A KILLER IN AMISH COUNTRY

Down a deserted hospital corridor, nurse Abby Miller witnesses a patient’s shocking murder. When the masked killer spots her, she’s overpowered—and left for dead. Handsome doctor Blake Jamison vows to keep her safe while investigating the mysterious patient’s death. But when he and Abby uncover a connection between the murder and the long-held secret of his adoption and possible Amish birth, the killer begins targeting them both. Amish-born Abby slowly learns to trust Blake with her life. But it may be too late to protect her heart from the high-society doctor who is sure to leave her behind.

“Is something wrong?” Blake asked.

He parked in Abby’s semicircle driveway, leaving his headlights to shine over the front porch.

“I don’t think so.” She forced a smile and searched in her bag for the house key. But a feeling of dread passed through her. Something was wrong.

Likely it was nothing more than nerves—hardly surprising after the day she’d had. “I guess the sensors on my porch lights are broken. Those lights usually come on when it gets dark.”

“Let me come up to the door with you, just to be safe. You weren’t too steady on your feet earlier, and shouldn’t be stumbling around in the dark.” He turned off the engine, but left his headlights on to shine over the front porch.

Blake stood back as she went in and reached for the lights. Nothing happened as she flicked the light switch.

“Looks like the power is out.”

Blake’s hand came down on her shoulder, giving her a chill.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “There’s someone else in the house.”

KIT WILKINSON

is a former Ph.D. student who once wrote discussions on the medieval feminine voice. She now prefers weaving stories of romance and redemption. Her first inspirational manuscript won the prestigious RWA Golden Heart. You can visit Kit at www.kitwilkinson.com or write to her at write@kitwilkinson.com.

Lancaster County Target

Kit Wilkinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.

—Ecclesiastes 9:10

To my lovely student, Emily Dingman, what a pleasure to watch you mature into such a fine young lady over the past three years.

Tu rends le monde si mieux—You make the world better. Always remember you make a difference.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXTRACT

ONE

What is that doctor doing in here?

Abigail Miller’s heart beat fast and hard as she stood, frozen, in the dark hospital corridor, watching a surgeon empty a large syringe of clear liquid into a patient’s IV drip.

Why? What is he doing here? Alone with a patient in a closed-off part of the hospital?

Abby shook her head. It didn’t make any sense.

Dressed in full scrubs with no ID badge that she could spot, the doctor’s figure towered over the male patient who lay lifeless on the gurney. As large as the surgeon looked in the narrow corridor, the male patient looked small even on the hospital gurney—his olive skin pale, his head round and bald. He seemed so still.

Abby sucked in a quick breath and decided to backtrack without disturbing the doctor and patient. She wasn’t comfortable confronting the tall, imposing surgeon herself, but something about the scene just didn’t seem right. Perhaps she could find a security guard... She stepped backward and her shoe squeaked as it turned on the tiled floor.

“How did you get in here? This part of the hospital is closed.” The doctor spun toward her, his voice booming through the empty hallway. His cold, gray eyes flashed in the dim emergency lighting and chilled her like an arctic blast. The rest of him was hidden beneath a complete workup of surgical scrubs, including face mask, gloves and hat.

“I was just cutting through here. I do it almost every day.” Abby forced her lips to move while her eyes stayed fixed on the surgeon. “I was on my way to Maternity. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“I don’t understand how you got into this area.” He advanced toward her, forcing her to take several steps back. “The entrances are supposed to be locked. This patient is highly contagious. This area is under restrictions. You shouldn’t be here.”

Contagious? Abby hadn’t heard about any restrictions. Surely there would have been signs, announcements. The sense of something wrong grew stronger. Pulse rising, she skirted to the side of the large man and looked down at the patient’s chart attached to the end of the gurney.

N. K. Hancock—TRANSFER.

In the dim lighting, that was all she could read, but she could see that the papers were solid white. If the patient were contagious, the chart would be marked with a prominent red stripe. Abby swallowed hard. Her heart drummed against her ribs. This doctor was lying—if he even was a doctor. She needed to find a security guard, stat. But first, she had to get away. She composed herself just enough to keep from sinking under the doctor’s menacing glare and looming figure.

“I’m sorry, Dr....” Abby waited but he did not supply a name. With each syllable, she inched herself away from the man and his patient. “I didn’t know we couldn’t pass through. Again, I’m sorry to disturb you, Doctor. I’ll just be on my way.” She turned and headed for the stairwell.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He was behind her in seconds. Over her. Around her like a giant spider. He grabbed the top of her arm and squeezed her flesh like a vise. His cold eyes flickered in the dim lighting.

She trembled and fought against him, but her struggles were in vain as the grip of his stubby, sausagelike fingertips dug deeper and deeper into her skin. He pulled her tight against his stout belly. She had no hope of breaking free.

Was this her just deserts after finally deciding she would not join the Amish church, defying the wishes of her father?

She’d gone to school to become a nurse, but she hadn’t made her final decision about living the Plain life until recently. It had been time to put away one or the other and stop living on the fence. So last week, she’d laid aside her prayer Kapp and her frocks for good. She’d devote her life to nursing, delivering babies and helping others to stay healthy. But the choice had not come without a lot of pain, especially to her father, the Ordnung bishop.

Her father’s words still rang through her head—a verse from the Psalms. “If you stand in the counsel of the wicked, you will become wicked.”

Had she made the worst decision of her life? Right now, it certainly seemed that way. Tears filled Abby’s eyes. Crazy, desperate thoughts swirled around in her mind. She continued to try to break free of the doctor’s grip, but she could not come close to matching his strength. Her breathing came in short gasps. She would have yelled but there was no one to hear her.

“You’ve been exposed.” The doctor’s tone mocked her as he dragged her across the hallway. “I’ll have to give you an injection, too.”

“What?” Is he mad? “Please, stop. You’re hurting me. Let me go.”

With his free hand, he produced another full syringe from the pocket of his scrubs. The needle shook as it came at her. His fingers closed in tighter around her arm as he yanked her sleeve high, exposing the skin above his grip. The hot prick of the needle stabbed her and the drug burned like fire as it entered her bloodstream. “What? What did you just give me?”

The doctor yanked her to the end of the corridor and through the door to the stairwell, not seeming to care that he crashed the door frame’s metal edge into Abby’s forehead. The blow radiated across her skull. Nausea waved through her gut as the drug made her head light—too light. Her body began to collapse. She could feel her blood pressure fall...

Please, Lord, help me.

Finally, she felt his fingers release her. She slumped to the cold, tiled floor.

The empty stairwell spun around her. The strange doctor had vanished. With all her might, she tried to reach for her cell phone. It was in her back pocket. But the drug was hitting her full force now. Her hand shook uncontrollably and the device dropped from her fingers. Her eyelids closed as she groped the floor desperately for the phone. But it was no use. She was going under and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Please, Lord...help...

Abby closed her eyes and the darkness overtook her.

* * *

“Code Blue. Code Blue. Paging Dr. Jamison. Room 307. Code Blue. Dr. Blake Jamison.”

The announcement blared through the overhead speakers. Everyone in the operatory stopped what they were doing and looked at Blake.

Code Blue? How could there be a Code Blue? It signaled that one of his patients needed resuscitation, but that couldn’t be true. He had taken on exactly three patients since transferring to Fairview Hospital. They’d been recovering well, awake, alert and resting as of two hours ago. This had to be a mistake.

“And clip.” He opened his gloved hand and waited for the nurse to place the suturing instrument in his palm. With a delicate touch, he closed up the tiny incision, returned the instrument to the nurse and removed himself from the operating area. The surgical staff would have to finish the cleanup after his first surgery at Fairfield Hospital of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. Apparently, he had an emergency to look into.

