скачать книгу бесплатно
Sam felt like someone had suddenly punched him in the gut. Wow, this woman couldn’t catch a break. As if amnesia, gunshot wounds and widowhood wasn’t enough for her to handle. He raised an eyebrow, but steeled himself to show no other reaction to the news.
The doctor waited for the men at the table to digest the information before he locked eyes with Jacob. “Mrs. Lapp has informed me that Sarah has had two prior miscarriages.”
Jacob nodded but remained silent. The information regarding this pregnancy seemed to weigh heavily upon him.
“I’m sorry to inform you, Mr. Lapp, that even though she has made it into her second trimester, she still might lose the child. She has experienced severe trauma to her body, and currently she is under emotional stress as well.”
“With my son gone, this will be our only grandchild.” Jacob’s eyes clouded over. “What can we do to help?”
“You can allow me to protect her.” Sam pushed away from the wall and approached the table.
The bishop’s expression revealed his confusion. “Protect Sarah? I don’t understand, sir. The man who hurt Sarah is gone, ya? She is safe now.” Jacob looked directly at Sam. “Excuse me, sir. We do not recognize you. What community do you call home?”
Captain Rogers nodded permission for Sam to answer the questions.
“My name is Detective Samuel King. Standing to my left is my partner, Detective Masterson. To his right is Special Agent Lopez from the FBI. We believe Sarah is in grave danger.”
“From whom?” Benjamin spoke up, gesturing with his arm to the men sitting on either side of him. “Her family? Her friends?”
Sam addressed his words to Bishop Lapp. “Since I was raised Amish, Captain Rogers thought it might be easier for me to blend in with your community as Sarah’s protective detail.”
All three men gasped, then turned and whispered in their native Pennsylvania German dialect commonly known as Pennsylvania Dutch.
Sam understood not only the words, but also the emotions and objections the men were expressing. The Amish do not care for law enforcement and try to keep themselves separate from the Englisch way of life.
“With respect, sir,” Jacob said, “although grateful, we do not feel we need your protection, and neither does Sarah.”
Sam sighed heavily. “You are wrong.” When he had their full attention, he said, “If you do not allow us to help, Sarah will be dead before this week is over, as well as her unborn child and many of the kids who were inside that schoolhouse when the shooting occurred.”
Samuel noted the sudden pallor in Jacob’s face. He recognized bewilderment in the other men’s eyes and glimpsed hesitation in their body language, but they continued to listen.
Sam pulled out a chair and faced the men. He explained about the diamond heist and the murders of the other thieves, which led to the shoot-out in the school.
Matthew Kauffman, the third Amish man in the group, spoke up for the first time. “If you were once Amish, then you know that we cannot allow police to move into our homes. It is not our way.”
“I understand your dilemma,” Sam responded. “I assure you that although I left my Amish roots behind, I never abandoned my respect for the Amish ways.”
“You do not speak like us,” Benjamin insisted. “You sound like an Englischer.”
Sam slipped easily into the lilt of the Pennsylvania Dutch dialect. “Many years of living with the Englisch, and you can start to sound like one, ain’t so?”
“Why did you leave your home, sir?” Benjamin asked.
Sam took a moment to decide just how much he was willing to share with these men.
“In my youth, I witnessed too many things for a young boy to see. I witnessed theft of Amish goods that went unpunished. I witnessed bullying and cruelty against the Amish people, yet I could not raise my hand to retaliate.”
The men nodded.
“I witnessed worse. I witnessed drunken teens race their car into my father’s buggy just for the fun of it. My parents did not survive their prank.”
Several heartbeats of silence filled the room as everyone present absorbed what he’d said.
“The Amish forgive.” Sam shrugged. “I could not. So I left.”
“It is difficult sometimes to forgive, to not seek vengeance and to move on with life.” Jacob’s quiet voice held empathy. His eyes seemed to understand that Sam’s emotional wounds had not healed and still cut deep. “I understand how hard it can be. I just lost my only son. But...” He looked Sam straight in the eye. “It is not our place to judge.” When he spoke, his voice was soft and sad. “Judgment belongs only to God, ya?”
“And vengeance belongs to the Lord, not us,” Benjamin Miller added.
“I am not talking about vengeance,” Sam said, defending himself. “I am talking about justice.”
Jacob scrutinized Sam as if he were trying to determine his character from his words. “How do you know whether what you call justice, Detective King, is what God would call vengeance? Is it not best to leave these matters in God’s hands?”
