Her Amish Protectors Read online

  Ben smiled crookedly at the picture of a chick tumbling out of a robin’s nest. Except then he realized how apt her analogy might be. Clearly, she hadn’t been able to fly, either.

  “I’ve been stagnating,” Lucy said after a minute. “I was able to function at a certain level and hardly noticed when I quit trying for more. This guy was good-looking and he seemed nice, so I thought—” She hunched her shoulders, much as Nadia had done when uncomfortable. “Dinner was fine. He brought me home and walked me to my door. He, um, tried to kiss me—I freaked out—he fled.”

  Lucy had vowed not to have sex until she was in college. What Ben had never known was whether she’d still been a virgin when she was raped.

  “Okay,” he said, since that was about what he had expected, “but I don’t get how that precipitated a visit to me.”

  She’d quit playing with her food. He had a feeling she was wringing her hands beneath the table.

  “I needed to push myself out of my comfort zone, but in a different way.”

  Lucy had gone on vacation a few times with their parents, but, from what Mom said, had clung to them.

  “Is this the first time you’ve flown alone? Rented a car yourself?”

  She nodded, looking hopeful. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

  Ben smiled at her, this sister who’d secretly been his best friend as they were growing up. “It’s something big.” He hesitated. “Did it scare you when I went out in the middle of the night?”

  “Not scared, exactly. I didn’t sleep again until you got home.”

  “Would you rather I not wake you when I have to go out?”

  Lucy shook her head vehemently. “No! If I woke up and found you gone—” She shuddered. “It’s much better to know you’re just doing your job.”

  There she went again, touching a raw nerve.

  “It doesn’t happen all that often,” he told her. “Wednesday night, the sergeant wouldn’t have called me if the vandalism didn’t appear to be part of an ongoing investigation of mine. Normally, for anything short of a murder or kidnapping—” or rape “—I’d get the rundown the next morning. My two detectives aren’t very experienced, so I’m taking lead on some crimes and using them as teaching opportunities.”

  Except, he hadn’t been on this one. He’d been sucked in from the minute he met Nadia’s eyes at the auction.

  Why was it that every train of thought circled back to her?

  * * *

  HANNAH TOOK HER LUNCH at one o’clock to be sure she’d be back before Nadia started the afternoon class. This was the Saturday session technically for beginning to intermediate students, but really open to any student who needed some extra help.

  Sitting on a stool behind the cash register in her empty store, she had the painful thought that eight days ago, at this exact time, she had been strolling from table to table during the quilt sale, watching for problems, laughing and talking with participants and buyers even as she felt a flicker of panic at knowing how little time they had to clear the ballroom before the night’s auction began.

  How much could change in one week.

  She shivered, or maybe it was a shudder. She, of all people, knew how fast lives could change—and end. In bad moments, she still wondered whether either of Paige’s boys might have lived if the police had acted sooner instead of letting hours pass while their father taunted the negotiator. She would never know about Colin, but Keenan...well, maybe doctors couldn’t have saved him no matter what. Probably it was just as well she couldn’t know exactly when they had died. Paige...she had been dead before she hit the floor.

  The bell on the door tinkled, and Nadia returned to the present. Seeing who had walked in the door, she wasn’t sure that was an improvement.

  No matter how angry she was, Nadia couldn’t help responding to everything about Ben Slater—his unruly dark hair, broad shoulders and lean hips, the long-legged stride that was always purposeful, his strong, shadowed jaw and sharp cheekbones. He looked good in the uniform that reminded her of who and what he was—a man very capable of violence, and one who likely closed his mind to the terrible consequences his decisions could have.

  Too quickly, his intense, dark eyes captured her. She would swear those eyes hadn’t left her face since he entered the store.

  Instinct had her sliding off the stool. He still towered over her standing, but the disadvantage was less.

  She raised her eyebrows. “I hope you’re not here to arrest me. I have a class beginning in fifteen minutes.”

