Chapter 1
1
MARCH 5
Stephanie Miller didn’t know much, but she knew one thing for sure and for certain. It had been a mistake to gasp. In the span of three seconds, the scary young Englisher who’d fired the gun turned. Their eyes met.
And then, right there in an empty lot at the side of the store, everything in her world changed. A new, awful tension filled the air.
Unable to keep the teenager’s gaze, Stephanie looked down at the man who’d been shot. Blood pooled on the ground beneath his chest. But worse was that while the man’s eyes were wide open, they were vacant.
He was dead.
It didn’t make sense. Not the killing, not the fact that neither she nor the gunman was trying to help the poor man on the ground, not the fact that nearby was a silver sedan with a woman inside who was honking the horn. The sound of it seemed to reset Stephanie’s head.
Shock turned to fear. Confusion became horror. All the disbelief Stephanie had wanted to hold tight faded into a new, stark clarity. One that was so bright, it was almost blinding. She’d witnessed a murder. She needed to get out of there. Scream. Go tell someone. But who? She didn’t trust anyone. Not anymore. Especially not the police.
The gunman blinked.
She looked him in the eye. Silently begging him to disappear. To be a product of her imagination.
But of course he wasn’t.
Then, as if in slow motion, he raised his right hand.
She cried out. Dropped the plastic shopping bag she’d clenched in her hands. Little by little, her brain finally started working again, sending frantic, garbled messages to her frozen limbs. She needed to run. Get away.
“No,” he said in a harsh voice. “Stay there.”
She could smell the sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood pooling on the ground. Staying there meant she’d soon be dead on the ground too.
Ignoring his orders, she started for the store’s entrance. The clerk inside was a nice woman. Maybe she’d help her get away?
All of a sudden the silver sedan screeched to a stop right next to her.
Now what was happening? Was it someone else with a gun? She let out a piercing scream.
“Shut up!” the gunman yelled.
Focusing on him once again, she willed herself to stay silent just as the car’s passenger door swung open.
“Get in!” the woman called out.
Peeking into the car, she noticed an older woman with brown hair and kind-looking eyes.
“Come on, honey,” the woman said. “Please trust me.”
Stephanie’s legs felt as if cement had filled them. She was stuck. “N-nee.”
“Get in or you’re going to get killed too! Come on. Please!”
“Don’t do it.” The man clicked his gun.
He was pointing it at her. The choices seemed to swim in front of her eyes. The woman and the vehicle. The dollar store.
The scary guy. The gun.
“Now!” the woman yelled.
Meeting her eyes, Stephanie knew what was the best option.
The gun fired as she was getting in. She cried out just as the woman careened forward.
Suddenly all Stephanie was able to do was close the passenger side door.
The pain that skimmed her arm felt like burning ice. It took another few precious seconds for her to realize what had happened. Then, as a curious, wet warmth saturated her sleeve, she looked down at her arm. The elbow-length sleeve of her best blue dress was turning red.
She’d been shot. That man, nee, that teenaged boy, had shot her. Just like he’d shot that poor man on the ground.
“Hold on,” the woman said as the car jumped forward and zigzagged out of the parking lot.
The woman turned right and then accelerated. Stephanie grabbed the door with her good hand as they flew down the road. Every so often, the woman changed lanes or passed a vehicle going too slow.
“That guy was part of a gang,” the woman said as they continued to speed. “I’ve known him a long time and hoped and prayed that this day would never come. The man he shot and killed? I’m pretty sure it was part of his initiation.”
Her words made no sense. Stephanie was also pretty sure that she didn’t care. All she wanted was to get out of the car and go to the hospital.
“I’m bleeding,” she said.
The inside of the vehicle smelled like coffee and a hint of perfume. It wasn’t unpleasing, but it did seem to symbolize the woman sitting beside her—and the differences between them. Stephanie had lived all her life in a sheltered environment. After her parents died, the police had picked her up and held her at the station until her aunt and uncle came to get her.
Ever since then, they’d supervised most of her days, which usually meant that she attended to her young cousins, did laundry, and cooked.
This woman, on the other hand, looked as if she’d lived a full life and rarely let anyone tell her what to do.
Stephanie was twenty-three and had been waiting for her ride home. She’d gone to the dollar store to buy a month’s supply of necessities for herself. It was the only day of the month her aunt and uncle allowed her to mix among the English.
