She must survive to testify…

The first exciting Amish Witness Protection thriller!

With a price on his witness’s head, US Marshal Jonathan Mast can think of only one place to hide Celeste Alexander—in the Amish community he left behind. As a computer expert, leading a life off the grid isn’t easy for Celeste. But will staying in Jonathan’s childhood home save her…and convince them a future together is worth fighting for?

MAGGIE K. BLACK is an award-winning journalist and romantic suspense author with an insatiable love of traveling the world. She has lived in the American South, Europe and the Middle East. She now makes her home in Canada with her history-teacher husband, their two beautiful girls and a small but mighty dog. Maggie enjoys connecting with her readers at maggiekblack.com.

Also by Maggie K. Black

Amish Witness Protection

Amish Hideout

True North Heroes

Undercover Holiday Fiancée

The Littlest Target

True North Bodyguards

Kidnapped at Christmas

Rescue at Cedar Lake

Protective Measures

Killer Assignment

Deadline

Silent Hunter

Headline: Murder

Christmas Blackout

Tactical Rescue

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Amish Hideout

Maggie K. Black

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09047-6

AMISH HIDEOUT

© 2018 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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“You can take the girl now, Marshal, but someone else is going to get her later. That’s just how the game’s played,” Mills shouted.

“What game?” Celeste shouted. “How did you know where I was? Why does Poindexter want me alive?”

“Get in the truck, Celeste,” Jonathan said. “Keep your head low. If bullets start flying, gun the engine and don’t stop driving until you reach a police station.”

He heard the scuff of her footsteps on the snow and the slam of the door closing.

Mills swung back. The gun rose in his hands. His finger flicked over the trigger. Jonathan dropped to one knee and fired, hearing Mills’s bullet fly past him a millisecond before his own bullet ripped through the air.

Jonathan leaped in the driver’s-side door as Celeste moved over to the passenger side to make room for him.

“Fasten your seat belt and hang on tight!” He glanced at Celeste. “It’s going to get rough...”

* * *

Amish Witness Protection

Amish Hideout by Maggie K. Black—January 2019

Amish Safe House by Debby Giusti—February 2019

Amish Haven by Dana R. Lynn—March 2019

Dear Reader,

About how much time a day do you spend on the internet? If I’m not careful, I can easily spend hours surfing the web until I end up feeling grumpy about just how much time I’ve wasted. But I’ve also made some amazing friends online and use the internet to stay connected to people I care about.

Some of the most wonderful people I’ve met online are fellow writers. I often get together with authors on Twitter to write together and keep each other motivated. There are fellow Harlequin authors like Anna Adams, who has written for Superromance and Heartwarming, and Danica Winters, who writes for Intrigue. There’s L. E. Wilson, who writes paranormal books and whom I finally got to meet in person while I was on vacation last year, and fledgling author Rachel Berros, who’s still awaiting her first sale. We even have authors join us from overseas, like Anne Marie Stamnestro in Oslo. I am very thankful for the encouragement and friendship they bring to my day.

Writing about Celeste and Jonathan really made me think about how I use technology, especially when it gets in the way of spending time with those I love. I hope you enjoyed this story and are able to find balance in your own life, whether you’re reading this in a paper book or an electronic reader. Thank you again to all the amazing readers who’ve gotten in touch through email and written letters. I really enjoy hearing from you!

You can find me on Twitter, @MaggieKBlack, or at www.maggiekblack.com.

Thank you all for sharing this journey with me,

Maggie

He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.

—Ecclesiastes 3:11

With thanks to my wonderful agent, Melissa Jeglinski, for her enthusiasm and support, and to my editor, Emily Rodmell, for entrusting me with this story and always pushing me to become a better author. Thanks also to Debby Giusti and Dana R. Lynn, who are writing the next two books in this series. I can’t wait to read them.

Finally, thank you to the friend who recently told me off for ignoring who I was with and texting at the dinner table. You were right. Thanks for helping me think about my relationships and how I use my phone in a new way.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Time was running out for Celeste Alexander. Her sneakered feet tapped on the floor beneath the desk. Her fingers flew over the keyboard so quickly it seemed more like a rapid dance than typing, knowing each keystroke could be her last before US Marshal Jonathan Mast arrived to escort her to her new life in the witness protection program. The early-morning sky lay dark over wintery Pennsylvania farmland outside the safe house window. She knew she should sleep. After all, she had no idea how long the journey ahead would be until she finally reached the small apartment in Pittsburgh that would be her new home for the months until she testified at Dexter Thomes’s trial.

