Plain Retribution

“Do you have anyone you can call tonight? Someone to stay with you?”

She nodded. It bothered him to see her so pale and worn. Even her signs were lackluster. “My roommate will be home later. She works until ten. She usually arrives home around eleven.”

“Maybe send her a text. Let her know what happened so she’ll know to come straight home.” He handed her the phone, then left her while she composed the text.

“Pop the hood,” Jackson called, scooting out from his position under the car.

Miles jogged around to the driver’s side and leaned in to pull the lever. The hood released with a small click.

Jackson whistled.

“What?” Miles stepped up beside his colleague.

“Wow.”

The engine had been incapacitated, the spark plugs nowhere to be found. One thing was clear—whoever had attacked Rebecca had wanted to be sure she couldn’t get away.

“Do you think she was specifically targeted?” He took out his cell phone and snapped pictures of the engine. “Could this be random?”

His gut told him no. This kind of attention to detail took forethought and planning.

Jackson was already shaking his head, frowning.

“I don’t think so.”

“I don’t, either.” Miles shoved his hands in his pockets, watching Rebecca as she sat on the cement curb. She looked tuckered out. No wonder. “How does this play for you? I think the perp has been watching her for some time. Maybe a few days, maybe longer. It’s possible he picked her because she was deaf. Thought she’d be an easy mark. He knows where she leaves her car, and what hours she works. Chances are he waited here for her.”

“But if April hadn’t left early, he would have had to contend with two women.”

Jackson had a point. He went to Rebecca and posed the question. A minute later he was back.

“Not necessarily. Rebecca said April usually parked in the parking garage across the street. All he would have needed to do was stay down until she was out of sight.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

The quiet was broken with a ridiculously raucous ringtone coming from his watch. Jackson’s brows rose in amusement. Miles brought up his wrist and fumbled with the buttons, mumbling an apology. He’d left his earpiece in the car, so he moved slightly away from Jackson. It was the chief.

“Olsen here.”

“Report, Officer Olsen,” the chief of police ordered.

“Sir, the perp is gone and has left no traces we could find. He disabled the car, though. It needs to be towed. Jackson and I think he’s been watching Rebecca for a while.”

“Rebecca?” There wasn’t any censure in the chief’s tone, just mild curiosity.

“Sorry, sir. Miss Miller. I know her. Anyhow, we don’t yet know why she was targeted.”

“Ahh.” He could picture the chief nodding as he leaned back in his swivel chair. “Even if the perp was watching her, it might have still been a random attack. Maybe he noticed she drove alone and parked in the alley and thought she looked like an easy mark.”

“Sir, I’m going to drive Miss Miller home, and then come in and file paperwork.”

“Very well. Does she have someone she could stay with?”

Miles cast a concerned glance toward her. Her arms were crossed on the top of her knees, and her head was down.

“Miles?”

Huh? Oh, right.

“Yes. She has a roommate. I had her text the woman and let her know what was going on.”

“Good. I’m glad she’ll have someone there for her,” the chief responded in a smooth drawl.

Miles thought for a second, deciding his next move. “I also think we should try to get the visual artist in as soon as she’s available to see if she can remember any details that might get some hits on the database. Oh, and see if the interpreter is available.”

“If not, you could interpret if she waives her right to a certified interpreter.”

Miles frowned. “Yes, sir. Although I think it would be better to have someone certified.”

People didn’t always understand that managing direct communication in sign language and interpreting at a professional level were two totally different skills. Just because someone could speak the language didn’t mean they could expertly translate it into English.

“I agree. But interpreters are very hard to come by.”

“Yes, sir. I will try to get all that scheduled ASAP.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” A pause. “Miles, I’m going to put you in charge of this case.”

“Sir?” His heart thumped in his chest.

“You’ve been doing good work since you came back. I want to find this perp. And I think you’ve proven you can handle the responsibility. Plus, you can communicate directly with our victim, so that makes you the natural candidate.”

“Thank you. I will do my best.”