“This way, Doctor.” One of the nurses tugged at his sleeve, guiding him toward the doors. “Take the service elevator. It’s faster. I’ll show you.”

A minute later, Blake entered a patient-recovery room where a crash team had assembled with a defibrillator. An unresponsive male patient, mid-to-late fifties, lay on the hospital bed. He was not one of the three patients Blake had seen earlier. Blake turned to the young nurse working near the monitors. “I’m Dr. Jamison. I was paged for a Code Blue, but this man is not my patient.”

“Cardiac arrest,” she said. “Started about fifteen minutes ago. Heart stopped soon after.”

“But he’s not my patient. I can’t treat him. Hospital policy. It could lead to a lawsuit and an insurance nightmare.”

She glanced back at the chart and pointed. “Your name is the only one on the chart.”

“That’s not possible.”

She stared back at him with a go-ahead-and-look face.

Blake picked up the chart and thumbed through the pages. Unfortunately, the nurse was correct. His name was there. And what certainly looked like his signature. “I’m telling you this is a mistake. I’ve never seen this chart before. I’ve never seen this patient before. What kind of operation do you run here at Fairview?”

“This is no joke, Doctor. This man is in cardiac arrest and that chart says you’re his doctor. I’m just the floor nurse. I have nothing to do with doctor assignments.”

Blake stepped up to the bedside, opposite the working crash team, and put aside the chart. The nurse was right. He was wasting his breath getting upset with her. He’d have to speak to the appropriate people at the appropriate time—after he had done everything he could to treat the patient. “What’s the history in a nutshell?”

“A nutshell is all we have,” the nurse continued. “We have no idea. He came in this morning. A transfer patient from New York City. Some sort of insurance issue? Apparently, he’s recovering from laparoscopic cholecystectomy.”

New York City? The place Blake had just escaped? Or tried to, at least.

He shook the spiraling thoughts of his parents’ devastating plane crash out of his head. Today another man’s life was on the line. He was a doctor. For the moment, that was all that really mattered. Forget insurance headaches. Forget his own personal grief and struggles to sort out his life.

“You’re saying this man had gallstone surgery somewhere else, was brought here and is now in cardiac arrest?”

She nodded.

“What medication has he been given? Does he have any known allergies?”

“I don’t know. As you saw for yourself, there’s not much in the chart and he only arrived an hour ago,” the nurse said. “We can’t seem to revive him. Hospital policy is to give it fifteen minutes. Should we call?”

“Not yet. Draw blood,” Blake said. “I want a basic workup. And while we are waiting, continue efforts. I want to know more about what’s going on.”

The nurse took blood samples and scampered out of the room. The crash team continued to work.

“Stand by,” one of the crew said. The other member prepared the electric plates to try to restart the patient’s heart. “Three, two, one.”

The man’s body popped from the voltage. The monitor beeped once before the flatline signal returned. Wait and repeat. Blake glanced through the chart. He was still certain he’d never seen this paperwork before or the patient who went with it—Nicolas Hancock. The name was not familiar. But on the last page, there it was—Dr. Blake Jamison. With a likeness of his signature.

Clearly, someone had made a very big mistake and Blake intended to find out who was responsible.

After a few minutes, the nurse returned with the basic blood screen. She handed the report to him almost breathless.

He read over the graphs and figures. Adrenaline levels were off the charts. That would certainly cause someone to go into cardiac arrest. “Any idea why his adrenaline would be so high?”

“No, sir.”

Blake looked up at the IV drip. “Did you attach this?”

“No, sir. He arrived with the IV in place. But I did replace the fluids.”

Blake tried to think of a scenario where a patient would have so much adrenaline in his body. The only explanation that came to mind was that he’d received a dose of epinephrine—a drug which could not be tested for, since the body already made it naturally. But a dose large enough to cause this sort of reaction was anything but natural.

This man’s cardiac arrest was looking as if it had been induced. Blake shook his head. Something very strange was going on here, but there was one thing that was certain—Mr. Nicolas Hancock was dead.

“It’s time to call,” he said. “Time of death is twelve-oh-seven.”

The nurse wrote down the hour.

“Is there a next of kin?” Blake would hardly know what to say to them.

“No, sir,” the nurse answered, her tone softening a touch. “His file says to contact his lawyer in case of an emergency. I’ll be glad to do that for you.”

“Thank you.” Blake rubbed his chin, deep in thought. This was not what he’d signed up for. He’d come to Lancaster County hoping for some peace to get past the loss of his parents, and to figure out what to do with the sudden discovery that he’d been adopted as a baby.

But he could hardly think with all this unorthodox nonsense at the hospital. If this had been an accident of some sort, then someone had really fouled up, medically speaking, with this patient. Blake wanted to know who and why. “I’m not signing a death certificate until I get some more information on this patient. This situation is—” Blake could not keep the strain of emotion from his voice “—unacceptable—medically, ethically and professionally unacceptable. Get the hospital administrator down here. Someone needs to look into this.”

The nurse began to shut down the machines. “I’ll inform Dr. Dodd.”

Blake headed toward the door. He felt a dark cloud over him. The same one he’d had over him in NYC. He stopped in the doorway and turned back to the nurse. “So you changed the drip bag. But did you change the IV tubing?”

She shook her head. “No. The tubing was securely in place. I didn’t see any reason to insert another IV needle into the patient.”

“Then save the entire IV, tubing and all, in a hermetically sealed container. It’s possible medications or a mixture of medications were administered prior to his arrival that caused the cardiac arrest. We have to cover ourselves legally in this day and time. Also, I’d like a copy of that chart. I want to find out how my name became associated with this patient.”

“Of course, Doctor. Naturally.”

Naturally? There was nothing natural about any of this. This was the twenty-first century. You didn’t lose patients to gallstone surgery.

“Dr. Blake Jamison. Dr. Blake Jamison, please report to the E.R. as soon as possible. Please report to the E.R.”

No way. This is not happening. Blake let out a deep sigh as he stepped back into the elevator. At least it’s not a Code Blue.

“This way, Doctor. Follow me.” Janice, a nurse assigned to assist him in the E.R. just the day before, held a grim expression. She led him to bay ten, where she stopped and flipped back a flimsy blue curtain.

“She’s one of our nurses...Abigail Miller.” Janice pulled him inside.

“I don’t know her.” Blake shook his head. A face that beautiful he definitely would have remembered. He drew closer. She was early twenties, pale with a long, golden braid flung across her shoulder. Her forehead had a nasty contusion. Her left arm sported a rough and fresh abrasion. “What happened to her?”

Janice shrugged. “The custodian found her like this in the stairwell off the third floor. Out cold. She hasn’t even blinked.”

“Pulse?”

“Rapid. BP low. This was found next to her.” She handed him a large syringe.

Epinephrine, he read on the side label. Blake handed the syringe back to the nurse. With his other hand, he felt the woman’s racing pulse at her neck. Her breathing was labored. Traumatic stress? “Get her on a monitor. Are you sure she was injected?”

Janice shook her head. “It was beside her. That’s all I know.”

“Is she known to have any severe allergies?”

Janice shook her head again. “No. She’s never sick. Healthiest person I’ve ever met.”

“You’re sure nothing’s broken? You moved her?”

This time Janice nodded. “Yes, Doctor. I’m sure the orderlies were very careful. No one would want to hurt Abigail.”

Blake touched her cold cheek. “Miss Miller? Miss Miller? Wake up. I need you to tell me what happened.”