No, it was the only day of the month when she had a taste of freedom.
She doubted that the woman driving the car had any idea what that was like. She’d likely never thought twice about walking into a store.
As worry and stress settled in, she stared at the splotches of blood on her sleeve and apron. The blood had permeated the fabric. The stain wasn’t going to come out. Her aunt was going to be so very mad at her for ruining her new dress.
She bit her lip. Felt tears form in her eyes as the pain radiating down her arm began to register. A stained dress was the least of her worries. They’d left behind a man on the ground. A dead man.
Stephanie lifted her chin and looked at the woman driving the car again. Saw that she was older than her. Maybe mid-thirties. She had dark brown hair that hung in a silky sheet around her shoulders and hazel eyes.
What was going on?
When the woman reached out a hand, Stephanie shied away from it and attempted to speak in a coherent manner. “N-nee.” Frustrated, she reminded herself to speak English, not Deutsch. “I mean, I need to go home.”
“You can’t.” Looking crestfallen, the woman said, “Listen, I know you don’t know me. I know you’re scared. But please try and trust me.”
Trust her? Stephanie shook her head. “You don’t understand. There’s a man on the ground. I think he’s dead. I need to go tell the lady at the store—”
“You don’t,” she interrupted. Looking more agitated, she lowered her voice. “Honey, I’m not joking. This is important. Really important. You need to come with me. We’ll go talk to the police.”
“Nee.” Her reaction was guttural. Instinctive. The police were awful. Scary. They’d taken her from her home. Had told her that she couldn’t even bring her dolls to keep her company. Told her that someone would get them later, said that she would be all right. But they’d lied. “No police.”
“You witnessed a murder, honey. We have to talk to the police.”
“No. No police.”
The woman’s expression pinched, like she didn’t like nor understand what Stephanie was saying. Like she was going to ignore her wishes. As they came to a light, Stephanie glanced at the door’s handle. As soon as they stopped, she’d get out. Run.
The lady pressed on the brake.
Now was her chance. She reached for the handle.
“No!” the lady screamed. Then, just as if the traffic light hadn’t turned yellow, she pressed the gas pedal. The car accelerated, shot through the intersection. Cars honked. Tires screeched.
And then they were on their way again.
Feeling dizzy, Stephanie tried to take a breath. “No police. Please,” she said. “Just let me go.” This woman needed to release her. Leave her alone. Maybe she would if Stephanie screamed?
“Honey, please. Listen.”
“Nee , you listen. No police. I hate them. I hate them .”
The woman muttered something under her breath. Looked in the rearview mirror. Then seemed to come to a conclusion. “All right, then. We’ll go to plan B.”
The woman wasn’t making any sense. “Please. Let me go.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. If I don’t get you someplace safe, that kid who had the gun is going to find you. Or one of the guys I spied nearby will.” She tugged on Stephanie’s wrist. “I promise, you’re in danger.”
“No. No, I don’t know you. I have to go home. My aunt will be expecting me.” She would likely punish Stephanie, but that would be the worst that happened. They didn’t trust the police either.
The woman didn’t respond. Instead, she seemed to tighten her grip on the steering wheel and accelerated. Five minutes passed. Ten.
Her arm throbbed as the leaking wound continued to stain her dress.
When the woman finally parked behind an old building, her hands were shaking. “Honey, my name is Bev Anderson. I’m a social worker. One of my former kids, one of the foster kids I used to be in charge of, was the one who shot you. I know him.”
Stephanie tried to keep up. “You ... you’re his friend?”
“No. I mean, yes.” Looking even more shaken up, Bev said, “I mean, I used to be his friend. At least, I tried to be.” Staring off into space, she added, “Timothy had a lot going against him, but I thought there was a chance that I could help him.” Her voice broke. “But now ... well, I think I’ve lost him. He killed a man and he shot you.”
“I still don’t know why.”
“You were a witness. When he gets picked up, Timothy will be headed to prison for a good long while.”
Stephanie felt bile rise in her throat. “I don’t know what happened. I was standing off to the side of the store like I always do, waiting for my driver to pick me up. I didn’t think anyone was around, there never is. But then ... there they were. And the man was shaking his head and saying no. And then ... then, I saw him. I saw your Timothy raise his gun. I saw the man on the ground. I saw all the blood on the pavement.”
