by Alison Stone
TWELVE
A buzzing sounded in Harrison’s head as myriad disjointed images flashed behind his eyelids. The distant sound of an overhead paging system pulled him up through a dark tunnel to a bright light.
He opened his eyes and immediately slammed them shut. Very bright light. Painfully bright light. The long line of fluorescent lights burned through his eyeballs.
Where am I?
A shadow crossed his face and he tried to pry his eyes open again. This time he was rewarded with Becky’s pretty but concerned smile. She spoke in a reassuring tone, “You’re okay. You lost a lot of blood, so you need to relax.” Her warm hand on his shoulder grounded him. “You just got out of surgery. They removed the bullet from your arm.”
“Ah,” he groaned. It was all coming back to him. The gunshot. Scrambling off the front porch. Hunkering down in her house. Chewie barking at the door. That was the last thing he could remember.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“I’ve felt better,” he said. “Did they catch the trigger-happy guy?”
“No, but the sheriff’s department is looking for him.”
His brain ached as he tried to figure out who might still have it out for Becky. Ned had come forward, admitting he had used excessive force when he beat Elijah. Basically, his clearing Becky’s name should have taken her off the target list of any of Elijah’s friends, and certainly the officers in the sheriff’s department would feel less animosity toward her, knowing that Ned took responsibility for his actions.
However, those who shot at innocent people while they sat on a front porch weren’t exactly rational thinkers.
And feelings died hard.
Or aren’t any of these events connected? Unable to think straight, he lifted his hand to rub his eyes when he realized he was attached to an IV.
Maybe there had been developments while he was unconscious. “Does anyone have any idea who could have done this?”
“Nothing yet. Believe me, I’m going to make sure this is a top priority now that I’m back at work. The sheriff may not let me personally investigate this one, but I’ll be in his face every day. Demanding updates.” If Harrison wasn’t loopy on pain meds, he might suspect Becky was upset. Very upset.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
Becky turned and dragged a hand through her ponytail. He studied her profile until she finally turned back to him, biting her lip. “You shouldn’t have dived in front of me.”
He reached out to touch her hand resting on the side rail, when she pulled it back slightly, causing him to miss. His fingertips brushed hers, but his arm felt too heavy to try again. He wanted to tell her that he wouldn’t have been able to look at himself in the mirror if she had been hurt because he couldn’t protect her.
Like he hadn’t protected his brother. But his mind was too foggy to explain all that to her, at least coherently, without sounding like a lovesick fool.
Is that what I am? I hardly know her.
He pushed up on one elbow and grimaced.
Becky placed her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t strain.”
“Water, please.” His eyes moved to the pitcher on the bedside table. Becky picked up the cup and held the straw to his lips. The water felt cool going down his throat. “It’s not safe for you to be alone.” Even as he said the words, he knew they didn’t sound right. She was a sheriff’s deputy.
He closed his eyes briefly and bit back his frustration. He wanted to be back on his feet so he could protect Becky.
“I’ll be fine. You know I’m not helpless.”
He knew, but he didn’t like it. “When do I get out of here?”
“You’ll have to wait until the physician comes in. They wouldn’t tell me much. Privacy laws and everything.”
Harrison plucked at the ribbon on his hospital gown at his neck. “Where are my clothes? We need to get out of here.”
“You’re not going anywhere until the doctor releases you.” She patted his chest in a familiar gesture he was growing to like. “Blood ruined your shirt. Maybe I can run by your house and pick up fresh clothes so you have something to wear when you do get released?” She sounded a little bit like she was appeasing him.
“I don’t want you driving to my house alone.”
“Are you afraid I’ll riffle through your sock drawer?” She laughed. He liked it. She didn’t do it nearly enough.
“It’s not—”
“I know what it is. But I’m a deputy. I can protect myself.”
He tried to let the reality of that settle in, but his thoughts were hazy.
She cocked her head and seemed to be studying his face. “If we’re going to be friends, you’re going to have to get used to that idea. You’re not going to go on patrol with me, are you? Protect me from all the bad guys?” Her pink lips twitched before she drew in a deep breath. “Don’t treat me like I’m helpless.” She leaned in and whispered, “This is exactly part of the reason I refuse to get involved with a fellow officer. There’s that whole chivalrous thing going on. Then it gets...complicated.”
“That’s not what this is about. Someone’s out to get you. They shot at you while we were sitting on the porch.”
“They shot at us,” she said evenly.
“I don’t recall having made any enemies in Quail Hollow,” Harrison said.
“Our jobs make us targets. I have been trained to protect myself.” She walked around to the other side of his bed and picked up a plastic bag on the chair. “Are your house keys in your pants pocket?”
“Should be,” he said, letting his head sink back into his pillow and fighting a battle against his drooping eyelids.
He heard a jangling as her shadow crossed his line of vision behind closed eyelids. “I’ll grab your clean clothes. Will I find them in your closet? A dresser?”