On the outside, she lay there like Sleeping Beauty. On the inside, Blake knew that her body was fighting for its life. Janice rolled up the mobile heart monitor and began to put the sensors in place. As the cold nodes stuck to her skin, Abigail awoke with a start. She sat up, gasped for air and tried to reach for Janice. “It hurts. My chest. It hurts. I can’t bre—”

The heart monitor sensors reacted with an alert.

Blake kept a firm hand on the woman’s shoulder, pushing her back down to the bed. “Prep me a dose of Inderal, stat,” he said. “She’s going into cardiac arrest.”

Just like Nicolas Hancock.

TWO

Streams of blinding white light seeped under Abigail’s heavy eyelids. Beeps and buzzes echoed in her ears. Everything around her whirled in a blurred circle. Fatigue. Nausea. Pain. Everywhere pain. Especially her head.

“Ugh.” She lifted a sore arm only to touch a nice hard knot on the front of her head. Ouch. What in the world? Where am I?

She glanced around the small space. Heart monitor. Oxygen supply. Blood-pressure gauge. Blue hospital curtain wrapped around the small bed she lay in. I’m in the Emergency Room!

“Hello.” A tall, sandy-haired man peered around the curtain at her, then stepped inside. He wore a white lab coat over a pressed blue oxford. His stethoscope and Fairview ID badge hung loosely around his opened collar.

“How are you feeling, Abigail?”

“I’m feeling a little confused.” She looked down at her limp body in the hospital bed. “I don’t remember how I got here.... I don’t know you, Doctor, do I?”

“Nope. I’m new. Jamison. Blake Jamison.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Jamison.” Her mouth was dry and it hurt to try to sit up.

“Call me Blake. Please.” He smiled. “And take it easy. You’ve had a pretty rough day. Don’t worry if you aren’t remembering everything just yet. You will.”

Her head was foggy and thick, but she tried to focus. An IV drip fed into her left hand. The doctor—Blake—sat on a stool to her right. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was a handsome man, with a nice build and a kind face.

“So, why am I here?”

“I was sort of hoping you could tell me that. Maybe once your head clears up.” He took her wrist in his hand. He studied her face as he counted her pulse. A strange and awkward sensation passed over Abby as his fingertips pressed her skin. She was unaccustomed to the touch of a man and especially that of a fancy Englischer.

“I didn’t know Fairview was getting a new E.R. doctor. When did you start?”

“Well...I’m just here temporarily. I’m filling in for Dr. Finley.”

“Oh, right. I remember now reading something about him teaching a course in one of the hospital newsletters. I didn’t realize he would be away from the hospital for that. Do you often fill in for doctors on leave?”

“This is my first time. I have a private practice in New York. I’m just here for a change of scenery. Eight weeks. Then I’ll go back.” He released her arm. His lips pursed, as if he was thinking about something far away. “Seventy-two. Much better. You had me pretty scared there. Never a dull moment at this place.”

He used his stethoscope and listened to her breathing and her heart. Then he whipped the instrument out from his ears and again rested it like an adornment around his neck. The light scent of musky cologne wafted over her.

“Did you say never a dull moment?” She tilted her head and glanced at him sideways. “I am still at Fairview Hospital, right?”

He chuckled and started to respond when an electronic device at his waist began to vibrate. “See what I mean?”

He took the phone into his hands, silenced it, read the message and returned it to his waist. “Not important. So, how’s the head?”

“It’s a little tender.”

“I’ll have Janice bring you some Tylenol. Drink lots of fluids. Get some more rest. I’ll check back in another hour.”

“Wait. I have questions. You can’t leave yet.” She wanted more information than that. “How did I get here? Where did this bruising come from? Why am I hooked up to a heart monitor? How long was I unconscious? And why?”

His phone began to buzz again. He clenched his jaw as he looked at the screen and silenced it. “Sorry. Friends back in New York who think I’m available 24/7. Not important. Again. And that’s a lot of questions. I thought the doctor always asked the questions.”

“You can’t expect me to just lie here and not know what happened.” She met his steady gaze.

“I might if I think that’s what’s best for you.”

What? Who did this doctor think he was? Was he really not going to tell her anything? “At least tell me what day it is.”

“It’s Thursday,” he said, following it up with the date.

“Thursday,” she repeated. She leaned back into her pillow with a frown. It seemed that her memory was only missing most of one day. The damage could have been much worse...and yet it was troubling to think of those lost hours, especially given the injuries she’d sustained.

“You look upset.” He stepped back inside the curtained area. “Worrying about your memory may only block it longer. Try to relax. Think about the things you did early this morning.”

Abby shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t remember a thing. Please, isn’t there anything you can tell me about what happened? At least explain the heart monitor.”

“Well, we aren’t completely certain, but apparently, you took a hefty dose of epinephrine.” His words were slow. His tone kind and compassionate. “Fortunately, you’re strong and your body quickly absorbed much of the excess. We gave you something to calm your heart. It worked just the way it was supposed to—the monitor is just here as a precaution. You’re going to be fine. There will be no long-term effects.”

“Epinephrine?”

“Yes, it almost threw you into cardiac arrest.”

“How? Why would I take epinephrine? That’s crazy. Are you sure?” In a blink, Abby had a flash image of a shaking hand raising a needle to her arm. It was dark, like nighttime.

“You were found with an empty syringe, which we are pretty certain contained a killer amount of epinephrine before having a meeting with your arm.”

“Wait a minute, what else? I—I...” She looked down at her bruised arm. Her pulse started to rise. Someone had held her. So tight. She remembered her arm had felt as if it might break. She also remembered a man so close she could feel his breath on her neck. Abby shivered. “Someone gave me a shot. He was holding me around the arm. But where was I? And how did I get here?”

Blake’s lips pressed together as he seemed to consider how much to tell her. He frowned. “The custodian found you on the third floor. He said you were out cold in the stairwell by that big hall that’s being renovated. He’s the one who brought you down. He saved your life. Now, look, you’re getting too worked up. Try to rest. We can continue this conversation in a bit. You’re very weak.”

The third floor. Cold gray eyes. Abby could feel the tension rising in her, and it wasn’t because of her condition. She locked eyes with the doctor. More images shot through her mind. Gurney. Syringe. Eyes. Icy, fiery eyes. She flung the sheet off her lap and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I need to go back upstairs. Someone’s in trouble. I wasn’t the only one who was injected.”

Blake placed a hand on her shoulder that gently but firmly kept her from moving. “Slow down, Abby. You could still be under the effects of the drugs.”

“No. Really, I’m fine.” She slipped from his reach and stood. Her legs felt like cooked spaghetti. Blake caught her as she leaned back for support.

“It will have to wait, Abby. You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest later.” She pushed the doctor and his restraining arms away.

She didn’t remember all the details of her attack, but she knew someone else had been in danger. She couldn’t wait a minute longer—she might already be too late.

* * *

Blake could hardly believe the beautiful but provoking patient had talked him into letting her out of bed. Of course, when she’d plucked the IV from the back of her hand with a single yank, it was clear she was going to get up to the third floor with or without his approval. Since his shift had ended, he thought it best to accompany her. At least that way he could confine her to a wheelchair and keep an eye on her.

“Janice told me that you were raised Amish,” Blake commented as he wheeled her into the elevator.

She nodded. “It’s true.”

“So why did you decide to stop being Amish? If you don’t mind me asking?”

She laughed. “I don’t mind you asking at all. But I wouldn’t say that I stopped being Amish. I may not wear the clothes, but in here—” she touched her chest where her heart would be “—I will always be Amish. I didn’t take vows to commit myself to the church because I wanted to continue nursing.”

The elevator stopped at the third floor and Blake turned them toward the renovation area, taking in her words, which were more personal to him than she knew. “At the risk of sounding ignorant, I’m going to ask. Nursing isn’t allowed?”