“Oh, honey. That must have been horrific.” Bev closed her eyes. “Oh my word. I’m so sorry! Here you are in pain, and I’m not doing a thing for you. Roll up your sleeve, would you? I’ve got a pretty decent first aid kit in the back. Hopefully all we’ll need to do is put on a butterfly for now and then later—”
No way did she want this woman to doctor her arm. She shook her head. “Nee. Stop! I want to go home. My arm is burning.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?” Everything this woman was saying might be true, but she had been living Amish, not in a closet. She knew how things worked.
“Honey, what’s your name?” Bev asked as she leaned in between the two front seats and started fishing around for the kit.
“Stephanie.”
“Stephanie is a pretty name. It suits you. Ah, here it is.” Bev pulled out an insulated tote bag and settled it on her lap. Turning to face her again, Bev frowned. “You haven’t rolled up your sleeve. Come on now. We can’t stay here too long.”
“You don’t understand. I want—”
Bev cut her off. “Stephanie, I know you’re scared but we have to patch you up, and I need to figure out what to do next.”
“There is no ‘next.’ I want you to drop me off at my house.”
Bev shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. You’re a witness to a murder. You would be able to describe the entire event in detail to the police. Timothy and the gang are not going to want that to happen.”
Slowly what Bev meant began to sink in, but on its heels was the panic that always surrounded any thoughts about the police. “I won’t say anything. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“I’m afraid that doesn’t matter.” Her voice became even more intense. “While the rest of the world might simply describe you as an Amish girl in a blue dress, Timothy won’t. He’s seen you up close. He’ll look beyond your prayer covering and remember your auburn hair. He won’t just see a girl with no makeup on. He’ll be able to describe your blue eyes. He knows you’re slim and on the tall side. He knows that you’re a pretty thing and probably what ... twenty-one?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Right. There aren’t a lot of girls who look like you, Stephanie. You’re stunning. The fact that you’re Amish makes you even more memorable. I’m afraid you’re going to be very easy to find.”
“But I live—”
Bev talked over her yet again. “You live right outside of Peebles, don’t you? In the Amish settlement there?”
“Jah.”
“See, everyone knows about the Amish community there. There’s a good number of families, but it’s not all that big. It won’t be difficult for anyone in that gang to discover where you live. And Timothy or his handler will find you there, Stephanie. They won’t give up until you’ve been silenced.”
Silenced?
Bev took a deep breath as she opened up the first aid kit. “Here’s why Timothy is going to move heaven and earth in order to find you. If you testify, Timothy is going to get sent to prison for a very long time. He’s going to be tried as an adult because he’s eighteen. He knows this. I have a feeling the gang members who were lurking around know this too. They know if he’s arrested, he’s going to talk. The police will force him to tell them every secret he knows about the Broken Arrows. The gang isn’t going to want that to happen.”
For sure, Timothy’s future looked grim, but he had done a very bad thing. “I ... I just want to go home.”
“I know, but that’s not an option until the police have him in custody. Now, hold still. I’m going to see how bad you were injured. Then, once we get you patched up, we’re going to decide what to do next.”
Just as Stephanie turned so that Bev could look at her arm, Bev’s cell phone rang again.
Glancing at the screen, she murmured, “I need to get this. It’s my cop friend.”
“I don’t want to talk to him!”
“I understand. Please, trust me.”
Stephanie felt yet another trickle of fear slide through her. If Bev kept her promise, maybe everything would be taken care of and she could go home.
“Will, hey. What’s up?”
All of the ease in the woman’s body seemed to leak out of her as she listened to her friend. “Will, actually, I happened to be in the parking lot when that took place. Yes, I know I should have called you. But, um, you see, I was on my way to help an Amish girl I know. She was in trouble.”
Stephanie couldn’t help it, she started shaking. Even though Bev was telling her friend a lie, it was very possible that she was only saying such things because Stephanie was sitting beside her.
Eventually, Bev was going to break her promise and hand Stephanie over to the cop. Old memories clashed with new fears, mixing together, churning up old hurts. Against her will, tears started to fall.