He tapped the face of the watch, disconnecting the call, joy bursting through his body. His first case as the lead. The chief trusted him again—he could finally put his past mistakes behind him. This had been a long time coming.

Then he looked at Rebecca, and some of the joy faded. As proud as he was to be lead in the case, he hated the idea that his victory came with the price of her horrible attack.

She was so vulnerable. Just like his stepsister, Sylvie, had been. Suppose this wasn’t a one-time attack? Suppose the perp was a stalker, fixated on Rebecca? He would have his work cut out for him, finding the perp before he struck again. Oh, he’d been in on tough investigations before. Chief Paul Kennedy had been slowly giving him more and more responsibility as he had shown he could be relied on.

For some reason, though, this responsibility seemed heavier. Because it was quite likely that the beautiful young woman sitting a few feet away was still in danger.

TWO

The trip to Rebecca’s apartment was a quiet one. She’d given him the address, and off they went. Since he was familiar with the area, he didn’t need to take the time to plug the address into his GPS.

The trip was silent, but not uncomfortable. Rebecca had calmed down. Once they were ensconced in his vehicle and moving away from the scene, the tension in her shoulders and face seemed to have eased. She wasn’t happy, but neither was she panicked. Which was good.

As for Miles, he appreciated the silence. It gave him a chance to process the events of the evening and get a hold of his own emotions. He couldn’t help but worry about how she was handling the pressure, though. He turned to look at her—her expression was smooth, unruffled. Could she really be that calm? He would have expected more panic, or at least signs of discomfort. He’d seen the bruises on her neck—they had to be hurting.

Get a grip, Olsen. She’s not your sister. She’s strong. And now she’s your case. Keep it professional.

He was so involved in his own thoughts, he almost missed the entrance to her apartment complex. Good thing Windy Hill Apartments had a large sign out by the road. Grimacing, he shifted on his blinker and spun the wheel at the last second, swerving hard into the driveway. In his periphery, he saw Rebecca put her hand on the dashboard to brace herself.

Bet that impressed her. Not.

What an awful parking lot to come into at night. It had one light, right in front of the entrance. But the rest was dark, the corners in the lot merging into the shadows and trees. Anyone could hide out in those shadows, and she wouldn’t be aware of it until it was too late. Rebecca wouldn’t be able to hear any telltale sounds that might warn her of impending danger.

Great. Now he was getting paranoid on her behalf.

He parked the cruiser under the light and switched off the ignition. Turning to face Rebecca, he paused when he saw her pensive glance. Her eyebrows squished together and her lips tightened. She flickered her gaze around the dark edges of the lot. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one who found the place unsettling.

He tapped her on the shoulder once, to get her attention.

She glanced nervously at him. She was definitely disturbed by something.

“What’s wrong?” he signed, folding his three middle fingers down over his palm while extending his thumb and little finger, then tapping the folded part against his chin.

She pointed to a window on the second floor. The curtains were open, and the lights were out. “That’s my apartment. My roommate isn’t home yet.” Using the one-handed ASL alphabet, she finger-spelled her roommate’s name. Holly Fletcher. “I knew she wouldn’t be, but—”

“You are nervous about entering an empty apartment?” He raised his eyebrows and crooked the index finger of his right hand in a question mark.

“Yes.”

She didn’t look happy about admitting it. But at least she wasn’t denying it.

“No problem. I will walk up with you and make sure it’s all clear.”

Nodding, she turned from him to get out of the car. But not before he saw the relieved smile that swept over her face.

Wow, she sure was pretty. Yeah, so not going there. Even though she was.

Back to work, Miles. You have a job to do. And then you need to leave.

Shoving those dangerous thoughts from his mind, he focused on the task at hand. He waited as she tapped in the five-digit entry code. Although not foolproof, the added security measure did make him feel better about her safety here. They climbed the single flight of stairs and walked to her apartment. When Rebecca moved to unlock the door, Miles held out a hand to stop her. Startled, she moved her gaze to his, her brows rising in a question.

“Give me your keys,” he signed.