“No, it’s not. It’s Hochmut.” Abby smiled and waved hellos to the few staff members they passed. “The Amish can have shops, build furniture or buildings, and farm. Professions that require higher degrees are not pursued.”

“Hochmut?”

“Ja. Hochmut,” she repeated with a teasing look, correcting his pronunciation.

“I don’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch.” Blake felt himself blush—her unfamiliar words were just another reminder of how little he knew of this place where he had come to find answers about himself.

“It means ‘arrogance.’ It’s what comes with letting the world in, with studying and learning more than needed. By going to school and becoming a nurse, I’ve become too much a part of the world. In many ways, I’m not worthy to take vows. But I have vowed in my own way to take care of people. My people. They need health care that they are comfortable with and I can provide that. I think I made the right decision. One day my family will understand. Some of them already do.”

Blake tried to wrap his head around the Amish culture. After the letter his mother had left him, he’d researched anything and everything Amish. But now that he was there in Lancaster, he realized there was still so much to learn. And there was already one strike against him. Would his biological family think less of him for his medical profession?

“How about you?” She looked back at him with her bright blue eyes. “Why did you leave New York? And how did you pick Fairview Hospital of all places?”

Blake had a stock answer for that question. It was the one he’d given to everyone else who’d asked him, even his closest friends. No one knew the real reason he’d come to Lancaster. He’d told no one that he had recently found out that he’d been adopted, that he’d been born in Lancaster, not in New York City as he’d thought his entire life. He could hardly process the news himself, much less deliver it to others and expect them to understand. It was best to sort it out first. By himself. Yet he found himself on the verge of telling Abby the truth.

“Lots of reasons,” he said in a low voice.

“Dr. Jamison. Dr. Jamison.” The young nurse from Nicolas Hancock’s room raced after him, waving a set of papers. “Here, Doctor. I called Mr. Hancock’s lawyer, but I only spoke with a receptionist. She wouldn’t let me through, nor would she tell me if there was a next of kin to notify.”

“Thank you.” Blake took the papers.

She glanced at the closed doors to the renovation area and easily guessed their intentions. “The renovation area has been locked up after what happened to you, Abby. But if you want to take a look, then we might have a key at the station.” She started back in the direction she’d come. “I have your hermetically sealed IV and tubing, too, Doctor. Would you like to have that, too?”

“Yes, if you could bring the IV, too, I’d appreciate it.”

Abby looked up at him. “Hancock? Did she say your patient’s name was Hancock?”

“Yes. Nicolas Hancock.” He handed Abby the chart so he could steer the wheelchair. “But he wasn’t really my patient. Supposedly, he was a transfer. Somehow my name got on that chart. My signature, even—but I never laid eyes on him until I was paged for a Code Blue. I came right away but it was too late. The crash team tried and tried to resuscitate but he didn’t make it.”

Abigail stared down at the front page of the chart in her lap. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Seen what?” Blake thought again about the fact that Hancock and Abby had had elevated adrenaline levels. Had that not been a coincidence?

“This chart. This name. This patient.” Her eyes were wide.

“What? What do you mean? I thought you worked in Maternity.”

Before she could answer, the young nurse returned with a set of keys to unlock the refinished wing. She opened the doors and handed Blake a small sealed plastic bag, which had Hancock printed across the side. He hung it on the back of the chair, thanked the nurse for her help and rolled Abby into the closed-off wing. The farther they got into the hallway, the more the blood had drained from Abby’s face. He stopped the chair and walked in front of her. He took her arm and checked her pulse.

“Your heart is racing and you look really tired, Abby. This is too much. Let’s go back down and rest. As you can see, the hallway is empty. There’s no one else here.”

“That doctor was here.” Abby, white as snow, pushed him aside. She stood and began to move through the dim hallway. “He was here. In this hallway with that patient.” She pointed at the chart. “He gave him an injection. Blake, I saw it. I wasn’t supposed to, but I did. That’s why he injected me, too.”

“What doctor? What are you talking about?” Blake moved quickly around the wheelchair and put a hand under her shoulder to support her. He took the chart from her hands and tossed it back onto the wheelchair so he could take her hand. “I really think this is too much for you right now. Please sit back down. You’re not really making a lot of sense.”

“He tried to tell me that patient had a highly contagious disease, but I knew it wasn’t true. There was no indication of it on his chart.” Her pulse quickened as she pressed against him.

Blake didn’t answer. She was already too worked up. He should never have let her talk him into this stupid excursion. “You need to be resting. Come on.”

Abby continued, ignoring his efforts to make her return to the wheelchair. Her persistence was admirable, he supposed. But as a doctor, he had to object to the way she was putting herself at risk. But she would not stop. She continued down the hallway without his help.

“So how did he die?” She looked back at him.

“Cardiac arrest.”

“Too much epinephrine?”

“Too much adrenaline. Yeah. Probably epinephrine. We saved the IV tubing—that’s what’s in the bag that the nurse brought to me. We might be able to get some idea of what the patient was given...but...” He caught up to her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “Abby, are you saying you saw another doctor inject Hancock with medication? Here? Not in the patient’s room?”

Click.

The doors behind them, the ones they’d come through, closed tight. The lock popped and the sound of it echoed down the dead, dark corridor. It was pitch-black.

Abby shuddered against Blake’s supportive arm.

“Let’s get you back. I think you’ve remembered enough for now.” Blake started to redirect them the way that they’d come. “I’m sure someone will hear us if we knock.”

But Abby pulled against him. “We are much closer to the stairwell. You said that’s where the custodian found me, right?”

“Right.” Blake shook his head, following behind her in the darkness. “Really, please, let me get you back to that wheelchair.... Are all Amish women this stubborn?”

“Most are much worse.” She pushed open the door of the stairwell. There was some dim lighting.

“I’ll keep that in mind in case I have any more Amish patients.” Blake linked an arm gently under hers, supporting most of her weight. He led her carefully down the stairs. Shadows seemed to dance above them in the dim lighting. Twice she stopped and looked up.

“Do you...?” Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He could have sworn he saw someone above them. A shadow. A movement. Someone dressed in white.

“Yes,” Abby said. “I see little...”

Blake frowned at her words. She was seeing it, too. He wasn’t imagining them. A shadow passed over the wall beside them. “Lights? Shadows?”

She nodded. They continued a few more steps.

He tried to hurry her down to the ground floor. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I guess our eyes are not adjusting to the bad lighting.”

A loud clanging sounded overhead. Abby, startled by the sound, slipped on the next step. Blake helped straighten and steady her. He had to get her back to bed. She was about to collapse.

Clang. Metal against metal. Louder and louder. Something was falling. The sound echoed through the space, coming closer and closer.

He looked up, as did Abby, who was growing faint. He could feel her legs buckling. Blake wrapped himself around her and pushed them both under the cover of the second-floor landing. Something was coming down in a hurry and they had to move or get hit.

A magnificent crash sounded behind him.

A stainless-steel surgical tray landed in the very spot where they’d stood, complete with an assortment of sharp scalpels and other surgical instruments, which rattled down around them like a metal rainstorm.

Once the stairs were quiet, Blake lifted his hands to Abby’s shoulders. “You okay?”

“No. I’m not.” Her body trembled under his hands as she shook her head from side to side. “I think someone is trying to kill me.”

THREE

An hour later, Blake’s thoughts were swimming as he sat with Abby and two policemen in a special conference room of the hospital. The more time they spent going over the particulars of the assault and the incident in the stairwell, the more confused he felt.

He shook his head. Nothing seemed to make sense these days. His parents’ accident. The revelation of his adoption. His inheritance. His arrival in Lancaster to search for his birth parents. He couldn’t even decide if he wanted to find his birth parents or not...and he might not have a choice. The search, after all, could very well lead to nothing.