Beside her, Bev was listening on her phone. She took a deep breath. Looked Stephanie’s way. Concern filled her eyes.
After a few more seconds, she seemed to interrupt her friend. “Will, uh, I’m sorry, but that can’t happen. Yes. Yes, I understand, but there are some other circumstances ...” Looking frazzled, she said, “Listen, couldn’t you get your clues from the victim? From his ID or something?”
There was a new, far more worried expression on her face as she listened closely to Will.
Still trying not to completely fall apart, Stephanie pursed her lips.
“I understand. No. Ah yes. Listen, I’ll keep in touch. Yes, I promise, if I remember anything constructive, I’ll call right away. Yeah. Yes. I understand.” After yet another few seconds, she murmured, “Thanks.”
When she disconnected, Bev stared out the window. Swallowed. Then seemed to come to a decision. “Stephanie, Will called me because he knows I was trying to find a way to reconnect with some of the boys in the gang. He called to tell me about the shooting. After we talked—you heard what I said—he had some news to share.”
“What is it?”
“I’m sorry, but there’s no easy way to tell you this.” Turning to face her, she said, “The body of the man you saw murdered is gone.”
“What do you mean? He wasn’t dead after all?”
“No, he was dead. It means that the gang carted him off. They’re going to do their best to keep this murder under wraps. Prevent it from getting solved.”
Releasing a ragged sigh, Stephanie said, “So that means I can go home? It’s over?”
“No, honey. It means that if you’re sure you don’t want to talk to the police, then I’m going to have to find you someplace safe for a spell. Do you want to change your mind?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? If I call him back, I could explain things to Will. Why, I bet he’d even let me stay with you during the interview. Or I could get your family.”
“Nee!” She didn’t trust Bev not to go back on her word, and involving her aunt and uncle would only make things worse.
Long, interminable seconds passed as they stared at each other. Stephanie knew she was trembling, but she didn’t back down. There was no way she’d ever go into a police station ever again. Never.
Finally, Bev released her breath. “All right, then. In that case, you’re going to need to hide.”
“Hide?”
“I know. I know. You have questions. I know you’re scared too. I don’t blame you one bit. But this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to patch you up and then call my brother.”
“Your brother?” What in the world did he have to do with this mess?
“Yes. He’s down in Crittenden County. That’s in Kentucky.”
“Kentucky.” She knew she sounded like an echoing robot, but nothing Bev was saying made sense.
“Southern Kentucky. I’ll feel better once I get you under his protection.” She smiled encouragingly then.
Stephanie did not return that smile. This woman might have saved her life, but that didn’t mean Stephanie completely trusted her. They were strangers.
Bev’s look of encouragement slowly faded into worry. “What’s on your mind?”
Oh, a lot of things—starting with witnessing a murder and ending with being forced to run away with a wound in her arm. “I just wish that I’d never gone to the dollar store today. If I hadn’t left mei haus , I wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“I’m sure you do wish that.”
Bev’s words and tone sounded trite, and they fueled a rush of anger. “You’re acting as if what has just happened is nothing.”
Bev turned to face her more fully. Her expression was de void of any gentleness or humor. In its place was something hard, almost defiant. “Stephanie, you listen to me. I know what you’ve been through is traumatic. I know you’re scared to death. I know you don’t trust me and that running doesn’t make anything seem better. But I’m going to tell you the best piece of advice I can give. I’ve told it to countless children under my care.” She took a deep breath. “Wishing for things to be different doesn’t help. Hoping that things will be better in the morning doesn’t mean that things will be.”
Her voice hardened. “What is happening right now is your new reality. You have a choice to make, and that’s to either accept what is happening and survive, or to cry and complain. I’m not saying that crying and complaining aren’t justified. But honey, it’s not going to make things better. Do you understand?”
“Jah.” She’d already learned that lesson a long time ago.
“Good. Now let’s take care of your arm so we can get you on your way.”
Stephanie kept her silence as Bev gently removed two straight pins from her dress and carefully eased down the fabric to uncover her shoulder.
She felt exposed but hardly cared. Her arm hurt, her nerves were frayed, and she was fairly sure that Bev’s words were the awful truth.
It didn’t matter how much she wished things were different, they weren’t going to magically change. She was hurt, she was in danger, and she was on the run.
Nothing was going to be just fine ever again.