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When Deputy Sheriff Nick Jennings pulled up in front of the Apple Creek Diner, he had only two things on his mind: coffee and Flo’s pie. His stomach growled as he considered his options. He was in the mood for some banana cream. As he pulled the door’s release, his radio crackled to life. He listened intently, frowning when he heard there had been an incident at the church. Flo’s pie would have to wait.
“I’m at the Apple Creek Diner,” he said into the radio. “I can be at the church in three minutes.” Nick flipped on the lights and pressed his foot to the floor, not necessary since he was only a few minutes out, but he missed the occasional adrenaline surge. Policing small-town Apple Creek didn’t provide the same rush as serving in the army in times of war.
Not that he wanted to go back to war.
“The victim, a Miss Sarah Lynn, is at the pastor’s residence,” the dispatcher said. “The pastor’s wife claims she’s pretty shaken up.”
Sarah Lynn? The name didn’t register.
Nick tightened his grip on the steering wheel and as promised, made it to the parking lot of the church in under three minutes. Dusk had cloaked the area in the first hint of shadows, and his headlights arched across two people standing on the pastor’s stoop. One was Miss Ellinor, the pastor’s wife, the other was a petite woman he had noticed around town. That must be Sarah Lynn.
Nick had only been back in Apple Creek for a few months himself when this young woman arrived. Residents of a small town tended to notice new arrivals, even if they weren’t petite and pretty, which this one certainly was. Flo at the diner, who had a habit of trying to fix him up, mentioned that this woman seemed to keep to herself most of the time, hadn’t even offered up her name. A few speculated on why she had suddenly shown up in town—employment, low rent or maybe she was hiding from something—but mostly the residents of Apple Creek let her be. Nick assumed she probably did have her share of secrets. Having come off a bad breakup with a woman who was a master secret keeper, Nick figured he’d pass.
Nick climbed out of his cruiser and strode toward the pastor’s neat, white-sided home. He tipped his hat toward the women. “Hello, Miss Ellinor.” He thought it best if he waited for the young woman to introduce herself. That’s when he noticed she was doing more than touching her forehead, she was holding a cloth to it.
“Are you injured?”
“I’m fine. My name is Sarah. Sarah Lynn...” The corners of her mouth turned down and the woman seemed to be studying her shoes. This woman was either afraid or hiding something. Perhaps both.
Apparently the residents of Apple Creek were collectively a pretty good judge of character.
“I’m Deputy Sheriff Nick Jennings. What happened here?”
Sarah shook her head, but it was Miss Ellinor who spoke first. “Someone smashed one of the basement windows of the church. I’m afraid Sarah has a pretty deep cut on her forehead. You’ll probably have to call an ambulance. Is an ambulance coming?”
Sarah held up her hand, her eyes growing wide. “I don’t need an ambulance. I’m fine.” Her voice shook. She didn’t sound fine.
“May I take a look?” Nick stepped toward Sarah and she took a half step back, hemmed in by the front door of the pastor’s home behind her.
Sarah dropped her hand and her long hair fell over the wound. She stared up at him with a look of defiance, although he may have misinterpreted the emotion in the dim lighting.
Nick held up his hands in a nonthreatening gesture. “I don’t need to look at it, but someone should.”
“I’m fine, really.” Sarah’s repeated use of the word fine seemed forced. She bent and picked up a heavy-looking bag. When she straightened, all the color drained from her face. If he hadn’t been watching her, he might not have seen the terror that flashed across her pretty features and then disappeared into the firm set of her mouth and her narrowed gaze.
He wasn’t going to have her pass out on his watch. “Let me drive you to the hospital. Have someone take a look at that cut.”
Sarah pressed the wadded-up paper towel to her forehead and frowned. “I’m fine, really.” There was that word again. “I just want to go home.”
Miss Ellinor’s features grew pinched. “Child, I know you like to put on a brave face, but if you don’t get that cut checked out, you’re going to end up with a big scar on your forehead. It would be a shame to mar that pretty face of yours. Wouldn’t you agree, Deputy Jennings?”