Then again, it could change his life.

Blake wasn’t sure which of those results he wanted. The future seemed so muddled. He wasn’t used to that.

In any case, working on his search wouldn’t be happening today. He wasn’t even sure if he would be able to leave the hospital anytime soon. The more he and Abby repeated their stories to the police, the crazier and crazier the whole thing sounded. If it hadn’t actually happened to him, he would not have believed it himself.

“And the name of the patient that died from cardiac arrest?” Chief McClendon scratched his thinning red hair. He was tall and lean and looked like a man you did not want to cross.

“Hancock. Nicolas Hancock.” Blake shook his head. “I had an extra copy of his transfer chart, but I left it on the wheelchair when we went to the stairwell, and—”

“Someone swiped it,” Abby said. “That was right before the tray of scalpels came down on us.”

“Right. By the time I got back up to the third floor to make another copy, the original chart was gone, too. And the bag containing the IV and tubing that I’d left with the wheelchair, as well.” Blake felt his phone buzz yet again. A friend, a colleague, a lawyer from New York, no doubt. He silenced the phone.

“So no chart? And now it seems there’s no body, either?” the chief repeated. “No evidence that the man was here at all, except for the testimony from you and the crash team, and the bruising and wounds inflicted on Miss Miller after the alleged injection took place.”

“I did go to the morgue,” Blake continued. “And no...there’s no Nicolas Hancock. The autopsist said he’d never gotten the body. And now if you check in the hospital’s electronic files, you cannot even find the name Nicolas Hancock in the system.”

“But his name was there earlier?”

“Yes, I checked it this afternoon. Before Miss Miller woke up in the E.R. I couldn’t figure out how I was assigned to this patient I’d never seen. I thought I might see another doctor’s name in there.”

“And did you?”

“No.”

“Sorry, I’m late to the meeting.” A small-framed, middle-aged doctor hurried into the room. He moved with sharp gestures as he made his way around the room and shook hands with everyone. “I’m Dr. Dodd. I’m the head administrator of Fairview Hospital and I’m just flabbergasted at the events that have happened here today. Has anyone called the media?”

“No,” said Chief McClendon. “And that better not happen, either.”

“Don’t worry.” Dr. Dodd pressed his dark-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’ll see to it that it doesn’t. Hancock’s body is in autopsy. I’ll make sure the findings are not released to the public. Dr. Jamison, in the interim, your actions today will be under review. I understand both of you will be taking a few days off. I’ve already made arrangements for that. Now, if you don’t have anything else for me, I have another meeting to attend. Please let my custodial staff know when they can reopen the stairwell. Keeping it shut off is a safety violation, you know.”

“You have the body?” Blake asked.

“Of course. It’s in autopsy. But naturally, you won’t see the report until it gets to me and the authorities.”

“I guess I don’t understand why I’m under review.” Blake frowned. He really wished he’d been able to save that IV tubing and possibly prove that someone had caused Hancock’s death. “Hancock was dead when I arrived to his room. I’d never seen him before that. The nurses can confirm this. Whatever happened to him—” he looked at Abby “—it happened before I saw him.”

“No worries, Dr. Jamison.” Dr. Dodd smiled. “It’s just a formality. All part of the paperwork.”

“You have his chart?”

“Of course we have his chart.” Dodd looked annoyed.

“I’ll need a copy of that,” McClendon said. “Thank you.”

“Is that all?”

McClendon nodded. Dr. Dodd scrambled out of the room as quickly as he’d come in.

“I guess you didn’t look in the right places, Dr. Jamison,” said McClendon. “Then again, you are new here.”

Blake shook his head. He was new—he wasn’t stupid. He knew how to look up files and find a body in a morgue. He’d even spoken to the autopsist. He didn’t like the idea of this review. And he definitely didn’t like Dr. Dodd. Something was fishy about this whole mess, and in situations like this, the administration usually looked for a scapegoat to blame. Blake had a sinking feeling Dodd meant for that scapegoat to be him.

McClendon tapped more notes into his tablet, then looked to his younger colleague. “Langer, head to the morgue. See what you can find out. Get that file. Then question the crash team and every nurse who came in contact with Nicolas Hancock. Even talk to the person who added his data to the hospital patient files. Somebody has to know something. Do not mention the word murder or either the doctor’s or Abigail’s names. I don’t want any of this leaking out.”

“Yes, sir.” Langer, who was built like a pit bull and was probably just as feisty, spun away from the hospital conference room and headed to the elevators.

McClendon stowed his tablet inside his front jacket pocket. “This is a delicate situation. While we want to cover all of our bases, the person we are looking for could very well work in the hospital. This isn’t the kind of person we want to cause to panic. That could make the situation more dangerous.

“Now, we know that Miss Miller was assaulted and drugged. If your Hancock and her Hancock are one and the same, then it sounds like you both could be in a lot of danger.”

“We witnessed a murder, right?”

Abby’s blunt assessment of the day’s events hit Blake like a ton of bricks. Murder? Unbelievable—Abby had witnessed a murder. And to some extent so had he. Blake could hardly wrap his head around it all.

“Right,” McClendon agreed. “From what Dr. Dodd said, it sounds like the two of you will have the next few days off. My advice is for you both to keep your distance from the hospital until we see what kind of information we can pull together.”

He moved toward Blake and placed a card in his hand. “I’ll be in touch. Make sure Miss Miller gets safely home.” The chief tipped his head to Abigail, then left them alone in the conference room.

Blake stared after the chief for a long moment. What a day. He could barely take it all in. He was exhausted. And he could only imagine that Abby must be even more so, considering all the abuse her body had taken. Of course, if she’d just stayed in her bed in the E.R., some of the trouble could have been avoided.

He turned back to Miss Abigail Miller. Looked as if he was to give her a ride home. Frankly, he was glad to have the excuse to keep an eye on her a bit longer. She’d pushed herself too hard today and needed someone to make sure she went straight home and got some rest. Although as tough and stubborn as she was, she probably already had her own ideas about that.

He wouldn’t admit to himself that he found the woman’s ridiculous determination rather intriguing. Or that he found her pretty, too. Naturally pretty, not like many of the women he knew back in New York who spent a lot of money in order to look a certain way. Abby had smooth, creamy skin, huge blue eyes and a healthy glow, despite the lump on her head. And her energy—it was amazing. It drew everyone in—or at least, it drew him in.

Blake made a note to himself to be on his guard with Abby. Not only was she a patient, he had not come to Lancaster for romance. In fact, that was the last thing he needed in his life.

“I’m disappointed,” she said. “I’d hoped there would be more they could do. And it all sounded so crazy as I was retelling what happened, you know?”

“Crazy but real. As real as whoever put those nasty bruises on you. Now that the body is in the morgue, I’m sure the investigation will move right along.” Blake rubbed his hand through his hair. He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He wanted dinner and a long, hot shower. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Am I allowed out of here?” She stood, too, a hopeful and wide-eyed expression on her face.

Blake smiled. “I already signed the release. But as I’m sure you already know, after a concussion you shouldn’t spend the night alone. Someone has to be with you and wake you up at certain intervals during the night.”

“Right.” She let out a long sigh. “I guess I’ll go to Eli’s.”

Was Eli a boyfriend? Abby definitely wasn’t married. Everyone had been calling her Miss Miller. Blake shook his head. Why was he even thinking about that? “You shouldn’t drive, either. You’ve had a lot of medication today.”

She checked her watch and frowned. “Hmm...that’s a problem. Janice has already gone home and most of my other friends and family drive buggies.”

“I’m staying at the Willow Trace Bed-and-Breakfast. Are you headed in that direction?”

