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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.
Besides, after what she had gone through, after what she had seen, she needed security in her life. A policeman who put himself in danger every day, no matter how handsome he was or how great he signed, was not on her list of possible mates.
Forcing her mind to accept the reality of her situation, she read his text.
Be there at 7:40. Jackson coming, too.
It was seven fifteen now. The sun was just starting to come up. She had almost half an hour. She’d go crazy just sitting here. To give herself something to do, she set about cleaning her already spotless apartment.
The light in the hall flashed. Someone was at the door. It had to be Miles and Jackson. The cautiousness she’d learned as a teenager wouldn’t let her open the door without checking the peephole. Two men dressed in dark blue uniforms stood in the hall. She recognized the LaMar Pond uniforms. Miles and Sergeant Jackson. With a sigh of relief, she swung open the door.
The relief drained out of her when she saw how they looked. The tension emanating from the two men crackled like a live wire. She instinctively stepped back from them. Keeping her distance, she searched for clues in Miles’s expression as he entered the apartment. The morning sunlight streaming in from the windows emphasized his serious expression. The downward curve of his mouth. The set of his strong jaw. Both spoke of a man on a mission. And an unpleasant one at that. Something bad had happened.
Fear lay in a leaden ball in her stomach. Please, Lord, let everything be all right. Even as she prayed, though, she knew everything was not all right. Something had happened to Holly. What? Sweat slicked her palms. She was about to find out.
THREE (#u4d5356ff-5e68-507c-a43d-f4c143e4bf4b)
Her throat was dry. “We can talk in the kitchen.”
Miles nodded, then turned to say something to Jackson. She was fairly certain he was relaying her message to the other officer. In the kitchen, she grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, then held it up with a questioning look. Did they want one? Both officers shook their heads. Fine. She uncapped it and took a long swallow. It made her throat feel better, but nothing else felt any relief.
Her stomach hurt. Not sick hurt. Scared hurt. The way it always had as a child. The way it had when she’d been held against her will ten years ago.
She scraped back a chair at the table and sat down across from Miles.
“Can you understand okay if I switch to pidgin? That will make it easier to keep Jackson in the loop.”
She nodded. Pidgin sign language used mostly ASL signs, but put them in English word order. This way, the signer was able to speak and sign at the same time. Not optimal, but she could follow along.
“Rebecca, I got your text this morning. I drove by the parking lot of the restaurant Holly works at. Her car was in the lot. But she was nowhere to be found. The manager said that she had left after she’d finished her prep work for the morning shift. That was around ten thirty. She never came back in. When he saw her car this morning, he thought she must have had car trouble and had someone pick her up.”
What? That was absurd. If she’d left her car, she would have let them know so it wouldn’t get towed. How could they not have realized something was wrong?
