by Alison Stone
Leaning over, she scooped up the strap of her bag that Zach had dropped and waited. She glanced around to make sure they were alone. Zach did the same as he strode across the gravel lot.
After a closer inspection of his vehicle, he walked back toward her, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the landscape. His posture relaxed. Perhaps he was convinced the immediate threat had passed. Something made him go back to the vehicle and open his driver’s door. He paused. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He stepped away from the open door with an envelope in his hand.
“What’s that?” Despite her best efforts to be strong, her voice trembled.
“It’s addressed to you.” But he didn’t hand it to her. They made eye contact briefly before he pulled out a pocket knife and slid the blade under the seal of the envelope.
Another crow cawed overhead as he pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it. The edges flapped in the wind. She stepped closer, wanting to read the note. Not wanting to read the note. Blinking rapidly, her eyes watered from staring at the bright white paper in the blinding sunshine. The wavy black lines came into focus: “You can run. But you can’t hide.”
She let out a long breath between tight lips. She recognized Brian’s handwriting. The same meticulous letters that he’d carved into notes giving her instructions on what to buy for dinner or how to wear her hair or when to be home. Or how to wash his clothes, hang his pants, fold his socks. His demanding directives had been as particular as they were plentiful.
He’d controlled her.
Heather’s stomach twisted and she feared she would have thrown up if not for her empty stomach.
“I wonder why he left the note in my truck and not in your house. He had access.” Zach turned the note over in his hand.
Heather turned her back to the truck, suddenly sensing they were not alone. “He wanted me to know that even you can’t keep me safe.”
* * *
Zach slammed his fist on the frame of the door of his truck and muttered under his breath. “We’re going to have to get a sheriff to take us to their office.”
“My car is parked behind the barn.”
“No, it’s better if we don’t take your car. Too obvious.” Just then, he looked up and saw Deputy Gates walking toward his patrol car. He waved to the man. Gates climbed into his vehicle and drove over, pulling up alongside his damaged truck. The officer rolled down his window. “What happened here?”
“Fox got to my truck. He might be hiding in the cornfields.” Zach kept Heather close as he scanned his surroundings. He tapped the roof of the sheriff’s patrol car. “Forget about my truck for now. I can get someone to tow it to a collision shop. I need to get Miss Miller out of here. All this open space is giving me the willies.”
He thought he heard Heather mutter, “The willies?” under her breath.
“Can you take us to the sheriff’s department?”
The deputy tipped his head toward the back of his vehicle. “Hop in.”
Zach held out his hand for Heather. Hesitancy flashed in her eyes before she climbed in. He suspected not many people liked to travel in the back of a patrol car. He ran around and jumped in the front passenger seat.
Zach looked over his shoulder and smiled at Heather sitting in the backseat. “We’ll get you to safety.”
She stared at him with a blank expression in her eyes, seemingly unconvinced.
“Nice to meet you, Miss Miller. I’m Deputy Conner Gates. I hear you’re opening a bed-and-breakfast in your grandmother’s house,” the deputy said casually to Heather as he pulled out onto the road.
“Yeah...” She stretched the word out, as if she were about to ask him how he knew her plans, but then realized word traveled quickly in a small town. “I hope to open in less than two weeks. I already have it booked.”
“The fall foliage is beautiful. Our little hotel in town can’t keep up with the tourists. You’ll have a booming business, I’m sure.” The deputy was good at making small talk, obviously trying to distract Heather from the events going on around her.
“That’s what I was counting on,” Heather said, noncommittally. Defeat slipped into her tone, as if her dreams had been forever dashed by today’s events.
“The town will be happy to see the old house come to life again.” The deputy flicked his gaze into the rearview mirror and Zach could imagine Heather smiling back politely.
“How far is the sheriff’s office?” Zach asked, determined to get the focus off Heather.
“In the center of town. Ten-minute drive. From there, we’ll get an unmarked vehicle to take Miss Miller to a safe location.”
“I have something else in mind. Something Fox would never expect.” Zach tapped the door handle, nervous energy from the adrenaline surging through his veins.
“Whatever you say,” the deputy said.
Cornfields whizzed past in a blur. A flash of something dark emerged from the cornfields just ahead, catching Zach’s eye and making his pulse spike. He held up his hand, as if that would stop the car. “Slow down.”
Before the deputy slowed, the form—dressed in black—crouched low on the side of the road.
“Get down!” Zach yelled. “Get down!”
The back window shattered with an explosive sound. The patrol car skidded, weaved, then picked up speed.
The deputy scrambled for the radio controls. “Shooter on Lapp Road. In the cornfields point five miles from the Miller home. Patrol car’s been hit. Send backup.”
“Stay down,” Zach yelled as he tried to stay hunkered down and get a location on the shooter. A ping sounded somewhere else on the vehicle. He cursed under his breath. “Stay down.” He stretched his hand over the seat and touched Heather’s head. She had unbuckled and taken refuge in the tight space behind the front seat.
After another half mile, Zach was confident the shooter had retreated into the cornfields. “Pull over.”
The deputy did as Zach instructed. Zach climbed out and yanked open the back door, his heart racing in his chest. “Heather, Heather! Are you okay?”
