Plain Sanctuary

“Of course. We can make a few phone calls from the sheriff’s office before I take you to Ruthie’s home.” He quickened his pace, nudging her forward with a hand to her elbow. “But let’s get you off this property.”

Heather squinted against the sun and tented her hand over her eyes. “Where did you park?” He was leading her across the narrow country road.

“I parked behind the buggy here. I didn’t want to draw attention to my vehicle in case Fox was watching.”

Still holding her elbow, he led her around the buggy and they both came up short. Her stomach bottomed out and she willed away her urgent need to throw up. The windshield of his truck had been smashed.

With two hands on her waist, Zach set her next to the buggy like she was a child who needed to be told to stay put and not move. He reached for his gun. “Stay here.” He set her bag down on the gravel lot.

A flush of dread washed over her and she struggled to catch her breath. She glanced around, her vision narrowing. A crow silently flapped its wings overhead, cutting a path across the sky.

The cornfields swayed in the winds. The sweet scent of corn and dried leaves reached her nose.

A split-rail fence in need of repair.

A long-ago abandoned silo.

Yesterday, this landscape had brought her peace. Today she saw nothing but places for Brian to hide.

She flexed and relaxed her hands, trying to tamp down her panic. He was not going to destroy her life. Not again.

Leaning over, she scooped up the strap of her bag that Zach had dropped and waited. She glanced around to make sure they were alone. Zach did the same as he strode across the gravel lot.

After a closer inspection of his vehicle, he walked back toward her, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the landscape. His posture relaxed. Perhaps he was convinced the immediate threat had passed. Something made him go back to the vehicle and open his driver’s door. He paused. A muscle ticked in his jaw. He stepped away from the open door with an envelope in his hand.

“What’s that?” Despite her best efforts to be strong, her voice trembled.

“It’s addressed to you.” But he didn’t hand it to her. They made eye contact briefly before he pulled out a pocket knife and slid the blade under the seal of the envelope.

Another crow cawed overhead as he pulled out a piece of paper and unfolded it. The edges flapped in the wind. She stepped closer, wanting to read the note. Not wanting to read the note. Blinking rapidly, her eyes watered from staring at the bright white paper in the blinding sunshine. The wavy black lines came into focus: “You can run. But you can’t hide.”

She let out a long breath between tight lips. She recognized Brian’s handwriting. The same meticulous letters that he’d carved into notes giving her instructions on what to buy for dinner or how to wear her hair or when to be home. Or how to wash his clothes, hang his pants, fold his socks. His demanding directives had been as particular as they were plentiful.

He’d controlled her.

Heather’s stomach twisted and she feared she would have thrown up if not for her empty stomach.

“I wonder why he left the note in my truck and not in your house. He had access.” Zach turned the note over in his hand.

Heather turned her back to the truck, suddenly sensing they were not alone. “He wanted me to know that even you can’t keep me safe.”

* * *

Zach slammed his fist on the frame of the door of his truck and muttered under his breath. “We’re going to have to get a sheriff to take us to their office.”

“My car is parked behind the barn.”

“No, it’s better if we don’t take your car. Too obvious.” Just then, he looked up and saw Deputy Gates walking toward his patrol car. He waved to the man. Gates climbed into his vehicle and drove over, pulling up alongside his damaged truck. The officer rolled down his window. “What happened here?”

“Fox got to my truck. He might be hiding in the cornfields.” Zach kept Heather close as he scanned his surroundings. He tapped the roof of the sheriff’s patrol car. “Forget about my truck for now. I can get someone to tow it to a collision shop. I need to get Miss Miller out of here. All this open space is giving me the willies.”

He thought he heard Heather mutter, “The willies?” under her breath.

“Can you take us to the sheriff’s department?”

The deputy tipped his head toward the back of his vehicle. “Hop in.”

Zach held out his hand for Heather. Hesitancy flashed in her eyes before she climbed in. He suspected not many people liked to travel in the back of a patrol car. He ran around and jumped in the front passenger seat.