Nick felt a corner of his mouth tugging into a grin, despite suspecting his amusement might annoy the young woman. Miss Ellinor, the pastor’s wife, was a chatty soul who said whatever was on her mind. Being a woman of a certain age and position, no one seemed to call her on it. “A scar on that pretty face would be a shame.”
Sarah squared her shoulders, apparently unsure of how to take his compliment.
Nick tipped his head toward his patrol vehicle. “I’ll take you to the emergency room.”
“Is this really necessary?” Sarah skirted past him and clearly had no intention of getting into his car.
“Would you rather I call an ambulance?”
Sarah sighed heavily. “I do not need an ambulance.”
Nick decided to change his line of questioning. “Any idea who might have tossed a rock through the window?”
Miss Ellinor shook her head. “Bored kids causing trouble, I suppose.”
Nick thought he noticed Sarah blanch. “I’m a social worker, and every other Sunday, to coincide with the Amish Sunday-night singings, I run a group meeting for Amish youth who may have alcohol or drug issues. Or other concerns.”
“Really?”
Sarah slowly turned, her sneaker pivoting on the gravel. “Is there something wrong with that? This community is an underserved area. For some Amish youth, the years leading up to their baptism can be stressful. It’s a huge decision, which can lead to unhealthy behaviors to deal with stress. Because of their insular life, they are often ill equipped to handle the temptation of drugs and alcohol.” Despite the cool bite to her tone, she sounded rehearsed, like she was reading from a brochure.
“No, ma’am. I didn’t mean to imply that what you’re doing is wrong. Do you have reason to believe someone from your meeting tonight took issue with you? Or something that was said?”
Sarah adjusted the paper towel on her forehead. “I’m a social worker. Unfortunately, being...” she seemed to be searching for the right word “...harassed on occasion is one of the challenges of the job.” She cut her gaze toward him, making a show of running her eyes the length of his deputy sheriff’s uniform. “You can understand that.” Unfortunately, in today’s climate, he could.
“I’m issued a gun. What do you have for protection?” His pulse ticked in his jaw, anger growing in his gut. If some punk was messing with a social worker who was trying to help him, Nick would have to set him straight.
“Oh my, we’ve never had trouble here before.” Miss Ellinor’s hands fluttered at the collar of her floral shirt. Her white hair seemed to glow under the bright porch light.
Sarah reached for Miss Ellinor’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t know what to do with a gun. And,” she said, lowering her voice, “I don’t think someone would be receptive to my help if I had a gun strapped to my body.”
“Any self-defense classes then?” Nick didn’t understand why he was so interested in this woman. He was here to answer a call about a broken window. See that she receive medical attention. That’s it.
“I took a few self-defense classes back when I was in college. But, I do my best to avoid conflict. Beats getting my head trapped in a headlock.” Half her mouth quirked up. Nick could tell she was trying to defuse the situation with humor, but what happened here tonight wasn’t funny.
Sarah cleared her throat and pulled the paper towel away from her forehead and suddenly seemed impatient to leave.
“Wait by the vehicle. I need to check out the broken window. I won’t be but a minute.”
Sarah nodded.
“Make sure she gets that cut looked at, Nick,” Miss Ellinor hollered after him.
He waved and smiled. “Sure thing.” He had a feeling that was going to be a difficult promise to keep.
Nick checked out the broken window, then went inside and assessed the damage. A large rock sat in the middle of the room. Punks.
When he returned to his vehicle, he found Sarah standing alone. “Miss Ellinor had to go in. She’s babysitting her granddaughter. The pastor’s not home. I told her I’d clean up the mess tomorrow.”
Nick nodded, but didn’t say anything. Sarah looked tiny standing next to his cruiser, one hand pressed to her forehead, the other arm wrapped around her middle. A large bag resting on her hip. He opened his passenger door and she cut him a cynical gaze. “Not going to make me ride in the back?”
“Are you a criminal?” He arched an eyebrow.
Without answering, she slipped into his car. “I’m not going to the hospital. You can take me directly home.”
Despite Sarah’s firm tone, her hands shook under the dome light as she fastened her seatbelt. She looked like a deer frozen in headlights, uncertain if safety existed a few steps away or if annihilation under the massive weight of an eighteen wheeler bearing down on her was inevitable.