A sad ghost of a smile twisted Sam’s lips. “I believe God intended for us to love one another, to help one another. I believe He expects us to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Children. Unborn babies. An innocent woman who doesn’t even know the gravity of her loss yet. Isn’t that God’s will?”
Jacob remained silent and pensive.
Sam had to work hard to control his emotions. There was no place in police work, particularly undercover police work, to let emotions control your actions or thoughts. But he understood these people. He’d been one of them. He knew they were pacifists who refused to fight back. If a gunman walked up and shot them dead on the street, they’d believe it was God’s will.
How was he going to make them understand the danger they were in? Or worse, defend against that danger? Jacob was their bishop. He was the one he had to win over. Sam knew the only hope he had of convincing Lapp to go along with the plan was to drive home the pain the man was still feeling from his loss. He challenged him with a hard stare.
“Are you willing to accept responsibility for the deaths of your loved ones, Bishop? Your neighbors’ loved ones? To never see your grandchild? To attend the funerals of your neighbors’ children? Because you will be killing them just as if you held the gun and shot them yourself.”
Sam’s voice had a hardened edge, but he made no apologies for his harshness. He had to make these men understand the seriousness of the situation if he stood any chance of saving their lives.
“Please, sir, listen to me,” he continued. “A stranger entered your Amish schoolhouse on a beautiful, peaceful spring afternoon. He cared only about diamonds, not about God or the sanctity of life.” Sam placed his forearms on the table and leaned closer. “This isn’t his first crime. We suspect him of many other crimes, but have been unable to bring him to justice.
“No one who would be able to describe him has lived to talk about it—except Sarah. Don’t be fooled. He will return. He will find a way to walk freely among you. He is not above using your children—perhaps killing your children—to accomplish his goals. You will never sense the danger until it is too late.”
The three men shot concerned glances at one another.
“Please,” Sam pleaded. “Even with your help, we cannot promise that he won’t succeed. We are chasing a shadow.”
Sam paused, letting the men absorb his words. He gestured toward the other law-enforcement officers in the room.
“We are not asking you to take up arms or fight back. But we cannot protect you from the outside alone. If we stand any chance of stopping this man, then we must be close. We must be on the inside. We are asking for your help.”
Jacob’s head bent, and his lips moved in silent prayer. After a few moments of silence, he wiped a tear from his cheek and turned to the other Amish men.
“How can we not help?” he asked. “This is our Sarah. Hasn’t she been hurt enough? These are our children he speaks of. Is it not our duty as parents to protect them? And what of the innocent child Sarah carries? Must we not protect that child, too?”
“Jacob, you know if this horrible thing he speaks of happens, then it is the will of God.” Benjamin’s voice was insistent. “We must accept the will of God.”
Jacob nodded slowly. “Ya, Benjamin, you are right. We must accept the will of God.” After a moment, he made eye contact with Benjamin. “Your Mary was in that classroom...and your Daniel and William.” Jacob glanced from him to the other man. “Matthew, your children, Emma, Joseph, John, Amos...they were there that terrible day, too.” His eyes implored both men. “Are we so eager to let the wolf snatch them away that we stand aside and open the door?”
Benjamin blanched as the realization of what was at stake finally hit him. Visibly shaken, he lowered his head, his voice almost a whisper. “But if it is God’s will...”
“I agree. We must accept God’s will.” Jacob leaned forward and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “But I have to ask you, Benjamin, how many detectives do we know who used to be Amish? Maybe sending Samuel to us is the will of God.”
The men exchanged looks, whispered together in hushed tones and then nodded their heads.
This time, Jacob looked directly at the police captain. “We will agree to this. But please, sir, find the man you seek quickly. We cannot endure this situation for long.”
The captain stood and thanked the men for their cooperation. “We will be placing undercover officers in your town. They will deliver your mail, pick up your milk and serve in your local shops and restaurants. But only one will actually enter your home—Detective Samuel King.”
Sam hadn’t been back on Amish soil for more than a decade. He’d have to keep his emotions in check, his mind clear and his thoughts logical. A woman’s life, and that of her unborn child, were at stake. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on his shoulders, and he prayed he’d be up to the challenge.
TWO
Sarah stared out the window. It had been one week since the shootings, two days since she’d awakened in this hospital room and they still hadn’t caught the shooter.
She watched the people below in the parking lot.
Was he out there? Waiting? Plotting? Biding his time like a poisonous snake in the grass, coiled and ready to strike?
Would he come back for her? And if he did, this time...
Sarah didn’t have to remember the past to know that she had no desire to die in the present.
She studied the men passing beneath her window. Did any of them look up in her direction? Was the killer watching her even now?
