Amish Hideout. Maggie K. Black
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was crouched down on the ground beside the body of a man, lit by the soft gray light of the approaching dawn. The man’s hair was blond and his limbs were curled up like he’d just lain down to have a nap in the snow. Her body froze. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t cut out for any of it.
“Look at me, Celeste,” Jonathan said firmly. “Don’t look at him. Look at me.”
His voice was a soft-spoken command, snapping her eyes back to his face, and if she was honest with herself, there was something almost kind of comforting about it. He held her gaze every bit as firmly as if it was her hand inside his. “It’s going to be okay, and I will keep you safe. Just trust me and do what I say. Okay?”
She nodded. He broke her gaze and reached for something in the shadows by the wall. It was a large black bag. He pulled out a gray wool blanket and laid it carefully over the body. Then he knelt for one long moment beside the fallen marshal. Jonathan’s head bowed, his eyes closed and his lips moved in what she could only guess was silent prayer. A shudder moved through his limbs. Then he stood and wiped his hand over his eyes.
He pulled out a thick coat and tossed it to her as he stood. “Put this on. There should be gloves and a hat in the pockets. We’ll find you winter boots as soon as we can. We need to hurry. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds the blood trail and follows him here.”
Celeste looked down at the coat in her hands but somehow couldn’t get her arms to move. Then her gaze rose to the snow-covered trees beyond the doorway. What if the person who’d shot Rod was still out there? What if they got shot the moment they stepped through the door? A man she’d never met was dead. And why? Because she’d hacked some lines of computer code and was going to be a witness at the criminal’s trial? Right now, Stacy, Karl and several other marshals were fighting for their lives because of her. Someone had already died because of her, and there was no way of knowing how many more would before this was all done. The horror of that welled up inside her.
Jonathan stepped forward, gently took the coat from her hands and held it out for her to slide her arms into. Her eyes met his for one long moment, and her breath caught to see the depth of sorrow echoed there.
“What was he like?” she asked. She let him ease her hands into the sleeves.
“Rod was a good marshal and a good man.” Something in the tone of his voice made her think this wasn’t the first colleague he’d lost in the line of duty. “He had a wacky sense of humor. I liked working with him.”
She felt him slide the coat up over her shoulders. She didn’t know why she was so frozen or why her body didn’t want to move, only that asking questions somehow helped. “Did he have a family?”
“He had a very large black dog and a very nice long-term girlfriend who he never tied the knot with because this line of work involves a lot of travel and doesn’t lend itself to relationships.”
He nudged her shoulder. She looked up into his face.
“How exactly did he die? Don’t just say he was shot. I want to understand.”
“He was shot twice in the abdomen,” Jonathan said. His tone was steady and without a hint of uncertainty. There was something comforting about it. “He lost a lot of blood and passed out.”
She bit her lip. “Did he suffer?”
He paused, then reached down and slowly helped her do her zipper up.
“I won’t lie. He would’ve been in a lot of pain. But he also used his dying breath and the last ounce of energy he had to get here. My guess is that he was trying to warn us about what was happening and tell us there were hostiles on the property. When backup arrives they’ll retrieve the body and notify his family. He died a hero’s death and will get a hero’s funeral. Now we have to move. Come on.”
Still, she was hesitating. She needed more answers.
“I don’t understand why the person in the kitchen looked like Dexter—if he’s really in jail,” she said. “Or why he wants me alive. Or why the walkie-talkies were down or how anyone could find a WITSEC safe house. I don’t even know if Karl and Stacy and all the other US marshals protecting me are going to be okay. What if there are more shooters in those trees? What if they shoot at us? What if they kill you and take me?”
Her voice rose to a wail, and as much as she hated it she didn’t know how to get control of it again. Her hands began to shake, a harsh uncontrollable quivering that moved up her arms and into her body.
“Celeste!” Jonathan’s voice grew urgent. “Focus. Look at me. You’re in shock. It’s totally understandable, but you’ve got to fight through it. Now I don’t know how computers work. I’ve never opened one up and looked inside, and you could definitely say I didn’t exactly grow up in a technologically advanced house. But I’m guessing that in computer code every character or number has a purpose, right? Every part has its own thing it’s doing? Right?”
She blinked and a smile crossed her face, which was so unexpected it shocked her. What an odd way to explain it. He wasn’t right, but kind of close. “Something like that.”
“Okay,” he said. “Well, each of us has a job to do. Rod’s was to watch the perimeter. Karl and Stacy’s job is to hold down the fort and give us a chance to get out of here.” He took another step toward her. His hands rested on her shoulders. “Your job is to testify against the man who’s ultimately responsible for Rod’s death and make sure he faces justice for stealing all those people’s money. And my job is to keep you safe until you do.”
He stood there a moment with his hands on her shoulders, and something inside her wanted to step closer, to lean into his chest and let his strong arms envelop her, in a way no man had since her father had died. Even though she barely knew Jonathan Mast, and he didn’t seem like the type who was into hugs. She closed her eyes and felt her lips move in silent prayer. The she opened her eyes, swallowed hard and stepped back. “Okay, I’m ready to go.”
She grabbed a pair of leather gloves from the pocket of her coat and pulled them on. He did the same from his. He reached for her hand. She took it and he quickly yet carefully led her around the body and out into the cold predawn air. They ran, pressing through the thick trees as their feet pounded down the snow. The ground sloped beneath their feet. Gunfire echoed in the distance. The sun was starting to rise as the faintest pink sliver of light along the gray horizon. The trees parted and she saw the road.
Jonathan dropped her hand and led her along the tree line to where a large and tough-looking truck lay hidden in the trees by a camouflage cover. “Stand way back. I need a minute to uncover the truck, do a quick sweep to make sure no one tampered with it, and get it back on the road. Then we’re good to go.”
She crossed over to the other side of the road and waited as he started the engine and slowly pulled the truck back onto the road. A small battered-looking car flew down the road to her left and fishtailed to a stop. A tall heavyset young man behind the wheel held a cell phone.
“Hey! I think we’ve found her! Start recording!” a shorter and stockier young man called, leaping out of the passenger side. Celeste turned and ran, sprinting in the direction of Jonathan’s truck. A blast sounded in the air behind her. She stopped and turned back. The young man’s shoulders rolled back in a swagger as he pointed a handgun sideways at her. “Yo, you’re Celeste, right? Celeste Alexander? You’re that hacker chick that Poindexter’s got a bounty out on? I’m Miller. That there with the phone recording, this is my buddy, Lee. Get in the car now! Or I’ll kill ya!”
Jonathan shifted into Drive and was about to punch the engine when one word he’d heard the thugs shout a split second earlier finally caught up with his brain. Recording. The brazen thugs now pointing a gun at Celeste weren’t just announcing their crime like a bad online video—they were recording it, too. Just like whoever Celeste had seen in the kitchen they weren’t wearing ski masks. No, these two wanted to be both seen and known.
Thankfully, Jonathan was wearing civilian clothing.