“Actually, that’s not far from where my brother lives,” she said. “Would you mind terribly?”

“Eli is your brother?” He lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes, and he drives a buggy, or I’d ask him to pick me up himself.” She smiled. She had a fabulous smile. “He used to drive a Mustang, but now he’s back to a buggy.... So, do I get a ride or what?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Blake felt his face flood with heat. “I thought I already said that.”

* * *

Abby collected her things from her nurse’s locker and followed the new doctor to his car—one very expensive SUV.

Hochmut—that was what her father would say if he saw her in that fancy vehicle. Bishop Miller would shake his head and disapprove, just as he seemed to do of everything she decided these days. Her father didn’t know how much his condemnation hurt—she wouldn’t let it show. She couldn’t.

Anyway, it would be silly not to take the ride from the doctor. He was headed in the same direction. And hopefully, her father would not be visiting when she arrived at her brother’s.

Blake drove slowly out of the hospital parking lot. Almost immediately, they came up behind an Amish buggy. Abby sighed. Looked as if it might be a long, slow drive to Eli’s.

“This highway is not a good one for passing,” Abby said.

Blake was just about to reply when his phone rang. Again. It was almost nonstop—buzzing, ringing, vibrating. What could be so important?

“Sounds like someone needs to get in touch with you very badly,” she said.

“Excuse me,” he said to her, then answered the phone. “Hello...No, I can’t...I’m not in the city....I don’t know....You’ll just have to figure it out....Not anytime soon.... Okay...Bye.”

He put the device away.

“I’m sorry. People back home keep forgetting I’m not in town. It’s crazy. It’s ringing all the time.” He looked embarrassed or flustered or both. “In a few days it will slow down...I hope.”

“So, getting away from all of that—is that one of your reasons for coming to Lancaster?” she asked. “Or are you interested in the countryside? The Amish? Horses and buggies? Avoiding a nightmare family you left behind?”

He laughed at her teasing. He was quite handsome when he smiled. Abby turned away as a strange rush of emotions shot through her.

“All of those things.” He looked at his phone. “I guess some things are harder to get away from than others. But I don’t have any family.”

“Everyone has family.”

“I don’t.”

She glanced over at him, waiting for an explanation.

“Only child. And my parents died recently.”

Abby dropped her head. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something so—”

“No, no. It’s fine. The accident was months ago,” he said.

“I’m still very sorry.” Abby turned and looked out the window. “Can I ask what kind of accident?”

“A plane crash.” Blake relaxed his hands on the beautiful mahogany steering wheel. “You know, one of those little island-hopper planes. The computer inside malfunctioned. They hit a storm. It just happened. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

“You must miss them terribly.”

He smiled, but it was a sad, regretful sort of smile that touched Abby’s heart at its core.

“So what else? You said you came to Lancaster for lots of reasons. So tell me a few. To get away from your phone and what else?”

“Well, the rest of it is a long story.” He smiled at her again. “But you, you are doing remarkably well after all you’ve been through today.”

“Thanks, but I feel like a wreck. A train wreck, actually. I can’t wait to get to my brother’s and collapse.”

There was a moment of silence.

“So, another reason you came to Fairview?” she prodded him, not liking the silence. “Come on. It takes my mind off the assault.”

“Okay, another reason... Actually, I was going to tell you earlier but then we started talking about... Never mind.” He shook his head. “So another reason I came to Lancaster is to find something. I might have a family connection here I plan to look up.”

“But I thought you didn’t have any family.”

“Well, I don’t. I don’t know these people. And it may be nothing. Really, forget I mentioned it.” He changed the subject. “Did you need to stop by your own place? You must need to get some things? Some clothes? A toothbrush?”

“Oh, no. That’s okay. I can borrow things from my sister-in-law.” She hadn’t thought about going by her place, but he was right. She really did need to at some point. Still, she didn’t want to impose, nor did she want to take any longer than necessary to get to Eli’s. She was still quite unsettled after the day’s events.

“I really don’t mind,” he said.

He seemed sincere, so Abby decided to infringe on his kindness a bit further. The more she thought about it, if she didn’t go by her house, then Eli would have to, and that would upset Hannah and get the night off to a bad start. “Actually, if you really wouldn’t mind, it would give me a chance to check on Zoe, Chloe and Blue-jeans.”

“Zoe, Chloe and Blue-jeans?” He shot her a furtive look.

“My two cats and my horse.”

“You have a horse?”

“Yes, and a buggy, too. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to sell it or not.” Abby glanced at Blake. His big, chocolate eyes were soft and smiling. The rest of him was stiff and businesslike. At the hospital he’d been like that, too—two-sided. One very kind. The other standoffish. She wondered which message was the true Blake.

“I would love to ride in a horse and buggy,” he said.

“Well, when I’m feeling better, I’d be happy to take you out in mine.” Abby stopped as the words sank in. To an Amish man, an invitation like that would sound as if she was inviting him on a courting date. Fortunately, the doctor wasn’t Amish and would take the invitation in the spirit it was given—as a friendly gesture and nothing more.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Thank you. And of course, you should check on your animals. You should have said so. You live on a farm? You must have some land if you have a horse, right? This is all new to me. I’ve lived my whole life in an apartment on the Upper East Side.”

The upper east side of what? Am I supposed to know what he’s talking about? “It’s not a farm,” she said. “I mean it is. But I don’t farm anything. I run a clinic. I lease the land out to a real farmer.... Sorry. I’m rambling.”

Following her directions, Blake maneuvered his way slowly around the buggy that they’d been stuck behind for the past quarter mile. A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of her home and clinic.

“I’ll be quick.” She hopped out of the car but paused when she saw how dark the house was. If it hadn’t been for the headlights of Blake’s car, they wouldn’t have been able to see a thing.

“Is something wrong?” He parked in her semicircle driveway, leaving his headlights to shine over the front porch.

“I don’t think so.” She forced a smile and searched in her bag for the house key. A feeling of dread passed through her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong here, but she tried to ignore it. Likely it was nothing more than nerves—hardly surprising after the day she’d had. “I guess the sensors on my porch lights are broken? Those lights usually come on when it gets dark.”

“Let me come up to the door with you, just to be safe. You weren’t too steady on your feet earlier and shouldn’t be stumbling around in the dark.” He turned off the engine, but left his headlights on to shine over the front porch. “What a great house.”

“Thanks.” Abby fumbled with her key, taking what seemed like an interminably long time to unlock the door. Blake stood back as she went in and reached for the lights. Nothing happened as she flicked the light switch.

“Looks like the power is out.” She headed across the dark space to a small hutch. She tried to turn on a small lamp. Nothing. “Yep, it must be the power. I have a flashlight in the bottom drawer here. Once we get to the kitchen, I can check the electrical panel. Just a second.”

Abby rummaged through the drawers of the hutch. “I know that flashlight is—”

Blake’s hand came down on her shoulder, giving her a chill.

“Shh,” he whispered. “There’s someone else in the house.”

Abby swallowed hard as her hands finally landed around the flashlight she’d been looking for. Turning it on, she pointed it down the hallway in time to see a dark shadow flash across the entrance to her kitchen. Blake’s hand swiftly eased the light from her hand.

“Stay here,” he said before taking off toward the dark figure.

Abby wasn’t about to stand there in the dark. She followed right behind him, feeling a cold blast of night air blow over her as she entered the kitchen. Blake flashed the light in every direction. The back door was wide open. Whoever the intruder had been, he’d escaped without a sound.

FOUR

Abby rushed for the open door, but Blake grabbed her arm and pulled her back. After the day they’d had, he wasn’t too sure running out into the darkness after the unknown was a good idea. Better to fix whatever had been done to the electricity. It would be much easier to spot the intruder with the floodlights on.