Heather sat up, terror radiating in her bright brown eyes. He reached out and raked the shards of glass from her hair. “Are you hit?”
She pressed her hand to her chest. “I... No...no, I’m okay.”
“Okay.” Zach gritted his jaw in determination. He closed her car door, then leaned into the front passenger seat. “Take her to the sheriff’s office. I’m going after him.”
Without waiting for the deputy to finish his protest, Zach slammed the door and patted the roof. “Go!” Grabbing his gun from its holster, he ran back in the direction of the shooter, his senses on high alert.
Every twig snap, bird crow and rustling stalk sent his adrenaline spiking over the edge.
Fox. It had to be Fox. He couldn’t let him get away.
Breathing hard, Zach reached the point where the gunman had emerged from the cornfields, and based on the footprints, the same point where he had ducked back into them. Zach had also noted the mile marker.
Pulse whooshing in his ears, he slowed, cautious not to get ambushed, fearing his need to get revenge might override his better judgment.
Examining the ground, he noticed a heavy boot print in the dirt. Sliding between the cornstalks, he followed the prints, the deeper in, the less certain the path of travel, but they seemed to be leading to woods on the other side of the fields.
Once he reached the woods, he slowed, trying to quiet his ragged breath. In the distance, he heard water, a river or creek. Pausing a moment, he let his eyes adjust to the heavily shadowed woods, except for the occasional beam of bright sunlight that penetrated the thick canopy.
Gun in hand, he made his way deeper into the woods, toward the sound of water. Once he got to the clearing, he caught sight of a man on a dock, leaning over something. A boat, maybe?
Zach race
d toward the dock.
“Fox!”
The man spun around and fired without warning. Zach dived behind a tree, then shot back from the protection of his hiding place.
Another shot split the bark near his shoulder.
“You’ve run out of options. Drop the weapon,” Zach yelled, sensing perhaps his statement contradicted his current predicament.
Another shot rang out, this one spraying the dirt at his feet.
Pressing flat against the tree, he yelled, “Fox. You’ve got nowhere to go. Drop your weapon. Surrender.”
“Surrender? And go back to that hellhole?” Fox yelled back, his voice slightly muffled. “No way.”
The sound of an engine ripped through the still air. Zach’s chest tightened as he peered out from behind the safety of the tree. Fox was on a boat motoring away from the end of the dock. The water in the creek rushed from last night’s rain.
Pulse pounding in his ears, Zach sprinted to the dock, the soles of his shoes sucking into the muck on the shore. The boat was about thirty feet away from the dock with the distance quickly growing.
Zach planted his feet and took aim at the man who had murdered his sister.
FIVE
The edge of the hard plastic chair bit into the back of Heather’s thighs as she waited impatiently for U.S. Marshal Zachary Walker to return. That was how she had to think of him, as U.S. Marshal Zachary Walker, professional law enforcement officer, because if she made it personal, it made her worry too much. She couldn’t imagine the bravery it took to charge after Brian Fox, her ex-husband-slash-convict.
She’d never be able to live with herself if he got hurt—or worse—because of her.
No, not because of you, a more rational voice whispered to her. But it was hard to separate the two. Brian Fox was in Quail Hollow because of her.
Leaning forward, she focused all her nervous energy on plucking out the shards of glass that had rained down on her as she hunkered down in the backseat of the patrol car. If Zach hadn’t hollered out his warning, would her ex-husband finally have made good on his promise to kill her?
Groaning, she stood and dumped the shards she had collected in the palm of her hand into the garbage. She paced the small office area. She promised Deputy Conner Gates she wouldn’t wander away because anywhere beyond the protection of law enforcement she was liable to become target practice once again for her ex-husband. Given another chance, he wouldn’t miss.
The deputy had been called away ten minutes ago and she sent up a silent prayer that U.S. Marshal Zachary Walker had apprehended Brian and he was headed back to Peters Correctional Facility. But no one seemed to want to tell her what was going on.
A bustling at the door drew her attention. Deputy Gates entered followed by the U.S. Marshal.
Thank God. Zachary is safe.
She tamped down her initial reaction to gush all over him, to express her relief that he was safe.
Their relationship was strictly professional.
So why did she care so much about his safe return? Probably because she couldn’t handle knowing her ex-husband had hurt another person. He had to be stopped.
Zach made his way to her. She had already given up the pretense of his official title. She lowered her gaze. Mud caked the bottom and sides of his shoes. A deep scratch lined the back of his left hand.
“You okay?” he asked, his mood somber.
“Yeah. Did you get him?” Her pulse whooshed in her ears and she feared she wouldn’t hear the answer.
“No.” The apology in his eyes said far more than the single word.
Her stomach plummeted. “He got away.” She dragged a hand through her hair and her fingers got tangled in the snarled mess. She spun around and glanced up, refusing to cry.
“We exchanged gunfire. Then he climbed into a boat on the creek,” Zach explained. “I got off another shot before he disappeared around a bend. I’m confident I hit him, but I couldn’t stop him.” His monotone voice suggested even he was having trouble accepting the turn of events.
