Her Amish Protectors. Janice Johnson Kay
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door clanged. She turned to meet a pair of very dark eyes. Ben Slater wore his uniform today, a badge on his chest and his holstered gun at his hip. The visible weapon had the usual effect.
Her laugh had already died before she saw his stone face. “Chief Slater.”
He bent his head. “Ms. Markovic. Mrs. Hoefling.”
“I’m happy to stay a little longer, if you need to speak to Nadia,” Colleen offered.
“That would be helpful,” he said. “Perhaps we could go upstairs, Ms. Markovic?”
As chilled as she was by the expressionless way he was looking at her, Nadia didn’t see that she had any choice. She thanked Colleen and led the police chief through the side door. She sidled by the chair she’d left at the foot of the stairs, since she had every intention of bracing it in place again tonight—and every night, for the foreseeable future. She didn’t look back to see what Ben Slater thought about her primitive defense.
In the small living room, she faced him, chin high. She couldn’t make herself ask how she could help him. Hating her awareness of him, she just waited.
“I’m here to ask if you would permit a full search of this building without my getting a warrant first.”
“I feel sure you wouldn’t have any trouble getting one,” she said bitterly. “Given the local consensus on my guilt.”
Something flickered in his eyes, but he said only, “You must realize this is something I need to do.”
Nadia crossed her arms. “Shouldn’t you have done it Saturday? Over the weekend, I could have taken the money box anyplace.”
He didn’t say a word. His expression stayed impassive. She stared at him, understanding embarrassingly slow to come.
“You’ve had me watched. Did somebody follow me Saturday?”
“I’m doing my job.”
Air rushed out in what felt too much like a sob, but she clung to her dignity—and her anger and despair. “Do you know what it will do to my business once word gets out that the police suspect me to the point of searching my premises?”
“The sooner we can clear you,” he said woodenly, “the sooner your reputation will be restored.”
Her laugh was caustic. “What a nice, positive spin! I suppose practice makes perfect. I guess all that experience is why they made you chief.”
The only satisfaction he gave her was the tightening of his jaw muscles and some tension at the corners of his eyes.
“When do you plan to do this search?”
“If you agree, immediately.”
Nadia was so law-abiding she’d never so much as gotten a traffic ticket. The police officers who spoke to her after the shooting in Colorado had admired what they called her bravery. Now, seared by humiliation, she wanted to tell Ben Slater to get a warrant. I should have hired an attorney, she realized. She would, first thing tomorrow morning. But not anyone local.
Knowing her cheeks were burning red, she said, “Fine. Do it.”
He took a step closer. Lines deepened on his forehead and his voice came out rough. “This is not meant to suggest we believe you stole the money.”
“No? What other homes and businesses are you also searching?”
“You know there aren’t any yet.”
“I didn’t think so. If you’ll escort me downstairs, I’ll let Colleen go home. I’d just as soon no friends were here to watch.”
Nadia walked past him, pride all that held her together. She heard his tread on the stairs right behind her. Naturally. He couldn’t let her out of sight, in case she tried to move her stash.
Alone in the store, Colleen had been studying a quilt hung on the back wall. Her eyes widened. “Nadia?”
“I’m fine. Thank you for staying, but I think I’ll close up now.”
“I’m sure people will understand.” Colleen obviously didn’t, but she knew not to ask questions. “Call me anytime, okay?”
“I will.” Nadia gave her a swift hug and retreated before she could burst into tears. “Thank you.”
The other woman gathered her purse and bag full of fabric and thread, leaving after a last, worried look over her shoulder. Nadia hastened after her, flipping the sign to Closed and locking the door.
“Make your calls,” she said with frozen dignity, and went to the back room to sit in front of the quilting frame. With her hands shaking, she couldn’t so much as thread a needle, far less work on the half-finished Bear’s Paw quilt in the frame.
She heard Slater’s voice, coming from just outside the doorway. Which probably meant he hadn’t taken his eyes off her for a moment. “It’s a go,” he told someone. “I’ll wait here for you.”
“IF YOU’LL ALLOW US to search your car, I see no reason you have to be present while we’re doing this,” Ben said.
The woman sitting in the back room didn’t even look at him. She’d gone deep inside; if he weren’t watching carefully, he wouldn’t have been able to tell she was even breathing. Horrified, he wondered if this was how she’d escaped a second bullet during the hours when she’d pretended to be dead.
“You wish,” she said coldly.
“What?”
“I’m staying.”
Ben almost stepped back, in case icicles had actually formed in the air. “Why?” he asked.
At last Nadia’s head turned, and her gaze was the furthest thing from icy. Her magnificent eyes burned. “I intend to document every bit of damage you and your men do.”
He might have taken offense, except he couldn’t deny damage did sometimes occur. He knew of instances where a search left a house trashed. He’d never allow that, but in an old building like this, boards might have to be pried up. In the shop, the bolts of fabric sat on some kind of wood base. They had to be hollow, which meant his team would need to look inside however they could. Display quilts would be lifted or removed from walls in case Nadia had added a safe or cubbyhole beneath one. Damn near every possession she had, upstairs and down, would be handled. He couldn’t help feeling some dismay when he looked at the hundreds of bolts of fabric. This space would be a nightmare to search. He’d remind people to wear gloves to avoid dirtying fabric that would then have to be cut off the bolt and discarded. And there were the quilts he now knew were each worth hundreds to thousands of dollars.
“My team will be here any minute.”
Nadia turned her head away and stared straight ahead, although he knew she wasn’t focused on anything. She couldn’t see out to the alley through the large window, because a filmy blind covered it.
For just a minute, he looked at her straight back, squared shoulders and the pale skin and delicate vertebrae on her nape, visible beneath a heavy mass of gleaming dark hair confined in some mysterious fashion. Her complete stillness disturbed him anew. He couldn’t see her forgiving him for this.
He had to do his job.
Teeth clenched, he left her, reaching the front of the store to see his sole crime scene investigator about to rap on the glass door. The couple officers Terry Uhrich had trained to assist him were only a few steps behind. Ben let them in.
“Ms. Markovic has chosen to stay,” he said in a low voice. He nodded toward the back. “She’s in there.”
Uhrich didn’t look happy. “You told her to keep out of the way?”
“I