“I thought I told you to stay put.”

“I didn’t want to stay back there in the dark by myself.”

Blake couldn’t argue with her reasoning, even though he was pretty certain he’d never met anyone as hardheaded as Abby Miller. In any case, he’d spotted her circuit-breaker panel a few feet from the door. The door to the panel had been opened as if someone had been making adjustments.

“Maybe the power wasn’t off after all. Looks like someone’s been messing with your breakers. Here, take this.” He handed the flashlight to her. “Shine the light this way.”

Blake opened the metal panel. As he’d suspected, the main breaker had been turned off. He flipped it back to the “on” position. Abby was right beside him, turning on both the inside and outside lights. The backyard lit up. Together they scanned the area from the back stoop. Blake saw open fields, a run-in shed and a horse grazing in a large paddock. No intruder.

“I guess we surprised whoever it was and he left.”

“I hope so,” Blake said. “But let’s check the rest of the house anyway.”

Room by room, Blake followed Abby through the house. Nothing looked out of order. When they reached the foyer again, Blake noticed an interior door that in the darkness he hadn’t seen behind the front entrance. The sign on the door read Abigail Miller, R.N. and Certified Midwife, Consultation, Mondays and Wednesdays 12–4. “Impressive.”

“Thanks. I went all-out when I designed the clinic. I wanted to bring the best to Willow Trace.” She walked past him. “And this door was locked when I left for the hospital this morning. I’m certain of that.”

Blake followed her into the clinic and saw that Abigail had built a state-of-the-art facility inside the old cottage. It had been thoughtfully and tastefully done and unlike the rest of the house, which had been so simple and plain, everything here spoke of modern medicine and technology. In its usual state, it was unquestionably very impressive. Right now, it looked like a disaster area. Abby gasped as she staggered forward. Broken glass crunched under her feet. The examining area had been trashed. Boxes of supplies had been strewn across the space. All the shelves had been stripped and their contents spilled all over the table, counters and flooring.

Tears streamed down her face. He could tell she was trying to wipe them away before he could see, but they wouldn’t stop. “I’m sorry. I’m just so tired. And this is so unbelievable.... Two weeks ago, I decide that my calling is nursing, that I don’t want to give it up. I told my family. My father. He’s so upset with me. I had such a peace about it...but now? My wonderful clinic that I created just a few years ago has been ruined and I...don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

Blake knew she wasn’t really talking to him, just venting aloud her frustration and fatigue. His heart felt heavy for her. He felt as if the very center of his life had been destroyed, too, when his parents died in that plane crash. He and Abby definitely had something in common—they were both struggling with their direction and their families.

He looked at her standing there sobbing. He had to do something. He couldn’t just go on as if she were fine. She was a patient, after all. If a patient were crying, he would give them a hug, right?

Slowly, Blake put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. To his great astonishment, Abby turned into his chest and wept against his shoulder. Blake didn’t know what to do. Keep hugging her? Push her back? He didn’t move. But he couldn’t help but catch the soft floral fragrance of her hair and her skin. After a moment, he unfroze himself, slid his hands to her shoulders and pushed her back.

Abigail’s embarrassment was evident in her flushed cheeks and splotchy neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall apart on you. I’m not usually this...this...”

“You have every right to fall apart.” He grazed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I just thought we should call the police. Again.”

He pulled out his cell phone and the card that Chief McClendon had passed to him only a few hours earlier. He dialed the number while trying to give Abby a reassuring smile. “Maybe later I can help you clean it up. It’s not so bad. Right?”

Abby broke into a watery smile and chuckled. “Right. Not so bad.”

As the phone line began to ring, Blake swallowed hard. Abby was like no one he’d ever met—such an odd mixture of independence and vulnerability, of determination and quick wits. He was going to have to be on his guard about more than this person who was after them, because if there was one thing in his life he did not need or have time for, it was romance.

* * *

“Abby, I can’t believe you didn’t send Chief McClendon here to tell me what happened to you today.” Her big brother, Eli, paced his kitchen, pulling on his suspenders and shaking his head of thick blond hair as he walked.

“I was coming straight here.” She could hardly speak from exhaustion. She couldn’t stop shaking and her head throbbed terribly. “Blake was nice enough to swing by my house so that I could pick up some clothes and feed the animals, and that’s when we walked in on whoever that was. Anyway, there was no point in telling you sooner. What could you do? There’s nothing to do except try to get away from it all and wait for the police to catch the man responsible. And that’s why I’m here.”

Even though she still felt like a sitting duck. She’d thought being at her brother’s would make her feel safe, but instead, she now worried that she and Blake had just brought danger with them.

“I don’t know. There’s got to be something we can do,” Eli said. “Chief McClendon told you to lie low?”

“Not in those exact words.” Blake spoke from the corner of the kitchen. Abby blushed at the sound of his voice. She’d hardly been able to look at him after she’d fallen apart at the clinic. Practically jumping into his arms. She wished he’d dropped her off and gone straight back to the bed-and-breakfast. But once Hannah heard they’d had nothing to eat, she wouldn’t allow Blake to escape.

“Is McClendon still at your house?” Eli asked.

“I imagine so.” Blake’s brown eyes were soft again. Not hard and shocked like after the scene at the clinic. “There was an entire crew there, taking pictures and samples.”

“That’s good. Maybe they’ll lift some prints.” Eli continued to pace. He was making her dizzy.

“Relax, Eli.” Abby gave him a hard stare. “You’re not a detective anymore, remember?”

He ignored her. “Was anything missing from your house?”

“Nothing in the house—not that I noticed, anyway. But in the clinic. Most of my medicines were sabotaged. Opened. Slashed. Contaminated. And oddly they stole all my epi-packs.”

“Epi-packs?”

Blake cleared his throat. “They’re for people with severe allergies. Like an emergency kit. The EpiPen is a small dose of epinephrine, which prevents an allergy from sending someone into anaphylactic shock. They have saved a lot of parents trips to the hospitals and even saved lives. Epinephrine is the same drug that I believe was given to Abigail and to Mr. Hancock to send them into cardiac arrest.”

“So too much of a good drug can kill?” Eli asked.

“Exactly,” Blake said. “And epinephrine is not traceable like other drugs in the body because it is produced naturally.”

“What’s strange to me is that this person took the epi-packs after he killed Hancock. What was the point of that?” Abby said. “And the amount of epinephrine he dosed me with was way more than what is in an epi-pack. Clearly, he has access to the drug on his own, so why steal my packs?”

“He’s probably trying to scare you. Or throw off the investigation.” Eli stroked his short beard. “It takes everyone’s eyes off the hospital for a while. Maybe there is unfinished business there.”

“Like killing patients in dark hallways?” Abby said.

“We must get ahead of this guy instead of behind him. The first attempt when he drugged you was serious. He was feeling powerful. But the stairwell and the break-in seem more like scare tactics. He’s not as confident as he was and we should try to keep it that way.”

“How do we get ahead of this person? We don’t know who he is or where he is,” Abby said.

Eli looked up at her with a hopeful expression. “You can describe him, right?”

“Not really.” Abby shook her head. “He was wearing scrubs and a mask. I saw his eyes. That’s about it.”

“Well, the perpetrator could be anyone, not necessarily a doctor from the hospital. But if you have an idea of his size, his voice, skin color—with the computers the composite artists use now, you wouldn’t believe how well they can narrow down a suspect list.”

“Not tonight.” Abby held up her hand. She couldn’t take any more talk about the situation. Her brother meant well but he did not seem to understand what an ordeal she had been through.

Blake stepped forward. “I would have to agree. She needs rest.”

