“Got it! I’ll stay right here with my back against the wall.” Her voice was almost defiant, then suddenly her tone dropped and he felt a hand brush his arm. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I didn’t mean to make your job any harder that it already is.”
He swallowed. “It’s okay. It can’t be easy to go from being a folk hero to thousands of people to taking orders from someone like me. Now, wait here. I’ll be back in a second.”
He pulled away from her and walked slowly and carefully down to the end of the tunnel. Something lay across the doorway. His heart stopped.
It was the body of a US marshal.
THREE
“Stand back!” Jonathan’s voice echoed down the tunnel ahead of her. Celeste’s heart pounded hard in her chest as she heard the worry moving through his deep voice.
Dear Lord, was I wrong to stay up above in the kitchen and listen? Did I really see who I thought I saw? What can I do? How can I help? I feel so helpless.
She’d felt almost fearless days ago when she was sitting in her living room, alone with her laptop searching for Poindexter. She’d never expected to be able to find him. Not really. She’d just started pulling one thread that led to another thread and then another, until they reached deeper and deeper into Poindexter’s online web to the man in the center of it all. But no, she hadn’t felt like a hero. She hadn’t even figured out where he’d hid the money. Besides, all she’d been doing was using her talent to the best of her ability and counting on God to guide her.
“What’s going on?” she called.
At first there was no sound except the beat of her own heart. Then she heard a deep, long sigh moving through the darkness.
“Hang on one second,” Jonathan said. “There’s a body here. It’s another marshal by the look of it. I need a moment to check it out and also do a visual sweep for any hostiles. I need you to stay there and don’t move until I give you the all clear. Please confirm that you’ve heard me.”
“I’ve heard you,” she said. She pressed her back against the wall, feeling the cold of the bricks seep into her limbs. She wasn’t cut out for this. She didn’t hide in dark tunnels. In fact, she rarely even left her little rented apartment in the city, not that she didn’t love the thought of country living. In fact, thanks to the internet she’d been able to shop for handmade clothes and blankets from self-employed seamstresses, handmade soaps from home-based artisans and order everything imaginable—from fresh vegetables grown on farms outside the city to homemade soups to cheeses, breads and even pies. Before someone working for Dexter had emptied her bank account and wrecked her credit, she’d been saving up for years to buy an actual house of her own, somewhere outside the city, where grass and trees would fill her view from the window beside her desk instead of buildings and buses. She’d lost all of that; she was trapped. She pressed her hands to her eyes to keep sudden tears at bay.
Lord, I know I should trust You have a plan in all this. I’ve trusted You to guide me this far. I need to believe You won’t abandon me now.
Then she heard Jonathan’s voice again, deep, comforting and as solid as steel.
“Celeste? A US marshal has been shot and killed. His name was Rod Cormac. He was a good man. My guess is he was shot at a distance and tried to make it to the safe house to warn the rest of the team before he died. He didn’t look like he was followed. Now I need you to come to me, nice and slow.”
She took a step forward and saw them. Jonathan was crouched down on the ground beside the body of a man, lit by the soft gray light of the approaching dawn. The man’s hair was blond and his limbs were curled up like he’d just lain down to have a nap in the snow. Her body froze. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t cut out for any of it.
“Look at me, Celeste,” Jonathan said firmly. “Don’t look at him. Look at me.”
His voice was a soft-spoken command, snapping her eyes back to his face, and if she was honest with herself, there was something almost kind of comforting about it. He held her gaze every bit as firmly as if it was her hand inside his. “It’s going to be okay, and I will keep you safe. Just trust me and do what I say. Okay?”
She nodded. He broke her gaze and reached for something in the shadows by the wall. It was a large black bag. He pulled out a gray wool blanket and laid it carefully over the body. Then he knelt for one long moment beside the fallen marshal. Jonathan’s head bowed, his eyes closed and his lips moved in what she could only guess was silent prayer. A shudder moved through his limbs. Then he stood and wiped his hand over his eyes.