“Folded. Top of dryer. Laundry room off the kitchen,” he said, realizing despite his protests she was going to leave and get him clean clothes. The only consolation was that he might get out of here faster.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
“At least they’re clean and folded.” He laughed, then yawned.
She patted his chest again. “Sleep. I’ll be right back. Maybe you’ll have word from the doctor by then.”
“Okay.” Next thing he knew he was drifting off to sleep. He hadn’t even remembered Becky slipping out the door. A rapping sounded on the door frame of the semiprivate room in recovery. He opened his eyes to find the sheriff standing there, hat in hand.
He blinked against the light, confused and disappointed that this was the face greeting him and not Becky.
“You caused some excitement around Deputy Spoth’s place.”
“Is she here?”
The sheriff glanced around the room. “No, I haven’t seen her.”
Harrison felt for the bed controls and raised the head of the bed so he could sit up and get a better read on the man he didn’t fully trust, not after he lied—or technically omitted—that his nephew was one of the men shooting targets behind Becky’s house.
The only people who kept secrets were those who had something to hide. And Harrison didn’t like it one bit that someone had been targeting her house again today. A part of him wondered if he had dropped the ball by not pursuing the tip on the sheriff’s nephew days ago. But Ned’s confession and Becky’s reinstatement made following up seem less urgent. Had he been wrong?
“Did they find anyone?” Harrison sniffed, trying to ignore the pain pulsing through his arm where the bullet had ripped through. Absentmindedly, he touched the bandage, wondering when the doctor would be in here to give him a full report. He needed to get out of here.
“Not yet, but they’re canvassing the woods.” The sheriff’s expression didn’t give anything away.
“Think you should run
another check on the four guys who were doing target practice last week behind Becky’s house? See if all of them are accounted for?”
A subtle flinch skittered across the sheriff’s face. So subtle that Harrison would have missed it if he hadn’t been studying his superior.
* * *
The weight of her gun on her hip provided a sense of security as Becky strode out the emergency room exit of the hospital while keeping her focus on her surroundings. Fortunately, hospital security had allowed her to keep her weapon. She had lost track of time and was surprised by how dark it was.
Of course, it was close to ten o’clock at night.
Fortunately, the parking lot was brightly lit and a security guard was stationed at the entrance to the ER.
Becky rolled back her shoulders, surprised at how stiff she had been holding her posture while she was waiting for Harrison to wake up after surgery.
Thank you, Lord, for watching over him.
They had only known each other for a short time and she hadn’t allowed herself to process the jumble of emotions she was feeling. She couldn’t deny they had grown close. Closer than she realized until the thought of him not waking up made her feel empty inside.
She didn’t know what to do with these feelings. Perhaps their bond had been made stronger because the two of them had very few people to rely on, other than each other.
She had a tough time reconciling her emotions. She had always seen herself as single. Independent. Not leaning on anyone. Wasn’t that the point of leaving the Amish?
Was it?
She glanced both ways as she stepped off the sidewalk and crossed the parking lot between two parked cars. She couldn’t stop thinking about how devastated she would have been if the gunman had killed Harrison. Or were her emotions born out of relief, pure and simple, that he hadn’t died on her account? It wasn’t like she had tons of experience dating. Paul King had been her only suitor when she was still Amish, and back then, it was like following a prescribed script.
Could she and Harrison have a future? Not likely if he was going back to Buffalo at some point.
Shoving aside the distracting thoughts, Becky held out her key fob and unlocked the door to her car. She surveyed the area to make sure no one was around before climbing behind the steering wheel.
As she pulled out onto the road, her car felt a bit sluggish, but it wasn’t like she was driving a brand new vehicle. She glanced down at Harrison’s address again.
She picked up the piece of paper and a loud, clunky sound made her stomach drop. “Oh no,” she muttered as she clutched the steering wheel with both hands, crumbling the paper. The entire vehicle rumbled beneath her and she had a hard time steering.
She scanned the road around her, grateful there were no other cars around. The car sputtered and putt-putted until she had to pull over on the side of the road.
Groaning, she pushed open the door. She reached down and released the hood. She climbed out and walked around to the front. Steam poured from under the hood. As much as she knew about caring for a horse and making sure he didn’t get overworked, she knew next to nothing about cars. But she did have roadside service and a cell phone. Better to call them than get burned by the steam.
She walked around to the passenger side, opened the door and grabbed her cell phone from the passenger seat. Just then, a pickup truck pulled in behind her. A young man with a baseball cap tugged down low climbed out. “Got a flat?” Something about the lack of emotion in his tone made her skin crawl.
She watched him cautiously, feeling the weight of her gun on her hip, hidden by her T-shirt. Something about him set off alarm bells. However, by all accounts, he was just a good Samaritan, offering help. But out on the deserted country road, alone, at night, was enough for her to exercise caution.
“No, I broke down.” She waved him off. “I have roadside assistance. I’ll be fine. I already called them,” she lied, as a matter of self-preservation. She didn’t want the stranger to know how truly vulnerable she was.
“I hate to leave a little lady like you out here on the side of the road all alone at night. I’ll wait with you.”
