I need to go out there and check the buildings. I can’t risk him getting away.” He leveled his gaze at her. “You have a cell phone?”
She nodded, her palms growing slick as she grabbed her cell phone out of the rolltop desk in the sitting room. “The service is terrible out here.”
His brows furrowed. “I haven’t had trouble. Different carriers, I suppose.” He ran a hand across his stubbled jaw. He flicked his gaze toward the back door. “Listen, time isn’t on our side. Can you go upstairs and lock yourself in a room? I’ll call the sheriff.”
Heather swallowed hard and grabbed Ruthie’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs. I have a dead bolt on my bedroom door.” She had installed one there for security for when she opened her house to strangers. She had never dreamed she’d have to use it to keep her ex-husband out.
“What’s going on?” Ruthie asked as she begrudgingly followed her up the stairs, her boots pounding up each step.
When they reached her bedroom, Heather ushered Ruthie inside and spun around, slammed the door and turned the bolt. Why did she think a flimsy lock on a hollow wood door would keep out Brian when a maximum-security prison had failed?
* * *
Zach waited at the bottom of the stairs until he heard the bedroom door close and the bolt slide into place. He made a quick call to the sheriff’s department. Pulling his gun out of its holster, he moved toward the back door and muttered, “I’m coming to get you, Fox. You’re not going to get away from me now.”
He exited through the kitchen door, where he had first run into Heather last night. He prayed the sheriff and his deputies didn’t take their time in getting here. Zach feared if he picked the wrong outbuilding, Fox might be able to make his escape while he was otherwise occupied. Or worse—make his way into the house through the construction zone. To Heather.
After Zach cleared the shed, he heard sirens growing closer. One patrol car pulled up the driveway. Two others sped past before coming to a stop somewhere out of view on the other side of the house. A call like his had probably gotten the attention of the entire Quail Hollow Sheriff’s Department.
A tall man unfolded from his patrol car, his hand hovering over the grip of his gun. Zach waved to him silently and pointed to the barn. The man in turn gestured to his officers. The four men surrounded the barn under Zach’s silent directions. Two stayed outside watching for any sign of the fugitive while the tall officer and Zach checked the interior. Thanks to several missing planks and a large hole in the roof, most of the interior was well illuminated except for a few dark corners.
Zach cautiously checked the shadows behind a tractor with no rubber on its wheels, an old shell of an Amish buggy and a few hay bales that smelled ripe from dampness and age.
“Clear,” he hollered after checking the last stall, where horses must have been kept at some point in the past.
The two law enforcement officers exited the barn together.
“You really think the fugitive made it all the way to Quail Hollow?” The officer looked at his watch as if that might give him the answers. “Isn’t Peters Correctional Facility about a hundred miles from here? Guy had to have resources to get to Quail Hollow so quickly.”
“He’s determined. And he’s had help,” Zach said bluntly. He offered his hand, introducing himself.
The officer shook his hand. “I’m Deputy Conner Gates. Tell me. Why Quail Hollow? We’re a small Amish community.”
Zachary glanced up at the house and he saw Heather standing in the upstairs window. This had been her chance at a fresh start after the mayhem Fox had unleashed on her. Yet Fox had found her again and was toying with her.
Zach wasn’t going to let this jerk get to Heather. He hadn’t been able to save his sister, but he was going to make sure nothing happened to Heather Miller.
“The escapee knows the owner of this property. She testified against him.” Zach paused a half second. “And Heather is Brian Fox’s ex-wife.”
“Oh, man.” Gates planted his hand on his hip.
“What makes you believe he’s actually here?”
“He left some graffiti on the wall of the residence. He’s close.”
“Okay,” the sheriff’s deputy said, “I’ll call it in. We have to immediately make plans. Grid the area. Fan the search out from here.”
Zach held his hand up. “Don’t let me hold
you up. My job is to secure Heather Miller. Keep her safe.”
“Heather Miller, you say?” The sheriff’s deputy rubbed his jaw. “I didn’t realize she had moved back. Shame what happened to her mother.”
Zach plowed a hand through his hair. He hated to ask. Apparently he didn’t have to, because the officer continued, “My father was sheriff back when her mother was murdered. Heather and her sisters were just little girls. Her father moved away from Quail Hollow with his three daughters and never looked back.”
“Can’t say I blame him. It’s a small town. Everywhere he turned must have reminded him of his wife.” Unease twisted his insides. He hadn’t realized Heather had so much tragedy in her past.
“They left everything, including their Amish community.”
Zach did a double take. “Heather grew up Amish?”
Deputy Gates nodded. “Sure did. Her mother’s murder turned this entire town upside down.”
* * *
Heather stepped away from the bedroom window, her nerves humming from all the law enforcement activity on her quiet little farm.
Not so quiet anymore.
“I’m sorry you had to get caught in the middle of this,” Heather said as she crossed the room to Ruthie, who was sitting quietly in the chaise lounge Heather had put in the corner of the bedroom where she’d envisioned herself escaping with a good book. Not escaping from her fugitive ex-husband.
“Can you tell me what’s going on now?” Ruthie dragged her fingers down the edges of her apron over and over. “We have lots of work to do before the bed-and-breakfast opens.”
“It looks like everything is safe. For now.” From the upstairs window, it looked as if Zach and the sheriff’s department had come up empty-handed.
“What is going on? Who is this person they’re searching for?” Ruthie’s eyes grew wide as she searched Heather’s face for answers.