Zach looked over his shoulder and smiled at Heather sitting in the backseat. “We’ll get you to safety.”

She stared at him with a blank expression in her eyes, seemingly unconvinced.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Miller. I’m Deputy Conner Gates. I hear you’re opening a bed-and-breakfast in your grandmother’s house,” the deputy said casually to Heather as he pulled out onto the road.

“Yeah...” She stretched the word out, as if she were about to ask him how he knew her plans, but then realized word traveled quickly in a small town. “I hope to open in less than two weeks. I already have it booked.”

“The fall foliage is beautiful. Our little hotel in town can’t keep up with the tourists. You’ll have a booming business, I’m sure.” The deputy was good at making small talk, obviously trying to distract Heather from the events going on around her.

“That’s what I was counting on,” Heather said, noncommittally. Defeat slipped into her tone, as if her dreams had been forever dashed by today’s events.

“The town will be happy to see the old house come to life again.” The deputy flicked his gaze into the rearview mirror and Zach could imagine Heather smiling back politely.

“How far is the sheriff’s office?” Zach asked, determined to get the focus off Heather.

“In the center of town. Ten-minute drive. From there, we’ll get an unmarked vehicle to take Miss Miller to a safe location.”

“I have something else in mind. Something Fox would never expect.” Zach tapped the door handle, nervous energy from the adrenaline surging through his veins.

“Whatever you say,” the deputy said.

Cornfields whizzed past in a blur. A flash of something dark emerged from the cornfields just ahead, catching Zach’s eye and making his pulse spike. He held up his hand, as if that would stop the car. “Slow down.”

Before the deputy slowed, the form—dressed in black—crouched low on the side of the road.

“Get down!” Zach yelled. “Get down!”

The back window shattered with an explosive sound. The patrol car skidded, weaved, then picked up speed.

The deputy scrambled for the radio controls. “Shooter on Lapp Road. In the cornfields point five miles from the Miller home. Patrol car’s been hit. Send backup.”

“Stay down,” Zach yelled as he tried to stay hunkered down and get a location on the shooter. A ping sounded somewhere else on the vehicle. He cursed under his breath. “Stay down.” He stretched his hand over the seat and touched Heather’s head. She had unbuckled and taken refuge in the tight space behind the front seat.

After another half mile, Zach was confident the shooter had retreated into the cornfields. “Pull over.”

The deputy did as Zach instructed. Zach climbed out and yanked open the back door, his heart racing in his chest. “Heather, Heather! Are you okay?”

Heather sat up, terror radiating in her bright brown eyes. He reached out and raked the shards of glass from her hair. “Are you hit?”

She pressed her hand to her chest. “I... No...no, I’m okay.”

“Okay.” Zach gritted his jaw in determination. He closed her car door, then leaned into the front passenger seat. “Take her to the sheriff’s office. I’m going after him.”

Without waiting for the deputy to finish his protest, Zach slammed the door and patted the roof. “Go!” Grabbing his gun from its holster, he ran back in the direction of the shooter, his senses on high alert.

Every twig snap, bird crow and rustling stalk sent his adrenaline spiking over the edge.

Fox. It had to be Fox. He couldn’t let him get away.

Breathing hard, Zach reached the point where the gunman had emerged from the cornfields, and based on the footprints, the same point where he had ducked back into them. Zach had also noted the mile marker.

Pulse whooshing in his ears, he slowed, cautious not to get ambushed, fearing his need to get revenge might override his better judgment.

Examining the ground, he noticed a heavy boot print in the dirt. Sliding between the cornstalks, he followed the prints, the deeper in, the less certain the path of travel, but they seemed to be leading to woods on the other side of the fields.

Once he reached the woods, he slowed, trying to quiet his ragged breath. In the distance, he heard water, a river or creek. Pausing a moment, he let his eyes adjust to the heavily shadowed woods, except for the occasional beam of bright sunlight that penetrated the thick canopy.

Gun in hand, he made his way deeper into the woods, toward the sound of water. Once he got to the clearing, he caught sight of a man on a dock, leaning over something. A boat, maybe?

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