She dropped them in his open palm. He motioned for her to move back. As soon as she was away from the door, he leaned closer to listen for movement inside the apartment. Nothing. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could and signed for her to wait while he checked out the apartment. Her eyes widened as he removed his gun from the holster.

“Just a precaution,” he signed.

Keeping his weapon at the ready, he moved through the apartment, checking each room. The kitchen was spotless. No sign of any disturbance. The first bedroom was clear. It was clean, like the kitchen, but he knew at once it was the friend’s room rather than Rebecca’s. Pictures of the attractive brunette with a hodgepodge of people and in a variety of settings covered the large corkboard on the wall, with some in frames on the desk and dresser.

The next room was obviously Rebecca’s. The contrast was startling. The room was clean, but the decor was sparse. There were a couple of pictures. They all looked very recent, none dating back earlier than four or five years ago. And why would there be? The Amish didn’t take pictures. Against the far wall, there was a large oil painting. It clearly showed a white farmhouse with a black Amish buggy in the front. It was so realistic, it looked like someone could reach out and open the door of the buggy. He peered closer to see the artist’s signature, then whistled softly. Rebecca Miller. Wow. She had some mad talent.

On the desk under the window was an open laptop and several textbooks. A GED certificate was prominently displayed on the wall. That’s right, he thought. The Amish only go to school through eighth grade. Right next to that was a college diploma. She had a bachelor’s degree in art. It was awarded this past spring.

Giving in to his curiosity, Miles peered closer at the books. They covered topics ranging from the deaf community to the study of ASL and ethics and practices with interpreting for the deaf. Rebecca apparently aspired to get a CDI certificate. He’d only ever met one Certified Deaf Interpreter. They were highly sought after in improving communication with the deaf community in official settings. Good for her.

Returning to the living room, he found Rebecca standing inside the door, her back against the living room wall. Made sense. If you couldn’t hear, you didn’t want to leave yourself vulnerable to attacks from behind. Again.

“Nothing here. Are you sure you’re all right? I can stay until your roommate gets back.”

She was shaking her head before his hands stopped moving. “I’m fine. Thank you so much for checking. I feel silly, but I appreciate it.”

He stepped closer to her and put his hand on hers to stop the apology, then pulled his hand back at the zing that shot up his arm. Her shocked expression told him all he needed to know. She had felt it, too, and by the look of the frown stamped on her pretty features, wasn’t any happier about it than he was. Good. That meant she wouldn’t expect anything. He ignored the twinge of disappointment.

He couldn’t afford to get emotionally involved with anyone. Emotions had almost cost him his job once. In the end, he had kept his job, but had lost his rank as sergeant. That fact was brought home every time he put on his uniform without the insignia. All he wanted was to earn it back.

“I don’t mind checking. I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He looked at his watch. “It’s almost ten now. Your roommate should be here in an hour. Let’s trade numbers, and you can text me if you need anything. I’ll text you to let you know if we have any leads.”

They exchanged phones. He put in his number, then snapped a selfie so that she’d have a visual in her contacts. Oh, wait. Amish. He flicked a glance in her direction. She was shaking her head at him, a half smirk forming on her lips. Her face had more color in it now, he was glad to note. Her earlier pallor had bothered him.

“Sorry.” He shrugged. “I can delete the picture if you want me to. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay.” She snapped a selfie of herself on his phone. “I’m not Amish anymore.”

Amused, he chuckled. She was absolutely adorable. He took back his phone and synced it with his watch.

“I have never met anyone who left the Amish community before,” he signed. Then he wondered if that statement bordered on rude. Although, bluntness was all part and parcel of deaf culture, so maybe she’d take it in stride.

She shrugged, her face rueful. “Not many do. It was a tough decision, but in the end it was for the best.” She shifted her eyes past him, thinking. “I was the only deaf person in my family. My parents are great, but they never really learned to sign fluently. ASL is a hard language to learn, and there weren’t that many opportunities for them to learn it in the community. They speak Pennsylvania Dutch and English at home. I was caught between three languages. Out of my family, only my brother Levi and my sister Lizzy can really sign to me. In my classes every day, I’d have a few people I could speak with easily, but then I’d come home and have to struggle to understand and be understood. It grew worse after I left school. There were no interpreters. I think my parents accepted my leaving because they knew that I didn’t even understand what was happening at church. In the English world, though, I could be part of the deaf community. I had friends, and I was able to be a full participant.”