It had been almost two weeks since an evil but genius computer hacker, who went by the online handle “Poindexter,” had stolen tens of millions of dollars out of the bank accounts of thousands of ordinary Americans in one of the largest bank heists in history, without even leaving his chair. But she’d found him and now he sat in a jail cell, thanks to a single curious thread that Celeste had started following online. When she’d gathered all the evidence she could, she’d tipped off the feds, and Dexter had been arrested. News had quickly spread through the online community that a self-employed computer programmer—a blonde, twenty-six-year-old woman, no less—had uncovered the true identity of the criminal the feds’ best minds hadn’t been able to find.

But the stolen money still hadn’t been recovered. The thought of letting a single one of those people wake up one more day with an empty bank account was unthinkable. Not while there was something she could do about it. She frowned. The battery was down to less than 10 percent and she’d forgotten the charging cable in the room upstairs where she’d slept last night.

“You gave her a laptop?” The voice of US Marshal Stacy Preston came sharply from somewhere behind her. “Please tell me you didn’t let her go online. The last thing we need is another misguided Poindexter fan trying to come after her and keep her from testif—”

“Really? You think I joined the service yesterday?” US Marshal Karl Adams shot back even before Stacy had finished her sentence. From what Celeste had seen, those two didn’t talk so much as volley sentences back and forth like some kind of verbal tennis match. “Of course not! She had a basic tablet with the internet capability disabled, and after scanning it for bugs, I let her borrow a keyboard.”

“And you didn’t think to check with me?”

“You were asleep!” Karl said. “Do you check every decision you make with me while you’re the one on lookout? It’s got zero internet capability. It’s not like I gave her a cell phone.”

Celeste gritted her teeth, blocked out the verbal sparring of the two US marshals in the room behind her and their sporadic walkie-talkie exchanges with the other marshals positioned around the remote property, and focused her eyes on the text streaming down the screen. Dexter might be in jail. But this would never truly be over. Not until the stolen money was found.

She breathed the prayer and kept typing, ignoring the red low-battery warning. Three days ago, she’d been seconds away from alerting the feds of her crazy suspicion that the unemployed college dropout she’d been digging into online was in fact Poindexter himself, when she’d felt what she thought was God prompting her to first download a complete backup copy of every line of code of his she could see. It had been the right move. By the time the feds broke down his door, Dexter’s machines had been wiped clean. But if the feds had found anything in the data she’d recovered, she hadn’t heard. Already she could see patterns in the data, though. Many sequences were eight or nine numbers long. Maybe phone numbers and social security numbers? If almost fifteen years of computer programing had taught her anything it was that nothing was ever truly random, no matter how it seemed. In the same way, there was always method and order in what God called her to do. At least, that was how she chose to see it and that was the hope she’d clung to when her apartment went up in a ball of flames.

She’d had no idea just how high a price she’d end up paying when Dexter had shot her a single flippant and cocky message on an online forum about Poindexter’s crime. She’d almost ignored it. The online world was a minefield filled with the kind of rude men who seemed to like insulting women for kicks. But something about the glowing way he’d referred to Poindexter in his posts made her suspect he was more than just an admirer of his. So, she’d figured out a way to track him down and followed the right lines of code to prove her hunch was right.

Finding him was the easy part. Getting over her own doubts had been harder. After all, she was a nobody—a freelance computer programmer living on her own in a tiny downtown Philadelphia apartment, taking on small projects while she looked for a full-time job and saved up her pennies to one day move out to the country and have a house of her own. The feds had promised her that she could remain anonymous. But even from behind bars, Dexter had other plans. Within hours of his arrest, her identity had been posted online and her entire nest egg had disappeared from her bank account. Two days later her apartment had exploded just as she’d been steps away from walking through the door. Now, less than twenty-four hours after losing everything but the clothes on her back and the contents of her purse, she sat in a Pennsylvania safe house, clinging to her belief that this was somehow still all part of God’s plan for her life.