He pulled out a thick coat and tossed it to her as he stood. “Put this on. There should be gloves and a hat in the pockets. We’ll find you winter boots as soon as we can. We need to hurry. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds the blood trail and follows him here.”
Celeste looked down at the coat in her hands but somehow couldn’t get her arms to move. Then her gaze rose to the snow-covered trees beyond the doorway. What if the person who’d shot Rod was still out there? What if they got shot the moment they stepped through the door? A man she’d never met was dead. And why? Because she’d hacked some lines of computer code and was going to be a witness at the criminal’s trial? Right now, Stacy, Karl and several other marshals were fighting for their lives because of her. Someone had already died because of her, and there was no way of knowing how many more would before this was all done. The horror of that welled up inside her.
Jonathan stepped forward, gently took the coat from her hands and held it out for her to slide her arms into. Her eyes met his for one long moment, and her breath caught to see the depth of sorrow echoed there.
“What was he like?” she asked. She let him ease her hands into the sleeves.
“Rod was a good marshal and a good man.” Something in the tone of his voice made her think this wasn’t the first colleague he’d lost in the line of duty. “He had a wacky sense of humor. I liked working with him.”
She felt him slide the coat up over her shoulders. She didn’t know why she was so frozen or why her body didn’t want to move, only that asking questions somehow helped. “Did he have a family?”
“He had a very large black dog and a very nice long-term girlfriend who he never tied the knot with because this line of work involves a lot of travel and doesn’t lend itself to relationships.”
He nudged her shoulder. She looked up into his face.
“How exactly did he die? Don’t just say he was shot. I want to understand.”
“He was shot twice in the abdomen,” Jonathan said. His tone was steady and without a hint of uncertainty. There was something comforting about it. “He lost a lot of blood and passed out.”
She bit her lip. “Did he suffer?”
He paused, then reached down and slowly helped her do her zipper up.
“I won’t lie. He would’ve been in a lot of pain. But he also used his dying breath and the last ounce of energy he had to get here. My guess is that he was trying to warn us about what was happening and tell us there were hostiles on the property. When backup arrives they’ll retrieve the body and notify his family. He died a hero’s death and will get a hero’s funeral. Now we have to move. Come on.”
Still, she was hesitating. She needed more answers.
“I don’t understand why the person in the kitchen looked like Dexter—if he’s really in jail,” she said. “Or why he wants me alive. Or why the walkie-talkies were down or how anyone could find a WITSEC safe house. I don’t even know if Karl and Stacy and all the other US marshals protecting me are going to be okay. What if there are more shooters in those trees? What if they shoot at us? What if they kill you and take me?”
Her voice rose to a wail, and as much as she hated it she didn’t know how to get control of it again. Her hands began to shake, a harsh uncontrollable quivering that moved up her arms and into her body.
&
nbsp; “Celeste!” Jonathan’s voice grew urgent. “Focus. Look at me. You’re in shock. It’s totally understandable, but you’ve got to fight through it. Now I don’t know how computers work. I’ve never opened one up and looked inside, and you could definitely say I didn’t exactly grow up in a technologically advanced house. But I’m guessing that in computer code every character or number has a purpose, right? Every part has its own thing it’s doing? Right?”
She blinked and a smile crossed her face, which was so unexpected it shocked her. What an odd way to explain it. He wasn’t right, but kind of close. “Something like that.”
“Okay,” he said. “Well, each of us has a job to do. Rod’s was to watch the perimeter. Karl and Stacy’s job is to hold down the fort and give us a chance to get out of here.” He took another step toward her. His hands rested on her shoulders. “Your job is to testify against the man who’s ultimately responsible for Rod’s death and make sure he faces justice for stealing all those people’s money. And my job is to keep you safe until you do.”
