Amish Hideout

He steadied himself to lead her down the hall to freedom, but instead felt the furtive brush of her hand on his arm. “I need to go back to my room. It’s upstairs.”

“I’m sorry, there isn’t time.” He didn’t turn. “But there’s a bag of spare winter clothes hidden in the passage and more necessities in my truck.”

“But I need a charger for my tablet—”

“No, you don’t. You shouldn’t be on the grid at all.”

Again Jonathan readied himself to go. This time her hand tightened on his arm.

“I wasn’t planning on going ‘on the grid.’ I need to review some of Dexter Thomes’s data while completely off the grid, and until I can get my tablet charged, it’s dead.”

Something as strong as iron moved through her voice. Even in the dim light he could see the firm jut of her shoulders. He remembered looking at her file and wondered how anyone—let alone a well-meaning citizen—could possibly have the patience and determination to sit at a computer for eighteen hours chasing down a criminal hacker. Now he was beginning to see. “The feds have people chasing the money. All you need to focus on is staying alive long enough to testify.”

Gunfire erupted somewhere to their right. He could hear the voices of US marshals shouting. Sounded like hostiles were about to breach the house. Then he heard a familiar voice coming down the hall. He stepped through the door, keeping Celeste safely behind him.

“Karl!” he called, relief filling his chest as his eyes fell on the familiar form. “I have Celeste! I’m taking her out through the underground passage. I’ve called for backup and I’ll get in touch once we’re safe.”

“Thank You, God,” Karl prayed. He said, “You’re a sight for sore eyes. We have four hostiles on the perimeter. Stacy is holding down the front door. Communication’s down.” Gunfire grew louder. Stacy’s voice echoed through the darkness, calling for Karl. “Stay safe.”

“You, too.”

Karl turned and ran toward the front of the house. Jonathan reached for Celeste’s hand, enveloped it in his and ran down the hallway. They pushed through a door into a large country kitchen. He closed the door behind them, then glanced down at the woman whose small hand had slid so naturally into his. He dropped her hand, an odd heat rising to his face. Now why had he done that? They started across the kitchen floor toward the cellar. Suddenly the door behind them flew back. A thin man in a dark ski mask burst through with a gun in his grasp. Celeste screamed. The man set her in his sights and fired. But Jonathan had thrown himself between Celeste and the gunman before the bullet could meet its mark. They tumbled to the ground as he heard the bullet strike the wall behind them.

Jonathan rolled up to one knee and returned fire. The gunman fell back behind the door. “Celeste! Get behind the counter and stay low!”

Jonathan gritted his teeth and braced his hand against the wooden floorboards. There was no way to reach the cellar now, not without running straight into the line of fire. Even if they managed to make it, they’d tip the criminal off about where they were going and there’d be nothing to stop him from following. He’d spent the first eighteen years of his life in a huge country kitchen like this one and now he was going to die in one, trying to protect a woman he’d barely met and yet who had already managed to tug at strings he hadn’t even known he had. Another bullet flew through the kitchen door, shredding the corner of the countertop and sending wood chips flying. Suddenly he knew their way out.

“Celeste! There’s a pantry behind you. Crawl inside and wait for me there.”

“Got it!” She started crawling, and he followed, keeping low to the ground. They reached the pantry and slipped inside. He closed the door behind them and pushed a shelf against it.

“Now, stand back,” he said. She pressed her back against the wall, whispered words tumbling from her lips. The tension in his heart tightened to realize she was praying, and when he spoke again his voice felt oddly husky in his throat. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay. There’s more than one way into the cellar.”

He holstered his weapon, bent down and felt with his fingers along the floorboards. Then he pulled out his pocketknife and slid the blade between the head of one of the loosest nails and the well-worn wood. Within moments he’d worked it free. He moved on to the next. All he had to do was remove two boards and that should be enough for them to slip through. Voices shouted in the kitchen beyond them. Sounded like the gunman had been joined by a second. He worked the board loose and pried it back. Then he grabbed the one beside it and yanked it off, as well. A hole lay at their feet. It was a crude means of escape and once someone checked the pantry it would be clear where they’d gone, but hopefully it would buy them enough time to get a head start.

“I’m going to jump down now,” he said. “It’s only about eight feet. When I call you I need you to jump in after me and I’ll catch you. Okay? Trust me. I’ll keep you safe.”

He reached for her again. He felt her fingers slide between his and squeeze. Then he pulled away.

“Ready?” he asked. She nodded. He dropped through the hole and tumbled into darkness.

TWO

Celeste crouched by the hole and waited for Jonathan to give her the all clear. There was a scuffling sound beneath her like something falling. Then there was silence. The kitchen door slammed back on its hinges. Loud footsteps sounded as a second person stormed into the room.