He nodded. “My grandparents and uncle are deaf. They are very involved with the deaf community.”

“So that’s why you sign so well! I had wondered.”

“Yeah. I grew up with it.” He tilted his head. “Do you regret leaving?”

“No. I love my family, and I am grateful to still have a relationship with them. In fact, my oldest brother, Levi, is getting married in a week. On Thursday. I will be there. But someday, I want to get married, and I want my husband to be able to communicate with me. And if I have deaf children, I want them to have full access to the deaf community.” She moved away a couple of feet. Restless. “Want to know what was really sad? Until a few years ago, I never even knew that Amish children say ‘mam and dat,’ instead of ‘mom and dad.’” She finger-spelled the Amish versions of the words. “I’ve never been good at lipreading, and wasn’t able to really see the difference when I watched my siblings say the words. In my head, I always see the sign for ‘mother and father,’ but when I wrote, I wrote ‘mom and dad.’ Like the other kids at school. Levi read something I had written a few years back and pointed it out to me. He also took the time to teach me the written words and meanings of some of the other Amish words that were used daily, but that I never knew. I have taken pains to try to think of them as mam and dat, knowing that’s how they would prefer to be called, but it wasn’t automatic for me.”

The urge to touch her hand, to offer comfort, sneaked up on him. He resisted. But it was difficult. The aloneness emanating from her posture as she signed just about killed him.

She’s not alone now, he reminded himself. She has friends in the deaf community. She has her faith. And her family does love her.

And she has me.

No. She doesn’t. I’m temporary. And I have stayed too long.

Lifting his wrist, he eyed the time on his digital watch. And whistled. It was later than he had thought.

“I need to go. Text me if you need anything,” he signed with one hand, pocketing the phone. “And lock the door behind you.”

She rolled her eyes, but complied without comment.

The second she had closed and locked the door, he was on his way to the station. It would take him twenty minutes to get there. If he worked fast, he should be able to have all his reports filed and all his duties completed by the time his shift ended at midnight. Unless, of course, another call came in. Wednesday nights were usually pretty quiet in LaMar Pond. He should be good.

An hour and a half later, he finished his reports.

With his work completed, his mind turned back to Rebecca. Had her roommate arrived home yet? Maybe he should send her a text to check on her. He quickly shot off a text.

Then he occupied himself while pretending he wasn’t watching for a responding text. None came. No doubt her roommate had returned. She was no longer alone. Wilting back against his seat, he let out a sigh. It was after eleven thirty. Chances were good that she was asleep, or that she and her roommate were talking about the night’s events and not paying attention to the phone.

Everything was fine.

But it wouldn’t hurt to check on her in the morning, just to be sure.

* * *

Rebecca came awake with a start, heart pounding. Her hands flew to her throat—she could still feel hands closing around it. But as awareness seeped back in, she realized it was just a dream. No one was attacking her. She sat up, knocking a pillow off the couch in the process. A wave of dizziness attacked her. Closing her eyes, she breathed in deeply until the dizziness passed. When she could open her eyes again, she frowned. She was still in her skirt from work. She had fallen asleep after texting with her brother.

He didn’t have a phone, so she had used the videophone to call one of her parents’ neighbors who had agreed to let Rebecca’s family know what had happened and that she was fine. Which had resulted in a long conversation with her brother. It took some doing, but she finally convinced him that she was okay and didn’t need anyone to come to LaMar Pond.

A quick glance at the clock showed it was just past six in the morning.

She hadn’t intended to spend the night on the couch. Why had Holly let her sleep? Her roommate usually woke her up if she fell asleep there. The couch was for sitting, not for sleeping. Holly had very definite views about that. So why change?