* * *
The familiar sight of the interior of the patrol vehicle, with all its lights, displays and gadgets made Sarah suck in a breath, only to inhale the distinct police-car smell: part antiseptic, part vinyl, part whoever had been transported in the backseat. And the crackle of the radio sent Sarah reeling back to another time.
Sarah threaded her trembling hands, trying to maintain her composure. Trying to stay in the here and now. I will not have a panic attack. I will not give this man a reason to question me any more than he already has. I can do this.
Breathe...
“Any idea which of your clients could have thrown a rock through the church window? Anyone particularly angry or rude this evening?”
Sarah shook her head, not trusting her voice. “I’d just be guessing.” Or lying. Did she really believe it was one of the Amish men or women from her meeting tonight? “If you don’t mind, I’m tired. Can you please take me home?”
“I promised Miss Ellinor I’d get that cut on your head looked after. I’m not a man who goes back on a promise.”
Sarah sighed heavily. She wasn’t up for all this chivalrous stuff. She had been conned by the biggest con man himself, and she didn’t trust herself when it came to reading people’s—no, scratch that—men’s true intentions.
Act tougher than you are. Don’t let him take control.
Sarah shifted in her seat and squared her shoulders. “Truth be told, I don’t have any insurance, and as you might have guessed, living in Apple Creek, working as a social worker, I’m not in a position to be forking out money for unnecessary medical expenses. As it is, I’ll have a tough time paying my rent this month.” She figured God would forgive her this little lie. She did have medical insurance, but she didn’t dare use it. Just one more way for her former boyfriend to track her down. Everything she had Googled about vanishing had said to wipe her digital blueprint clean.
In today’s modern world, that was tougher than ever.
Checking into a hospital with all the paperwork and computer records would likely raise a red flag if her former boyfriend was still looking for her. If. Inwardly she rolled her eyes. Of course he was still looking for her. Jimmy Braeden didn’t give up a fight easily.
Sarah turned her head slowly, keenly aware of the man studying her in the confined space of his patrol vehicle. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch, but surprisingly not out of fear, but out of uncertainty. How was she going to convince him to take her home?
She forced a smile. “Please, take me home.” She tried once again for the direct approach.
He smiled back, revealing perfectly even white teeth. “I can’t do that.” Under other circumstances, Sarah would have immediately put up her defenses. She had vowed she’d never let a man control her like Jimmy had. Yet, Deputy Jennings seemed to give off a different vibe than her macho ex. There was something soft around his hard edges.
But her hunches had been wrong before. Just the fact that she was in this situation proved her point. She couldn’t let her guard down because a handsome man smiled at her.
“I have a place I can take you.” Deputy Jennings shifted the vehicle into drive and her stomach lurched.
“No, please. Take me home.”
He cut her a sideways glance and his eyebrow twitched. Had he sensed her growing panic? If he had, he didn’t say as much.
“You can call me Nick.”
“Nick, take me home.” Frustration bubbled up inside her. The thought of pulling the door handle while they cruised at forty-five miles per hour down the country road entered her mind and left just as quickly. She had tried that once before, and Jimmy had grabbed her ponytail and yanked her back in, promising he’d snap her neck if she ever tried that again.
Nick didn’t look like the kind of man who would lay a hand on a woman.
Jimmy didn’t look like that kind of man, either. Not initially.
“Please, I need to go home.”
A look of confusion flickered across Nick’s face before he focused on the road in front of him again. “It’s okay. I won’t take you to the hospital. My sister runs a small health-care clinic on the edge of town. It won’t cost you anything. If we hurry, we can catch her before she closes up for the night. She usually works late. She can stitch you up right quick.”
When Sarah gasped, Nick added, “It won’t be bad, I’ve had plenty of stitches over the years, much to the dismay of my nanny. My sister’ll do it as a favor to me. Don’t worry about the cost.”
“Oh, I can’t.” Sarah’s head throbbed. She really, really wanted to go home and forget this miserable day. She couldn’t take free services that were meant for someone who really needed them. And they’d ask for her name. Details that could get her killed.
Her anxiety spiked. If she freaked out now, Deputy Jennings—Nick—would think she had a screw loose. Best to remain calm and not raise any more suspicions.