“She ran in here!” It was a male voice, raspy and hoarse.

“And you opened fire?” A second male voice let out a string of swear words. This voice was cold and sharp, like the sound of a knife slicing through wood. “What are you doing? I need her alive!”

Alive. Something about that one simple word and the menace with which it was delivered made her limbs shake. She bent down lower, bracing her quaking hand against the wood, waiting for the sound of Jonathan’s words telling her it was safe to jump.

Lord, You’ve been my light and my guide no matter how rocky things got. Please guide me now.

“Where did she go?” The commanding voice was back.

“I don’t know!”

Then came the sharp beam of light swinging back and forth in the dim kitchen, sending sudden bursts of glaring white light shining through the gap between the door and the door frame, blinding her eyes for a moment before swinging around the kitchen again. She peered out through the tiny gap. The man who’d been shooting at them had rolled up his ski mask. Not much, but enough for her to see he was grizzled, probably in his early sixties, with the kind of broken nose that had been punched more than once and a scar down one side of his jaw, breaking up the gray-and-white stubble.

“Well, find her! I’m not paying for nothing!”

Paying? Who was this second man? Why did he need her alive? What did he think he was paying for?

“I’m ready for you! Time to jump.” Jonathan’s voice floated up through the hole.

She hesitated. She needed to see that man’s face. Just for a moment. She needed to know who was giving the instructions and who Dexter Thomes had sent after her.

“Come on!” Jonathan’s voice grew firmer. “We’ve got to go.”

She stretched her legs slowly, her hand inching up the door frame as she slowly got to her feet. She could see the man’s legs now, clad in jeans and a dark jacket. Shaggy brown hair fell around his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing any kind of mask, almost like he wanted his face to be seen.

Just one glance. That was all she needed. Just a little bit more data to complete the picture.

“Celeste!” Jonathan hissed. Urgency strained the marshal’s voice. “Hurry up!”

The figure turned. She recoiled, wondering for a moment if he’d somehow managed to hear Jonathan’s whisper above the ruckus of gunfire and shouting outside. The man’s eyes seemed to lock on her hiding place and suddenly she saw his face, with its shaggy beard, blue-tinted glasses and squinting eyes.

She stumbled backward. No... No, it couldn’t be.

He raised a finger, then started toward the cupboard. She took another step back. Her foot slipped and she fell. She bit her lip and barely kept from screaming as air rushed past her.

Then she felt the strength of Jonathan’s arms around her breaking her fall. She gasped a prayer of thanksgiving. Darkness filled her gaze. The smell of damp earth and old brick rushed in with each breath. For a moment silence fell, punctuated only by the sound of Jonathan’s ragged breath. “Are you all right? What happened?”

No, she wasn’t all right and she couldn’t begin to make sense of what she’d seen.

“Do you know if they saw where you went or where you were hiding?” he asked. But somehow her mouth couldn’t form words. It was like her brain was stuck on just one thought. Dexter Thomes. She’d seen Dexter... Jonathan’s hand brushed her elbow and steered her down the tunnel. “We’ve got to move. Come on.”

He marched her down the hallway. Her footsteps faltered beneath her.

It couldn’t be Dexter. He’d been arrested—he was behind bars awaiting trial, and if he’d escaped or been released someone would’ve told her. If he was on the run, would he actually be brazen enough to walk into a witness protection safe house without even covering his face? There was something chilling about the arrogance of a man who’d go by a moniker Poindexter that was so close to his own first name. But all of her research had shown he was an only child. He didn’t have a twin...

She opened her mouth, but no words came out, and, instead, a long shiver spread through her body.

“Don’t worry, I have a bag of warm clothes and supplies hidden up ahead,” Jonathan said.

Her limbs were shaking all right, but it wasn’t from the cold. She had to tell him what she’d seen. “Listen, after you jumped through the hole in floor, I heard the gunfire stop and two men talking. I listened to what they were saying and tried to get a look at them—”

“That’s not your job,” he said. “Your job is staying alive, and when I give you an instruction, I expect you to follow it. Now come on.”

“Wait, it’s important...”

“Tell me later. When we’re out of this tunnel and somewhere safe.”

Yes, but if it really was Dexter in the kitchen and he came after them, shouldn’t Jonathan arrest him? Shouldn’t someone do something?

“Wait, I think it was Dexter!” If he heard her, he gave no indication, and he was propelling her at such a brisk walk that she was almost jogging to keep up with his long stride. “He said he wanted me alive.”

“It doesn’t matter if Dexter sent him or not.” His pace didn’t even falter. “All that matters is that I’m going to keep you safe.”