“You shot him? But he got away?” she repeated in disbelief.
“They’re searching the creek. There’s no way he’ll get far.”
She slowly lowered herself onto the familiar plastic chair. “So...what? We wait here until they bring him in?”
Zach sat down next to her and tipped his head to meet her gaze. “The deputy and I think we should move forward with our plan to take you to Ruthie’s house. And with an abundance of caution, we’ll take a circuitous route to make sure no one follows.”
“But if he’s...” She couldn’t say the word dead. Did she really wish him dead? God forgive her. She didn’t want him dead—she just wanted him safely behind bars.
Zach gently rubbed his knuckles across the back of her hand. She expected the urge to flee would overwhelm her, make her feel trapped—like it always had when someone got too close—but instead, an unexpected warmth spread up her arm. “Until we’ve located Fox, we can’t take any chances,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“You hit him?”
“Yes, I’m sure I did. But he only cranked the motor to full throttle. I was at a disadvantage on the shore.”
“Your shoes.”
He lifted his boot. “Good thing I had my hiking boots at my cabin.”
“Your cabin?”
Zach crossed his arms and tucked his hands under his armpits and he seemed to stifle a shudder. He was probably freezing after running through the cornfields. “Yeah, I have a cabin in Quail Hollow. I had just arrived last night when my supervisor called to alert me of the situation.”
Realization twisted her stomach. “If you hadn’t come to my property, Brian might have gotten to me first.” The image of the graffiti on the wall in her newly constructed eating area was etched in her brain. “Why didn’t he attack me when he had the chance? He was in my house.” Her lips grew numb with fear and she had trouble forming the words.
“I think he wanted to toy with you, but law enforcement descended too quickly.”
The thought of her being terrorized—again—by her ex-husband made her realize she might never be free from this man.
Unless he’s dead.
Zach reached out and gently touched her knee as if he recognized the turmoil she was in. “Will you let me take you to Ruthie’s? We’ll wait until dark. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”
Heather nodded. She didn’t put much stock in promises, but with Brian most likely mortally wounded, she figured Zach’s promise to keep her safe might be reasonable.
* * *
When Heather arrived at Ruthie’s home under the cloak of darkness in a delivery van from the local hardware store, she suspected this was how kidnap victims felt. By the time Zach opened the back doors, her backside ached from each and every bump they’d hit between Quail Hollow’s town center and Ruthie’s family farm. Sitting on the hard metal surface of the back of the delivery fan wasn’t exactly the lap of luxury. And the smell of fresh wood and some sort of fertilizer mingled in her nose and coated her mouth.
Zach held out his hand to her. She accepted it and climbed out, grateful to stretch her legs. She couldn’t help but smile at Ruthie as she directed Zach and the driver to stack the fertilizer and wood in the barn. “You actually needed this stuff?” he asked.
“Why waste a trip? My mem needs supplies for the greenhouse.” Maryann Hershberger and her youngest daughter, Emma, as well as her older daughter Ruthie, ran a greenhouse on the property. Heather had befriended the family after she moved to Quail Hollow, drawn to them by a letter Maryann had written to her father years ago. After getting to know them, Heather had hired Ruthie to work at the bed-and-breakfast. Heather suspected the small family needed the extra income working at the bed-and-breakfast would provide.
If they were able to get back to the required work necessary befor
e opening day.
“How did you arrange all this?” Heather asked as she brushed the loose soil from the back of her pants.
Her question was directed to Zach, but Ruthie stepped forward, rolling up on the balls of her black boots. “The deputy reached me on the phone and he asked me if I ever take deliveries from any businesses in town.”
Heather held up her hand. “Wait. You have a phone?” Her father had grown up Amish and had taken his young family away from Quail Hollow when Heather was only six. Her sisters had been three and two. He’d told them so many stories about the Amish that’d made the young girls long for a home they were too young to remember.
Ruthie jabbed her thumb in the direction of a pole deeper in the barn. A generator hummed and a soft bulb illuminated a phone mounted on the pole. “The Ordnung allows us to have a phone for business purposes as long as it’s not in the house. The phone serves a purpose but shouldn’t interrupt our daily lives.” She smiled, a hint of apology lurking in her eyes. “I have an answering machine here, too. So I can return all the calls I miss. In this case, I was happy the sheriff’s department reached out. Now you’ll be safe because no one knows you’re here.”
Zach reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “Tack this up near the phone in case you need to reach me.”
Ruthie took the card and turned it over in her hand. “I will.”
Heather cut a sideways glance at Zach, wondering how much Ruthie really knew. Did she know that Brian had shot at the patrol car? That Zach had chased him through the fields until he escaped by boat, but likely not before he was shot?
“The sheriff’s department has been a big help. Thank you,” Heather said. She knew they had hoped to limit the number of people who knew her location for security purposes, but she also realized it wasn’t feasible.
“Not being from Quail Hollow, I couldn’t do this on my own.” Zach held out his hand to the young man leaning against the truck. “This gentleman is a deputy.” The man tipped his head in acknowledgment.
“Another officer is going to arrange to drop off a truck on one of the nearby back roads for our use in an emergency, since mine is out of commission.”