  Creases deepened on his forehead. “You know I’m not.”

  “How would I know that?” She held on to a disdainful expression even if her heart was racing.

  He came to a stop, only the counter separating them. “I don’t enjoy what I’ve had to do, Nadia.”

  “Then you should have gone into another line of work, shouldn’t you?” she shot back.

  “There are days I think so, too.” Rueful, deep, velvety, his voice seemed designed to undercut her resistance.

  “I don’t understand you.” Alarmed, she didn’t understand why she’d said that. This was the man who was helping ruin her life. Did it matter what drove him?

  Was that a flinch, or only a nerve or muscle twitching beneath his eye? “I don’t know if you’d like me if you did,” he said, his eyes darkening, if that was possible.

  I am in such trouble, she thought. Because...she hadn’t been able to say, or even think, I already don’t like you. She almost sank back onto the stool, but somehow fortified herself. No, no, no. She could not let herself trust him. Not given his profession or his capability for violence. Oh, and remember the latest reason?

  “You’ve gotten access to my bank accounts.”

  He just looked at her for a minute. “How do you know?”

  “Yesterday, one of my admirers was being nasty and said something, so I called the bank. The manager admitted the police did have a warrant.”

  He looked pissed. “Who told you?”

  “You mean, at the bank?”

  “No. The admirer. Nobody outside the department and the DA’s office should have known about a warrant.”

  “Oh.” He was right, except... “I think she actually said she hoped you were looking at my bank accounts.”

  “She?” He was implacable, and Nadia had no reason not to tell him.

  “Allison Edgerton.”

  He grunted. “I hoped you’d never know.”

  “I’m sure you did hope I’d be stupid enough to wait a few weeks and then deposit the money,” she agreed, sharp as the blade on her rotary cutter.

  “Nadia, I don’t believe you stole the money. I don’t believe you have it cached away somewhere. But you were the last person who had it. You could have made up your story. I had to eliminate you. If you were in my shoes, wouldn’t you have made the same decisions I have?”

  She shook her head, and kept shaking it. “You could have handled all of this differently. What about this country’s founding principle that says citizens are innocent until proved guilty?” Her voice caught. “You, and everyone else in this town, started with the belief that I’m guilty. Am I supposed to say I understand? I don’t.”

  They stared at each other, and she had the startled awareness that she’d hurt him. No, she had to be imagining that. Why would he care what she thought of him?

  Except...he did. He wouldn’t keep coming back like this if he didn’t. Unless he was trying to trick her into trusting him, of course. Only, she didn’t quite believe that.

  She lifted her chin. “You never did say why you’re here.”

  Wait—she wasn’t supposed to talk to him without her attorney at her side.

  His laugh wasn’t really a laugh. “I wanted to find out how you’re doing. Whether your business is hanging in th
ere, whether you’re sleeping, eating.” His mouth twisted. “I don’t know about the business, but you’re not sleeping well, are you? Or eating?”

  Stiffening, Nadia said, “What a lovely compliment. And I thought I already knew how charming you can be.”

  He lifted a hand as if he was going to touch her, but aborted the gesture. “I don’t like seeing bruises under your eyes.”

  She swallowed, her throat dry. “When I go to bed, I remember that locked doors weren’t enough. Someone got all the way into my bedroom without my ever knowing it, could have been as close to me as you are right now. Call me sensitive, but that makes it a little hard now to settle down for a cozy night’s sleep.” And no, she wouldn’t tell him she still had nightmares about those hours surrounded by the dead and dying.

  Compassion and unexpected understanding altered the lines of his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but the bell on the door rang. Ben turned, even as Nadia forced herself to look past him.

  His sister walked in, carrying her project stuffed in a tote. Only a few feet inside the door, she stopped dead when she saw Ben.