She nearly growled. Was he always this pigheadedly focused? She stopped so short he seemed to barely catch himself from tripping over her. “No, listen, I mean, I think it was literally Dexter Thomes. I just saw Dexter Thomes—Poindexter himself—or a very good lookalike standing in the kitchen, barking orders and talking about taking me alive.”

Jonathan felt his mouth open and shut like a trout. He wasn’t used to being caught off guard and didn’t much like it. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s impossible. Dexter Thomes is in jail. I don’t know how you could even tell in the ski mask.”

“He wasn’t wearing one and the other man pulled his up while they were talking.” Even in the dim light he could tell her arms had crossed. “And I’m telling you that either Dexter, or a doppelgänger who looks remarkably a lot like him, is barking orders upstairs.”

Right. Well, he didn’t know what that meant, but thankfully it didn’t sound like anyone was coming down the tunnel after them, at least for now. Had they not checked the cupboard? Had they been distracted by something?

“I know Dexter Thomes better than anyone,” she continued. “I did my homework before reporting him to the feds. He’s an only child. He doesn’t have a sibling or a twin. He shouldn’t be out on parole...”

Her words paused as his hand brushed her shoulder. “I hear what you’re saying and as soon as we’re safe and clear I’m going to call my boss, Chief Deputy Louise Hunter, for an update and I’ll tell her what you said.”

“I want to tell her myself.”

“Fine.” He hadn’t expected someone who sat behind a computer all day to be quite so driven and tenacious. “Now we need to keep moving.”

He pulled a flashlight from his belt and switched it on. His eyes didn’t exactly need the light to see and it ran the risk of alerting anyone who was following them, but for now they seemed to be alone. Celeste was clearly rattled, and he had a hunch it would make her more comfortable. He swung the beam over the old red-and-orange brick walls and then tilted it down to illuminate the path ahead of their feet. He started jogging again, fast enough to keep moving but not so fast he couldn’t detect any danger ahead. She kept pace.

“You said it didn’t matter if he wanted me dead or alive,” she said, after a long moment. “But of course it matters. When you’re analyzing data you can’t ignore anything. Not the fact he wanted me alive. Not the fact one of them looked exactly like Dexter Thomes and the other like a sixty-something criminal enforcer.”

Wow, she didn’t let up, did she? Her legs might be struggling to keep up with his long strides, but that was nothing compared to what she was doing to his brain. “So, you heard a man who looked like Dexter Thomes tell a violent thug in his sixties that he wanted you alive?”

“Correct.”

“And I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter what he said.”

“How can you say it doesn’t matter?”

“Because who’s to say he was telling the truth?” His voice rose, and he winced as he heard it echo off the tunnel walls. Thankfully, it seemed they weren’t being followed, because if the flashlight hadn’t alerted them the sound of their voices would have. “He’s a criminal! He might’ve said he was going to keep you alive and then kill you anyway. You can’t predict what a monster like that is going to do.”

“Dexter Thomes isn’t a monster—he’s a man,” Celeste argued. “A very smart, evil and cunning man who spent years planning his heist. Everything he does matters. Even the fact that either he didn’t check the cupboard to see if I was in there, or he saw the hole and decided not to come down after me.” Huh. So she’d noticed that, too. “My life is staring at tiny pieces of code and lines of text, looking for the patterns. That’s how I found him and that’s how I’m going to find the money he stole. That’s who I am. I’m a computer programmer.”

Something almost like understanding flickered in the corner of his mind, but he didn’t let it take root. A chill brushed his skin. Cold air was seeping in from somewhere. Was the door to the entrance open?

“And I’m a US marshal with the Federal Witness Protection Program,” he said. “I place witnesses into new lives and keep them safe. Maybe one day you’ll go back to being a computer programmer again, but right now, you’re a witness. Now, we need to stop talking, and if anything happens stay behind me.”

His footsteps slowed. He needed to figure out where the cold was coming from. Celeste fell into step beside him and he had the unexpected and ridiculous urge to slide his arm around her shoulder. Instead, he switched off his flashlight, keeping one hand on it and the other on his holstered weapon. Their feet moved without making a sound. He’d never minded quiet. In fact, he preferred it over noise. But there was nothing comfortable or peaceful about the bubble of silence that surrounded Celeste. She was on edge and uneasy. It was like her mind was a whirling machine, spinning and turning so quickly her entire body radiated tension. His hand twitched with the desire to brush his fingers reassuringly across her shoulder blades and tell her that she had nothing to worry about, because he was here and he would keep her safe.

Faint and pale light trickled through from the end of the tunnel.

“Stay here,” he said. “As close to the wall as you can get. I mean it. Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere.”

“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?”