The two US marshals behind her seemed to be fiddling with their walkie-talkies. Not that she could make out much of their actual words, just the clicks of them fiddling with the dials and switching channels, and a low murmur of concerned conversation.

“Is everything okay?” Celeste turned and looked over her shoulder, suddenly feeling very aware of her long blond hair as it brushed against her neck and shoulders. Would they make her cut it? Would they make her wear colored contacts to hide the natural green of her eyes? Would she ever be able to go back to writing computer code? Just how much about her life was going to change?

Stacy and Karl exchanged a glance. The pair had been the ones who’d picked her up from the Philadelphia police station and brought her here. Ginger-haired with a lazy grin, Karl’s more laid-back attitude had seemed to balance Stacy’s more focused approach, despite the fact the there was an odd tension between them, like cats with static electricity. Right now, both of them were frowning.

“Marshal Mast is running late,” Stacy said. She brushed her fingers along her temple and tucked a wisp of chestnut hair back into her tight French braid. “We haven’t been able to reach him. But at last check-in, Marshal Cormac, who’s patrolling the perimeter, reported that nothing seemed off.”

“Jonathan’s phone probably died.” A professional smile brushed Karl’s square-jawed face, and Celeste had the distinct impression he was doing it to be reassuring. “He’s technophobic, by the way. So whatever you’re working on, you’d better get it done before he gets here, because it’s possible he’ll make you give up the tablet.”

He couldn’t. Could he? She’d disabled its internet capability herself, and no one had touched it but her and the feds. It was as harmless as a piece of technology could be. The walkie-talkies crackled again. The marshals went back to talking in hushed whispers. She blocked them out, along with that old familiar nagging headache that always started in her temples before slowly spreading through her shoulders and arms until the very tips of her fingers seemed to ache. If US Marshal Jonathan Mast was technophobic, then she’d just have to outrace him and find where Dexter had hidden the money before he got there.

The battery died. She groaned. Well, that was that.

“You guys mind if I go upstairs and get my charging cable? The battery’s dead.”

The room went black. Then she heard the distant sound of gunfire erupting outside.

“Get Celeste away from the windows!” Karl shouted. “I’ll cover the front.”

What was happening? Lord, help us! Prayers and panic battled in her heart as she felt Stacy’s strong hand on her arm pulling her out of her chair and pushing her toward the hallway.

“Stay low and stay close,” Stacy said. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

“No, wait!” Celeste pulled away. “I need the tablet.”

The data had been scrubbed from the internet, and the feds were stumped. Leaving without it would mean giving up any hope of finding the money. Wrenching her arm from the marshal’s grasp, she reached up and grabbed the tablet, yanking it from the cord and stuffing it inside her sweatshirt.

“Come on!” Stacy shouted. “We have to hurry—”

Her voice was swallowed up in the sound of an explosion, expanding and roaring around them, shattering the windows, tossing Celeste backward and engulfing the living room in smoke. Celeste hit the floor, rolled and hit a door frame. She crawled through it, trying to get away from the smoke billowing behind her. Her eyes stung. The sound of gunfire grew louder. Stacy yelled something about gunmen in the yard. Karl’s voice sounded from the darkness telling Celeste to find cover. Her heart beat so hard in her chest she could barely move.

Dexter had found her. Somehow he’d found her in a witness protection safe house. And now he was going to kill her.

Suddenly a strong hand grabbed her out of the darkness, taking her by the arm and pulling her up to her feet so sharply she stumbled backward into a small room. The door closed behind them. She opened her mouth to scream, but a second hand clamped firmly but not unkindly over her mouth. A flashlight flickered on and she looked up through the smoky haze, past worn blue jeans and a leather jacket, to see the strong lines of a firm jaw trimmed with a black beard, a straight nose and, finally, deep and dark, serious eyes staring into hers.

“Celeste Alexander?” He flashed a badge. “I’m Marshal Jonathan Mast. Stay close. I’ll keep you safe.”