  Nadia made the mistake of glancing at him just in time to see a flare of something intense—anger?—before he said with an unpleasant tinge of sarcasm, “Is there a little something you forgot to tell me about your activities this week?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CLUTCHING THAT TOTE BAG to her chest as if it was her baby, Lucy opened and closed her mouth a couple times.

  Ben shook his head, all his protective instincts bristling. As if side by side, he saw Nadia, dazed and shocked, being worked over by the medics—and Lucy, naked, battered, bloody, sprawled on that bed. Never again.

  “You need to stay away from here,” he said in a hard voice. “I’ll see you outside.” Taking for granted that she’d obey, he turned to Nadia in time to catch her expression of shock. No, worse than that: she looked as if he’d just cut her to the bone. Horrified by his sudden understanding of how she must have taken his reaction to seeing his sister here, he said urgently, “Damn it, Nadia...”

  She backed away, her hands up as if to ward him off. “No. I don’t want to hear it. By all means, be sure Lucy doesn’t get contaminated by associating with me.”

  “That’s not what—” She’d been so strong despite a trauma as horrific as the one Lucy had suffered. Would she understand that his sister was different, that she could be destroyed if she was even a bystander during an ugly incident?

  But that bell was tinkling again, and Ben swung back to see another two women walking in, both carrying bags of their own. One of them greeted Lucy as if she knew her, and he realized Lucy had come here for the class—and that it wouldn’t be her first. He also realized his sister hadn’t gone outside when he asked.

  She was forcing a smile for the benefit of the other women, giving him a second to glance over his shoulder. Nadia had retreated to the opening into the back room. She looked as if she wanted not to be here. As if she was trying to shrink into nothingness.

  Ben took an involuntary step her way, but there was the bell again, and more voices, and Nadia wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

  Swearing silently, he went toward the door. “Lucy...”

  Chattering, the others had streamed ahead toward Nadia and the back room.

  “Don’t even think about it,” his sister snapped. “I want to learn to quilt, and Nadia is a good teacher. I like her.”

  “I like her, too. You know that. But a lot of people hate her right now, and if you’re too close to her, you could get hurt.”

  “My decision.”

  He hadn’t seen her angry and determined in a lot of years. Ben ought to be rejoicing. And it was true that an attack was unlikely in the middle of a business day. Which meant...he’d overreacted.

  “You have no right to tell me what to do,” she added, voice low but resolute. “Goodbye.” And she walked right past him to join the other women.

  He saw no alternative but to leave, knowing he’d screwed up again. Now the snapshot of Nadia’s face replaced everything else, and he felt sick. If only he could explain why he’d been afraid for Lucy. Nadia would understand. She had to.

  “Excuse me,” a woman said.

  Ben blinked, discovering that he’d come to a dead stop on the sidewalk, blocking the door. It was Hannah Yoder who waited politely to go by, the lenses of her glasses magnifying her blue eyes. She was as tidy as always. He glanced at the clunky black athletic shoes that didn’t seem to go with a calf-length dress and stockings.

  “Sorry, Hannah.” He managed what he hoped was an apologetic smile. “I think I was ferhoodled. If that’s the right word.” So far as he understood it, bewildered fit within the meaning.

  Hannah giggled. “Ja, it could be. You have a good day now, Chief Slater.” She opened the shop door and, with a swish of her skirt, went inside.

  He headed straight to his car parked a few storefronts down the block. Once behind the wheel, he sat frowning straight ahead, unable to shake the memory of how he’d hurt Nadia. A good start to redeeming himself would be finding out who’d stolen the money. Too bad he was flat out of ideas.

  He had no witnesses, no strings to pull. If a local had taken the money, he or she might eventually brag to the wrong person about it, or spend it in a way that had neighbors wondering where the sudden wealth had come from. Otherwise... He didn’t want to think about the otherwise, because it would mean another investigation going cold, another unsolved crime like Edith Jefferson’s murder.