The yellow dash on the country road mesmerized Sarah. She had gotten used to hoofing it these past six months. A car required a license, registration, a digital footprint. Again, all things that would reveal her location, only sixty miles away from her stalker. She’d run away, but not too far. She needed to be able to reach her sick mother in Buffalo in an emergency. But for now, she stayed away, prayed for her mother’s health and maintained a low profile.
“How come we’ve never officially met before?” Nick asked, as if reading her thoughts.
“I haven’t been in town long.” Be vague.
“What brought you to Apple Creek?” He cut a sideways glance before returning his attention to what was in front of him and the equally spaced cat’s eyes dotting the edge of the dark road. His question sounded innocent enough, but how could she be sure?
“I’m a social worker working with individuals who are either addicted or susceptible to drug or alcohol addiction. I also work with single mothers—not necessarily Amish—to help them access programs and—”
“You mentioned that before. But why here? Why Apple Creek?” Nick glanced at her quickly, then back at the road.
“Why not?” Her words came out clipped despite her efforts to keep her tone even.
“Seems like a remote place. Most newcomers to Apple Creek nowadays are the Amish folk. Do you have ties to the area? Family?”
She crossed her ankles, then uncrossed them when she thought about the possibility of being in an accident and having her legs pinned against the dash in a contorted position. Sarah had a knack for worrying about everything.
She cleared her throat. “The Amish are an underserved area. Many young adults are afraid to reveal their problems, substance abuse or otherwise, to their own community for fear of punishment from the church. At least with me, I can help them work through their issues without the added burden of feeling like they’ve let down their parents or the church. My hope is to help my clients be the best person they can be, whether they decide to stay in the community or not. No judgment on my part.”
“How does that go over with the Amish community?” His tone reminded her of when people asked, “How’s that working for ya?” when it obviously wasn’t working at all.
“I want to believe most Amish people appreciate my efforts, even if they won’t publicly acknowledge what I’m doing. I can respect that. The Amish are a humble people who prefer to remain true to their own community.” She wanted, no she needed, to work under the radar. Nick didn’t need to know that. The fewer people who knew her predicament, the less likely she’d be discovered. “If I can help someone who is struggling with drugs or alcohol, everyone benefits.” Sarah let out a long sigh. Her own father had been killed by a drunk driver. Sarah had heard more than once that social workers tended to come out of the ranks of individuals who needed some fixing in their own lives. If only the person who’d decided to drink and drive the day her father had been killed had chosen a different path. Had chosen to get help. How different her life might have been.
“Do you think the person who threw the rock tonight was someone from your group meeting? Or maybe an angry family member who doesn’t appreciate what they might consider outside interference?”
“I don’t want to believe one of the people I’m trying to help did this.” A chill skittered up her spine. Actually, Deputy Jennings, I think it was my crazy ex-boyfriend, but I don’t know how he would have found me. Sarah had taken tremendous pains to keep her location secret. The only ones who knew her background were the pastor and his wife. And Sarah trusted them completely.
Of course, her mom back in Buffalo knew where her daughter was, but was careful to only contact her through her pastor, who would relay the message to Pastor Mike here in Apple Creek.
Sarah’s life had become a tangled web of carefully crafted half-truths and secrets. The more she talked, the greater chance she had of being discovered. That’s why outside of work she had primarily kept to herself since she arrived in Apple Creek six months ago.
“Most of my clients’ names are kept confidential.” Even as the words slipped from her mouth, she knew that wasn’t foolproof for confidentiality. Trust was the foundation of her group meetings. She couldn’t control what clients revealed about themselves or others once they left.
Being a social worker, regardless of the community, had inherent risks: unstable patients, angry relatives and venturing into unsavory neighborhoods. But her need to help others—provide hope—trumped any threat to her personal safety. She took precautions. She wasn’t stupid.
Nick made a noncommittal sound and slowed the vehicle, turning into the parking lot of a nondescript building. A lonely sedan with a dent in the back panel sat in the parking lot. “Good, we caught her.”
Her, no doubt, being his sister. The physician.
Sarah’s mouth went dry. “I can’t. I won’t get out of the car.”