Huge green eyes looked up at him, framed with long dark lashes and wide with fear. Blond hair fell in thick waves around a heart-shaped face. A sweatshirt and faded jeans fell loose over her slender and unmistakably shapely form. He was thankful to see she was wearing shoes and clothes that she could run in. The panicked breath that brushed hot and fast against his palm began to slow. Something stirred deep inside his chest. This was Celeste Alexander? This was the brilliant computer expert that Dexter Thomes would seemingly stop at nothing to keep from testifying at his trial? Of course Jonathan had seen her picture when he’d read her file and picked up the basics: twenty-six, only child, orphaned in college, freelance computer programmer. But somehow it hadn’t prepared him for just how beautiful and vulnerable she’d seem.

Help me protect her, Gott.

A prayer crossed his heart so instinctively it shocked him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed for anyone or anything, let alone using the old Pennsylvania Dutch word for “God” from his Amish childhood faith. He and the God of his childhood had been on strict nonspeaking terms since he’d been eighteen, his mother had died and the pain of losing his mamm had made him realize he had to choose between the community he came from and the call to serve and protect as a cop. Somehow it had just welled up inside him, taking both his heart and mind by surprise.

He eased his hand away from Celeste’s lips. “Are you all right, Miss Alexander?”

“I’m okay, and please call me Celeste,” she said, taking a step back and shaking off his hand. Faint tears glittered in the corners of her eyes, and he suspected she was “okay” mostly because she’d decided to be. “Can I call you Jonathan?”

“Sure thing.” He nodded, appreciating her directness.

“How did you even know how to find me?” she asked. “I couldn’t see a thing.”

“I helped my dad evacuate a major barn fire when I was a child,” he said. “People and animals. Guess some of it stuck with me.”

He wasn’t sure why he’d told her that. His childhood was about as comfortable a conversation as his faith was. He’d loved everything about growing up plain except for the fact the Ordnung guidelines that ordered society made it clear that being Amish and a cop were incompatible. Not that he expected a city-dwelling computer programmer to feel anything but disdain or amusement at a life without technology. But, judging by the way her shoulders relaxed, it seemed to set her at ease. “Did everyone make it out alive? From the barn fire?”

“Yes, they did.” A slight and unexpected grin brushed his lips. “Even the barn cats. And I’m going to get you out of here alive and safely now. When did you get here?”

“Last night.” Those compelling eyes grew wider.

He frowned. He disliked informing a subject of too much of an operation, but the walkie-talkies were down and she had information he needed. Hopefully, she was as levelheaded as her file had led him to believe.

“On my way here I got an email from Marshal Karl Adams telling me that there was a change of plans and you weren’t arriving until tomorrow,” he said. The rise of her brows told him in an instant how right he’d been to suspect something was up. “It told me to turn around and go home. But I decided to proceed. As I got closer, I saw a black SUV parked by the road ahead and no one was answering the walkie-talkie. So I called for backup and hid my vehicle, then cut through the woods and came in through an underground tunnel entrance. How many hostiles have you seen?”

“None,” she said. “I just saw the explosion and heard gunfire. I was with Stacy and Karl in the living room and then the windows exploded. There was just so much smoke and gunfire I barely knew which way was up. We need to make sure they’re okay. I really don’t think Karl sent that email. He seems pretty straight up. They both do. I suspect someone hacked his email and also jammed the walkie-talkies.”

She was probably right about Karl. In fact, Karl’s casual openness about his Christian faith had the irritating habit of reminding Jonathan how much he missed his own.

“Well, if you can get me to the walkie-talkie jammer, I can disable it so you can be back in communication with your team.”

Her chin rose. He blinked. He was here to protect her. She was the one in danger and she was offering to help him?

“Agents Preston and Adams are well trained and dedicated, as are the other marshals on-site,” he said. Without a doubt they were all currently risking their lives to find and protect Celeste. “Contacting them and letting them know you’re all right will be my top priority, once I’ve got you to safety. Right now, all that matters is getting you out of here alive. Follow me and I’ll take you out the way I came in.”

He switched off the flashlight and waited for his eyes to adjust. One of the benefits of growing up plain was that he’d always known the darkness as a friend to be embraced and not an enemy to be combatted with a glare of electric lights. Sunrise was less than twenty minutes away. He needed to get her into his truck before then. He eased the door open a crack and listened. Gunfire sounded in intermittent bursts from somewhere else on the property. Smoke seeped down the hall, but he neither felt nor heard flames. It had been a small explosive device, he imagined, just intended to take out the front door and windows, making it easier to breach the building.