Her brother turned to Blake, then back to her. Abby hid a grin—another man having an opinion about her welfare had definitely thrown her brother off-kilter.

“Essa!” Hannah placed several plates in the center of the table and waved them all over. “Time to eat. Everyone to the table.”

Eli led them in a prayer of thanksgiving. Abby could have listened to his words all night. Eli was a true man of God—he knew where his strength came from. And what kind of man was Blake? At the amen, she glanced at him. Were those tears in his eyes? She watched him wipe them away quickly as he dug into his dinner. This was one man she did not understand—he seemed to change more than the weather and she’d only known him for one day.

“Wow. This is wonderful.” Blake had a faraway look in his eyes as he complimented her family on the house and the dinner.

“So, Blake...” Hannah started. “You’re a doctor at Fairview?”

“Yes. Well, temporarily.”

“And you’re from New York?”

“Yes.”

Eli slapped the table. “Didn’t you say the patient Hancock was from New York, too?”

Abby nodded with a smile. Her brother could barely contain himself. He was concerned for her, but he was also reliving his work as a Philadelphia police detective. It was not too long ago he’d come home on a case to help Hannah find the men that had killed her stepdaughter. In the end, he’d decided to stay and leave his Englischer life behind, but his years of training and experience as a detective were still a part of him. He let out a long sigh. “I really need to talk to McClendon.”

“Well, that’s not happening tonight,” Hannah said. “No calls in the house. Let’s just have a nice, relaxing dinner and worry about all of that tomorrow.”

Blake’s phone sounded almost simultaneously with Hannah’s reminder of the no-cell-phones rule. Blake grabbed his phone from his pocket and silenced it. “Sorry. I’ll just turn it off. I didn’t even realize how much I’m on my phone until I came here. I guess back in New York, everyone is, so no one thinks anything about it. I think tomorrow I may just leave it in my hotel room.”

“Well, not a bad idea, Dr. Jamison. We don’t use them in this house.” Hannah’s tone was kind but firm.

“Don’t feel bad,” Eli said, teasing his wife. “She asked me to get rid of my gun. A cell phone is nothing.”

Hannah waved away her husband’s words. “Speaking of your life back in New York, Dr. Jamison...you’re not married, are you?”

“No. I’m not.” Hannah’s tone had sounded a slight bit chastising. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course not,” Abby said, glaring at Hannah so that she would not continue with the same topic. “It’s just a common topic around here. With the Amish. Especially among the women.”

Hannah looked indignant. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just getting to know our guest. What brings you here to Willow Trace, Dr. Jamison?”

Blake had just shoved a large forkful of meat into his mouth and couldn’t answer.

“Blake has family here, don’t you, Blake?” Abby smiled. She’d purposely caught him off guard. Now he would have to answer what she’d been trying to figure out all day—why was Dr. Jamison at Fairview Hospital?

* * *

Blake swallowed down the lump of stew before he could answer. He’d almost rather talk about his pathetic love life than about why he was in Lancaster. “Maybe. I said that maybe I have a family connection in Lancaster.”

There was clearly another question bubbling inside of Abigail, but a knock at the door sounded before she could get it out.

Eli excused himself from the table to get the door. Hannah hopped up to take care of the dishes. Blake and Abby tried to follow but Hannah stopped them.

“Go on into the other room.” Hannah shooed them away like little flies. “Both of you. Sounds like we have visitors. I’ll see to the kitchen. Go on. Go relax and visit. You’ve both done enough today.”

Blake followed Abby into the living area, which, like the rest of the home, was tastefully but simply decorated. The walls were undecorated, simply painted a shade of light blue. All of the big windows were covered with green shades and simple white curtains. There were a few dim lamps set on handmade wooden tables. A sofa and several lightly upholstered chairs were placed about in an orderly circle.

Eli stoked the fire while his newly arrived guests sat together on the couch—a young couple holding a sleeping baby while their older child stood against his father. The boy stared wide-eyed at Blake and Abby as they entered the room.

“Mary!” Abigail rushed forward. She hugged the young mother and swept the sleeping child from her arms. “Little Levi. Oh, isn’t he just beautiful? And, Stephen, you are so grown up—sehr grose.”

The little boy straightened up from his position against his father, standing tall and proud.

“Jonathan and Mary, this is Blake Jamsion—a doctor at the hospital. Blake, this is the Zook family. Mary and I have been friends all our lives. Her parents own the bed-and-breakfast where you are staying.”

Blake shook hands with the couple, admiring their Amish dress, which matched Eli’s and Hannah’s exactly—trousers, suspenders and simply cut shirts for the men, plain blue dresses and black aprons for the women. Little Stephen wore a miniature version of the grown men’s clothing. He whispered something to his father, then took off out the front door.

“He likes to visit all of Eli’s stock. We don’t have the cattle Eli has here. He’s fascinated by it,” Jonathan explained. He had the same peculiar, square beard as Eli did, only around the jawline. No mustache. A strange and unique look. Blake couldn’t remember seeing anything like it before.

Mary’s hair, like Hannah’s, was tucked up in a white Kapp. He glanced at Abigail and her long blond braid, maybe a little glad it wasn’t hidden under a Kapp. He wondered what it might look like loose and free-flowing.

“We heard you had some trouble up at the hospital,” Jonathan said.

“Ja, you could say that.” Abby spun around with the tiny infant. “How did you hear?”

The couple explained how the news had spread from the hospital to another couple from the church to their neighbors. “We didn’t know if Eli had heard, so we thought we should come over. We knew he’d want to know about his sister. We should have figured you’d be here telling him yourself.”

“I’m glad you came. It’s good to see you and the children. Just what I needed to get my mind off this afternoon.”

Some conversation passed in Pennsylvania Dutch. Blake sat back and listened to the lilting, rolling language. He didn’t know if the talk was about him or the happenings at the hospital, but either way the language relaxed him. Called to him. Could it be that Amish blood ran through his veins? If he hadn’t been put up for adoption, could he have grown up in a room like this instead of in a penthouse that overlooked Central Park?

“Well, at least you didn’t go to the bishop.” Abby broke back into English.

“Oh, but we did.” Mary smiled. “We passed by there on the way here. He hadn’t heard. He is very concerned. He would have been over to see you himself if he had not already had some other church business to attend to tonight. He assumed your brother would be looking after you as soon as he heard the news. But you should expect the bishop in the morning.”

“Danki.”

Even Blake could tell Abby was not happy about this news. She was not pleased that this bishop person knew her business.

“So, who is the bishop? Is he an elder of the church?” Blake asked.

Eli and Jonathan smiled at him. They looked at Abby. Everyone seemed to be holding back a laugh.

Except for Abigail. She turned, a sad frown under her big blue eyes. “The bishop is the leader of the Ordnung. The leader of the Amish church. He’s also my father.”

There was a second of silence over the room then the front door burst open like a bomb had blown it off its hinges. Little Stephen came running inside. He was pale and out of breath, and his hat was missing.

“What is it, Stephen?” his mother asked.

Her son ran into her arms, letting loose an onslaught of tears he’d bravely held back until that moment. He told his parents what had happened. Again, Blake couldn’t understand the Amish language. But he watched as the rest of the people in the room reacted grimly to the boy’s tale.

Whatever he said, it was not happy news. Several times they all looked at Abigail, who’d grown pale. As the boy finished, Abby put a hand to her head as if it ached worse than ever.

Eli stood and put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. He nodded to Jonathan, and the two men headed for the door.

“Is something wrong? Can I help?” Blake stood with the other men.

Eli turned back, his expression bleak. “Someone is in the stable. He grabbed little Stephen and told him to go back to the house. He told him to tell Miss Miller that he is watching.”

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