Fear shuddered through her.
How could she protect herself when she didn’t even know what the man who posed a threat looked like? How could she help the police catch him before he could hurt more people if her mind continued to be nothing more than a blank slate?
Her mother-in-law, Rebecca, and the doctor had filled her in on what they knew of the details of that day.
The story they had told her was tragic. But she had no emotional connection to that schoolroom, or to the children who had fled out the back door and summoned help, or, even worse, to the man who had once shared her life and was now dead and buried.
She knew people expected an emotional response from her—tears, at least—but she felt nothing.
Surprise? Yes.
Empathy? Of course.
Pain? Grief?
No. They were the emotions she saw every time she looked at the sadness etched in Rebecca’s face. She had lost a son.
Sarah had lost a stranger.
Earlier Rebecca had told Sarah that she’d been raised Englisch until the age of eight. Try as she might, she couldn’t find any memory of those childhood years.
Following her mother’s death, she’d been adopted by her Amish grandmother, who had also passed on years ago. Then she’d come to live with Jacob and Rebecca, embraced the Amish faith and married their son. Sarah found it more difficult to come to terms with the person she was supposed to be than to try to summon grief she couldn’t feel.
She was a pregnant Amish widow recovering from multiple gunshot wounds and suffering from amnesia. That was her reality. That was the only world to which she could relate.
She couldn’t conjure up the slightest recollection of Peter Lapp. Had he been of average build? Or was he tall? Had he had blond hair like his mother? Or maybe brown?
Rebecca had told her they’d been married five years and were happy together.
Had they been happy together? Were they still as much in love on the day of his death as they’d been the day they married? She hoped so. But can true love be forgotten as easily as a breath of air on a spring day? If they’d been soul mates, shouldn’t she feel something? Have some sense of loss deep in her being, even if she couldn’t remember the features of his face or the color of his hair?
Rebecca had also told her that she’d had two prior miscarriages. Had Sarah told her husband about this pregnancy? Were they happy about this blessing or anxious and fearful that it, too, would fail?
A surge of emotion stole her breath away. It wasn’t grief. It was anger.
She wanted to be able to grieve for her husband. She wanted to be able to miss him, to shed tears for him. Instead, all she felt was guilt for not remembering the man. Not the sound of his voice. Not the feel of his touch. Not even the memory of his face. What kind of wife was she that a man who had shared her life was nothing more to her now than a story on someone else’s lips?
She was no longer a complete human being. She was nothing more than an empty void and had nothing within to draw upon. No feelings for her dead husband. No feelings for an unborn child she hadn’t even known she carried. No memories of what kind of person she had been. She was broken, damaged goods and of no use to anyone.
Please, God, help me. Please let me climb out of this dark and frightening place.
In the stillness of her empty room, the tears finally came.
* * *
Sam stood up from the chair outside Sarah’s door and stretched his legs. Hours had passed since Rebecca had left with Jacob. He hadn’t heard a sound lately, and the silence made him uneasy. Quietly, he opened the door and peeked inside.
He was surprised to see Sarah out of bed and standing at the window. Her floor-length robe seemed to swallow up her petite, frail figure. The swish of the door opening drew her attention.
“Hi.” Sam stepped into the room. “Are you supposed to be out of bed?”
Sarah offered a feeble smile. “The nurses had me up a few times today. I won’t get stronger just lying in bed.”
Sam could see she wasn’t having an easy time of it. Dark circles colored the skin beneath her eyes in a deep purplish hue. The telltale puffiness told him that she’d been crying. Her sky-blue eyes were clouded over with pain and perhaps even a little fear.
“It is kind of you to show concern, Detective King.” Her voice sounded fragile and tired.
“Please, call me Samuel.”
He flinched at the sound of his true Amish name slipping from his lips. Donning Amish clothes had returned him to his roots. But the sound of his given name instead of Sam sealed the deal. He had stepped back in time—and it was the last place he wanted to be.
“Samuel.” The sound of his name in her soft, feminine voice drew his attention back to her. She smiled again, but it was only a polite gesture. Happiness never lit her eyes. “What can I do for you?”
“I thought I’d poke my head in and make sure you’re all right.”
“Thank you, but you needn’t bother. I’m fine.” A shadow crossed her face.
Fine? He didn’t think so. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the puzzled expression on her face until she questioned him.
“Who are you, Samuel?”
She stood with her back to the window and studied him.
Who was he? He’d told her he was a detective. Was her loss of memory getting worse?
Sarah went right to the point. “You dress like an Amish man. Our men are not detectives.” Her eyes squinted as she studied him.