He stood there a moment with his hands on her shoulders, and something inside her wanted to step closer, to lean into his chest and let his strong arms envelop her, in a way no man had since her father had died. Even though she barely knew Jonathan Mast, and he didn’t seem like the type who was into hugs. She closed her eyes and felt her lips move in silent prayer. The she opened her eyes, swallowed hard and stepped back. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”
She grabbed a pair of leather gloves from the pocket of her coat and pulled them on. He did the same from his. He reached for her hand. She took it and he quickly yet carefully led her around the body and out into the cold predawn air. They ran, pressing through the thick trees as their feet pounded down the snow. The ground sloped beneath their feet. Gunfire echoed in the distance. The sun was starting to rise as the faintest pink sliver of light along the gray horizon. The trees parted and she saw the road.
Jonathan dropped her hand and led her along the tree line to where a large and tough-looking truck lay hidden in the trees by a camouflage cover. “Stand way back. I need a minute to uncover the truck, do a quick sweep to make sure no one tampered with it, and get it back on the road. Then we’re good to go.”
She crossed over to the other side of the road and waited as he started the engine and slowly pulled the truck back onto the road. A small battered-looking car flew down the road to her left and fishtailed to a stop. A tall heavyset young man behind the wheel held a cell phone.
“Hey! I think we’ve found her! Start recording!” a shorter and stockier young man called, leaping out of the passenger side. Celeste turned and ran, sprinting in the direction of Jonathan’s truck. A blast sounded in the air behind her. She stopped and turned back. The young man’s shoulders rolled back in a swagger as he pointed a handgun sideways at her. “Yo, you’re Celeste, right? Celeste Alexander? You’re that hacker chick that Poindexter’s got a bounty out on? I’m Miller. That there with the phone recording, this is my buddy, Lee. Get in the car now! Or I’ll kill ya!”
* * *
Jonathan shifted into Drive and was about to punch the engine when one word he’d heard the thugs shout a split second earlier finally caught up with his brain. Recording. The brazen thugs now pointing a gun at Celeste weren’t just announcing their crime like a bad online video—they were recording it, too. Just like whoever Celeste had seen in the kitchen they weren’t wearing ski masks. No, these two wanted to be both seen and known.
Thankfully, Jonathan was wearing civilian clothing. He shoved a hat down hard over his head and wrapped a scarf around his face. Then he gunned the engine. The truck shot out of the woods and straight across the road, swerving to a stop behind Celeste so that the driver’s side door was directly behind her.
She spun back, her eyes wide. Her hand rose to her lips.
The gun-wielding showman jumped back in shock with a shout that turned into a nervous laugh. “Whoa! Lee, you getting this? Make sure you’re getting this!”
Jonathan unholstered his weapon. Disgust whelmed up inside him. These criminals were threatening Celeste at gunpoint and treating it as some kind of game, when a good man had just died protecting her. He leaped from the truck and raised his gun high with both hands. “Celeste! Get behind me!”
She ran for him, darting behind him so quickly she nearly slid and fell. Miller turned back.
“Who are you?” Miller shouted. Jonathan didn’t answer. No, he wasn’t about to announce who he was and flash his badge on camera until he found out what exactly they were caught up in. For now, being undercover suited him just fine. Miller jabbed the air with the barrel of his gun. “Look, I don’t want trouble. I just want the hacker girl. Let me take her and go.”
His voice shook. There was a whole lot of nervousness hiding behind the bravado, and desperation, too. Not that it made anyone safer. A determined and reckless amateur was every bit as dangerous as a professional.
“That’s not going to happen,” Jonathan shouted. “Put the gun down.”
Miller waited a long moment, eyeing him as if weighing invisible options. Jonathan stared him down and didn’t blink. The US marshal had no doubt what would happen if it came to a shoot-out, but still he was going to do anything in his power to stop it from happening. He could still remember vividly what it was like to fire a gun for the first time. For a young man coming from an Amish background, there’d been something so foreign about it. Now, as his eyesight narrowed, his shoulders relaxed and his fingers prepared to fire, it was as comfortable as if the weapon was an extension of him. He just prayed that today wouldn’t be the first day he took a life in the line of duty.