“No need.” Her stomach quivered. She let her hand slide over the butt of her gun and her fingers twitched. Even though her instincts were screaming to pull out her gun and point it at him to protect herself, she was suddenly doubting herself.
Doubting all her training.
Tomorrow she would finally have her job back as a deputy and she couldn’t risk a run-in tonight that might make the news.
Off-duty deputy shoots good Samaritan.
But if she let her guard down and something bad happened, she’d make the evening news, too, but for far more permanent reasons.
“Didn’t catch your name?” She tried to sound casual.
“Don’t believe I gave it.” A corner of his mouth twitched in the moonlight.
The clip clop clip of a horse coming over the hill caught her attention. Based on the shift in body language, it had caught the young man’s, too.
The Amish man in the wagon pulled back on his reins. Becky’s heart slowed to a dull whoosh-whoosh-whoosh when she recognized her married brother.
Thank God.
“Hello, Levi.” A long time ago they had been close. Now, because she had left the Amish, she had only seen his wife and two young kids from a distance. While out and about in town, they had silently greeted each other with a subtle head nod. Maybe someday they’d be allowed to be closer. When more time had passed.
“Ah, Rebecca. Your fancy car isn’t quite so reliable.” His eyes were heavily shadowed by the brim of his hat and she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. He liked to tease her when they were growing up. At the time, it frustrated Becky, but what she’d give now to go back to a simpler time when he was razzing her about how her pie wasn’t as good as their mem’s.
“I’m afraid my car’s not very reliable.” She wondered if her brother could feel the tension. Would he understand the edginess radiating off her wasn’t due to their estranged relationship?
The man who had stopped to help her came up behind her. She was angry at herself for letting her brother distract her. For allowing the stranger to approach her from behind.
“Do you need help?” her brother asked.
“No, we’re fine,” the man said as he stood a fraction too close, pressing something hard into her side.
“Um...” A tingling started in her fingertips and raced up her arms.
The man whispered, “I have a gun. If you don’t want your Amish friend hurt, tell him to leave.”
“Are you sure?” her brother asked again. “I can drop you off at home.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” She fought to keep the panic out of her voice. “You better hurry home to your family. I’ll be fine.”
Her brother seemed to stare at her for a long moment before flicking the reins. “Come on, Brownie.”
Becky nearly cried at the sound of her former horse’s name. She waved and forced a bright smile, if for no other reason than to protect her brother. She refused to bring any more grief into her family’s lives.
As the sound from the horse’s hooves grew more distant, she lifted her hand slightly, an attempt to grab her own gun. But the man was a step ahead. He snatched her wrist and twisted her arm up behind her. His hat tumbled off in the tussle and landed at her feet. Pain radiated through her shoulder and back. Before she had a chance to spin around and free herself, he pressed a gun into her side. Then handcuffed her wrists.
“I know what you’re capable of. This time, instead of me getting a bloody nose, you’ll get a bullet in your side.”
Becky tugged on her handcuffs and bit back her frustration. The parking garage in Buffalo.
This man had attacked her, but she had been much quicker at defending herself. Her brother’s arrival, his offer of
help, had actually made her vulnerable. Her attacker wasn’t going to be thwarted so easily a second time.
Now she was at his mercy.
“What do you want?” she asked, hiking up her chin, refusing to let him see her fear.
“What do I want?” he said in a mocking tone.
She jerked away from his grasp and spun around. Despite having her hands bound, she got up in his face. “I’m not going with you.” Her pulse roared in her ears. And that was when she recognized him. A flush of dread washed over her and the ground swayed.
He lifted the gun to her forehead. “I’ve got nothing to lose. Try me.” The dead look in his eyes drove his point home.
“Okay. I’ll go with you. Don’t hurt me.” She had to buy time. She had her cell phone in her back pocket. Maybe he’d forget. Maybe he wouldn’t pay attention long enough for her to text Harrison. Tell him who her harasser was.
But why was he doing this to her?
He took her gun and shoved it in his waistband. His fingers dug into her forearm as he forced her around to the back of his truck. He opened the tailgate and made her climb in under the canvas stretched across the bed. “Try anything stupid and I’ll kill you.”
She swallowed around a too-tight throat and nodded briefly. She lifted one leg and put her knee on the tailgate and hesitated. Hopping up while her hands were handcuffed behind her back posed an additional challenge. The sound of a car approaching made him shove her inside quickly and he slammed the tailgate, sealing her between the hard metal of the truck and the soft canvas of the bedcover.
She listened hard. His footsteps crunched on the gravel. He opened the door. Slammed the door. The engine started.
Her arms ached as she slid her cell phone from her back pocket. On the bed of the truck, she twisted awkwardly to see the screen. She was grateful for backlit screens. With trembling fingers, she texted the most important thing first:
Lucas Handler.
Send.
Kidnapped. Blue Truck. GMC.
Send. Send. Send.
Each message she got off was a small victory. Breadcrumbs leading to her location.