Rebecca stood and groaned as her back protested. Good grief, she was twenty-five, not seventy-five. She smiled at her silliness, then turned toward the bedrooms.

And every trace of her smile was wiped from her face.

Holly’s door was wide open. As if Holly wasn’t home.

Fear in her throat, Rebecca moved on leaden feet to the bedroom and flicked on the light.

The bed was made. Not a thing was out of place. The room was perfect. It made Rebecca’s blood run cold.

Holly had never come home.

Her phone! There could be a text waiting for her. Maybe Holly had decided to visit her sister again. She had done it before.

Rebecca knew she was reaching. Holly always came home when she had class the next day. She worked so hard to keep her grades up at the small liberal arts college she attended—she wouldn’t risk that to go visit her party-all-night sister. Except, sometimes Laurie hit rock bottom and pleaded with Holly until she felt guilty and went over. So there was a small chance. A very small chance, but it was the only hope Rebecca had to hold on to.

She hit the button on her phone and her heart thudded in her chest. One notification. She pressed the text icon. It was from Miles, sent late last night. Any warmth she might have felt that he had checked on her was drowned out by the knowledge that Holly hadn’t sent her a text. Holly always sent a text if she would be late. She knew how much Rebecca worried. Holly worried just as much about any situation where Rebecca might be in harm’s way. And why shouldn’t she? She’d been there. They both had. For days, they had sat together, shackled in the dark, locked in that same small room. Waiting, as terror fogged their minds while hunger gnawed at their bellies.

But Holly and Rebecca had survived. Not all of them had.

Jasmine Winters hadn’t made it out in time. She’d been strangled, mere hours before the police had broken through the basement door. They had all wondered who would be next...

No!

Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists as she pushed that memory out of her mind. The darkness that tried to ooze into her mind didn’t belong there. Not anymore. She’d banished that years ago, when she’d testified. When she and the other girls had put away their captor.

The memory of the trial made her shiver more. Would she never forget the face of their tormentor? He had been on his way to prison, and still he had held such control over the women he had terrorized. And he had known it.

He had control over her still—was still the face in her nightmares. What should she do?

Miles! He would probably check to see if she had responded to his earlier text. And he was a police officer. He’d know what to do about Holly.

Unlocking her phone, she pulled up his text. Her fingers trembled as she tapped out a message of her own, explaining the situation. She curled her lip as the auto correct kicked in, messing up a word of her message. She erased the word and started again. Many people would have sent the text anyway, trusting that he would understand. But this was too important. Plus, if she was honest with herself, she knew that people expected mistakes in her English, both because she had been Amish, and because she was deaf. It never failed to gall her. She hit Send.

Then waited.

And worried.

She tried to sit back down on the couch, but couldn’t stay still. She bounced back up on her feet. She felt icky. Glancing down at herself, she grimaced. Not only was she still wearing yesterday’s clothes, but her skirt was torn and wrinkled. And what if Miles decided to stop by when he got her text? She couldn’t be seen this way. Ignoring the part of her that questioned why it mattered how she looked, she showered and dressed in clean jeans and an oversized royal blue sweater.

She checked her phone again. Still no word from Miles.

It was almost seven. She sent him another text, just in case the first hadn’t gone through, then dragged out the Crock-Pot and started making chili. After she had the meat, beans and spices simmering, she stepped back and smirked at herself. What had she been thinking? She’d made enough to feed her parents and five sisters and brothers, when it was just she and Holly who lived in the apartment.

Holly.

Immediately, her mind was back in the middle of the current nightmare.

She glanced at her phone. The light was blinking. Maybe it was Miles. She clicked on the message, and his face appeared. The intensity of his blue eyes caught her unawares. Her breath caught in her throat. Those piercing eyes set in his honest face had attracted her from the first time she’d seen him. If only...

But it was no use. A man like him, strong and decent, wouldn’t be interested in someone damaged like herself. Some of the members of her own community had been disgusted by what had happened to her all those years ago, even though she hadn’t been to blame.