“Whatever, man!” Miller threw his hands up like an exaggerated shrug. “You win this round. I don’t care. I’m just in it for the money, and Lee here’s just got us probably a grand’s worth of footage. Poindexter’s got everyone with dark web access and the willingness to step up and make a few bucks out looking for her. So, you can take her now, but someone else is going to take her back from you later. That’s just how the game’s played.”
“What game?” Celeste’s voice came from behind Jonathan. “Tell me! How did you know where I was? Why does Poindexter want me taken alive?”
Miller didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back toward the car, gun still dangling from his fingers as he had a quick word with Lee outside of Jonathan’s earshot.
“Get in the truck,” Jonathan said without turning. “Keep your head low. The keys are in the ignition. If bullets start flying, gun the engine and don’t stop driving until you reach a police station.”
Please, Celeste, don’t argue with me. He heard the scuffle of her footsteps on the snow and the slam of the door closing. Thank You, Gott!
Miller nodded to Lee. Then he swung back. The gun rose in his hands. His finger flicked over the trigger. Jonathan dropped to one knee and fired, hearing Miller’s bullet fly past him into the trees a millisecond before his own bullet ripped through the arm now pointing a gun at him. Miller dropped the gun, grabbing his arm and collapsing to the ground as a scream flew from his lips. Lee turned his camera phone toward his writhing partner.
Jonathan bounded into the driver’s side as Celeste moved over to the passenger side to make room for him. He holstered his weapon, shut the door and slammed his seat belt on in one seamless move.
“Fasten your seat belt and hang on tight!” He glanced at Celeste. “It’s going to get rough.”
FOUR
He heard her seat belt click. Jonathan’s truck surged backward, coming within a foot of hitting Miller before swerving sharply off the road to get around the criminals’ car. For a split second the entire scene played out before him in a glance. A howling and angry young man was down on the ground beside the car. Another bullet ripped from his gun that once again failed to meet its mark. The second young man bounded from the car and ran toward Miller, filming the scene with his
phone as he did, and somehow Jonathan’s eyes managed to meet his and hold them for a split second. They were devoid of emotion. This wasn’t personal. It was just a payday for whatever criminal found her first. How was he supposed to protect Celeste against that?
Then he threw the truck into Drive.
“Hold on!” he shouted. “We’re about to spin!”
He hit the gas and yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. The truck spun. Its wheels skimmed over the ice. He waited until the final moment, and tapped the breaks and yanked the wheel back. The truck righted. They sped forward, down the road as trees and the early-dawn sky flew past them in a blur of white, pale purples and grays. Gunshots faded in the distance. The sun crept over the edge of the horizon. He pulled off the scarf and hat, then glanced at Celeste. “Are you okay?”
Her smile was weak, but she seemed to be giving it her best shot. “That was some driving. Guessing you must’ve been tearing up the streets when you were a teenager.”
He shifted his gaze to the windshield ahead. The road spread ahead of him in an endless line of white. “Actually, I didn’t get my license until I was twenty.”
Before then it had just been horses driving the family buggy. It was funny. As a teenager, he couldn’t wait to get behind the wheel of a car and drive. But when he had, he’d been surprised how impersonal it felt. It didn’t listen or respond. It was just a machine, like any other.
“Speaking of vehicles, our first stop is going to be switching this truck out for another one,” he said. “I do use the other truck when I can because it drives better. But the fact Lee was recording all that makes it more important that we do. Then it’s about a five-hour drive to the new safe house, which, as I believe you know, is set in an apartment complex in the suburb of Pittsburgh. We’ll stop for breakfast in about an hour, but there are some granola bars, apples and bottles of water in the cooler behind your seat. I’ve got to call my supervisor and let her know where we’re at.”
Amish Hideout Page 3