  The usual uneasiness stirred when he reflected on the parallels. Same building in both; intruders had seemingly had a key. But Ben couldn’t fit the two crimes together. The intent was different, and the victims had nothing in common except an interest in sewing and quilting. They’d never met; Mrs. Jefferson had been dead for over six months when Nadia moved here.

  His attention snapped to his radio when voices crackled from it. A kid on a bike had been hit near the corner of Fourth and Oak. The officer pleading for an ambulance sounded frantic. Dread supplanting everything else, Ben pulled away from the curb and switched on his lights and siren to clear his way.

  * * *

  LUCY WHISPERED ANOTHER apology as she passed close to Nadia on her way around the table to an empty chair. Nadia managed a smile and a slight nod. Roiling with rage and hurt, she hadn’t even been able to enjoy watching Ben’s sister defy him. The very fact that he’d believed he could snap his fingers and his sister would jump to obey said a whole lot about him.

  What it really did was reaffirm what she already knew about the man. To give him credit, he’d admitted there was reason she wouldn’t like him. That he was the sexiest man she’d ever met, that her body felt tuned to his, that she had felt the gentleness in his touch, that sometimes she would swear she saw tenderness in his eyes...none of that could matter. Rats sometimes looked really good. Even monsters could. Paige’s husband had been a handsome, athletic man who succeeded for a long time in hiding his sick, pathological anger and need to control from most people.

  Nadia refused to let Ben ruin what was shaping up to be a great class. Six women had showed, the highest number this week. They were all enthusiastic, already oohing and aahing over each other’s projects. Lucy was the newest, and those who hadn’t attended the Thursday session gave rave reviews to her fabric choices.

  “Are you planning to hand quilt?” Donna Adamski asked. “So far, that’s my favorite part.”

  “Yes.” Lucy beamed. “I bought a hoop. That seems the most practical for now.”

  Nadia let them talk for a few minutes, then encouraged them to get to work and asked if anyone had questions or problems. A couple of the women did. She helped them one at a time through the latest snag, and then focused a lot of her time on Lucy, the only real beginner. She’d made paper patterns and started cutting out
triangles during Thursday’s class. Today, she continued cutting out pieces and long strips for borders, after which Nadia talked her through sewing half-square triangles on one of the machines available for student use, then snipping off the corners of the triangles before pressing the squares flat.

  My mother tried to teach me to sew, Lucy had confessed the day she first came into the store, but I wasn’t all that interested. I hope I remember at least some of it.

  It appeared she did, or else she caught on fast. Her excitement as she saw how the fabrics contrasted was contagious. Stories about initial disasters flew around the table, and the ready laughter felt like a balm to Nadia’s wounds. This was what she’d imagined when she opened the store. Women helping other women. Supporting each other, learning. Friendships being stitched together as surely as were pieces of fabric.

  Quilting had been her salvation after she got out of the hospital. She could concentrate on it in a way she couldn’t on anything else. She could imagine the quilt she was hand stitching keeping a descendent warm a hundred years in the future. She dreamed about helping others, like Lucy, find the same passion.

  So enjoy it, she told herself. Don’t think about all the crap or the people you thought were becoming friends. Especially don’t think about Lucy Slater’s brother.

  A couple of times, she heard Hannah speaking to customers, and in between Hannah popped into the room to admire the progress students were making and offer small tips of her own.

  When the session officially ended, Nadia told them to feel free to stay if they’d like to keep working. Three women did, including Lucy, who didn’t have a sewing machine at Ben’s house.

  As glad as Nadia was now to hear murmurs of conversation and the whir of sewing machines in the back room, she kept a nervous eye on the door in case Ben decided to find out why his sister hadn’t left when she was supposed to.

  Lucy was still in back when a middle-aged couple wandered in, looking for quilts. The husband appeared indulgent but disinterested as his wife looked at every quilt for sale, asking eager questions and exclaiming with pleasure. He became absorbed in his smart phone. Every so often, she’d say, “What do you think, honey?” and he’d shake his head. “You’re the decorator, not me.”