He steadied himself to lead her down the hall to freedom, but instead felt the furtive brush of her hand on his arm. “I need to go back to my room. It’s upstairs.”

“I’m sorry, there isn’t time.” He didn’t turn. “But there’s a bag of spare winter clothes hidden in the passage and more necessities in my truck.”

“But I need a charger for my tablet—”

“No, you don’t. You shouldn’t be on the grid at all.”

Again Jonathan readied himself to go. This time her hand tightened on his arm.

“I wasn’t planning on going ‘on the grid.’ I need to review some of Dexter Thomes’s data while completely off the grid, and until I can get my tablet charged, it’s dead.”

Something as strong as iron moved through her voice. Even in the dim light he could see the firm jut of her shoulders. He remembered looking at her file and wondered how anyone—let alone a well-meaning citizen—could possibly have the patience and determination to sit at a computer for eighteen hours chasing down a criminal hacker. Now he was beginning to see. “The feds have people chasing the money. All you need to focus on is staying alive long enough to testify.”

Gunfire erupted somewhere to their right. He could hear the voices of US marshals shouting. Sounded like hostiles were about to breach the house. Then he heard a familiar voice coming down the hall. He stepped through the door, keeping Celeste safely behind him.

“Karl!” he called, relief filling his chest as his eyes fell on the familiar form. “I have Celeste! I’m taking her out through the underground passage. I’ve called for backup and I’ll get in touch once we’re safe.”

“Thank You, God,” Karl prayed. He said, “You’re a sight for sore eyes. We have four hostiles on the perimeter. Stacy is holding down the front door. Communication’s down.” Gunfire grew louder. Stacy’s voice echoed through the darkness, calling for Karl. “Stay safe.”

“You, too.”

Karl turned and ran toward the front of the house. Jonathan reached for Celeste’s hand, enveloped it in his and ran down the hallway. They pushed through a door into a large country kitchen. He closed the door behind them, then glanced down at the woman whose small hand had slid so naturally into his. He dropped her hand, an odd heat rising to his face. Now why had he done that? They started across the kitchen floor toward the cellar. Suddenly the door behind them flew back. A thin man in a dark ski mask burst through with a gun in his grasp. Celeste screamed. The man set her in his sights and fired. But Jonathan had thrown himself between Celeste and the gunman before the bullet could meet its mark. They tumbled to the ground as he heard the bullet strike the wall behind them.

Jonathan rolled up to one knee and returned fire. The gunman fell back behind the door. “Celeste! Get behind the counter and stay low!”

Jonathan gritted his teeth and braced his hand against the wooden floorboards. There was no way to reach the cellar now, not without running straight into the line of fire. Even if they managed to make it, they’d tip the criminal off about where they were going and there’d be nothing to stop him from following. He’d spent the first eighteen years of his life in a huge country kitchen like this one and now he was going to die in one, trying to protect a woman he’d barely met and yet who had already managed to tug at strings he hadn’t even known he had. Another bullet flew through the kitchen door, shredding the corner of the countertop and sending wood chips flying. Suddenly he knew their way out.

“Celeste! There’s a pantry behind you. Crawl inside and wait for me there.”

“Got it!” She started crawling, and he followed, keeping low to the ground. They reached the pantry and slipped inside. He closed the door behind them and pushed a shelf against it.

“Now, stand back,” he said. She pressed her back against the wall, whispered words tumbling from her lips. The tension in his heart tightened to realize she was praying, and when he spoke again his voice felt oddly husky in his throat. “Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay. There’s more than one way into the cellar.”

He holstered his weapon, bent down and felt with his fingers along the floorboards. Then he pulled out his pocketknife and slid the blade between the head of one of the loosest nails and the well-worn wood. Within moments he’d worked it free. He moved on to the next. All he had to do was remove two boards and that should be enough for them to slip through. Voices shouted in the kitchen beyond them. Sounded like the gunman had been joined by a second. He worked the board loose and pried it back. Then he grabbed the one beside it and yanked it off, as well. A hole lay at their feet. It was a crude means of escape and once someone checked the pantry it would be clear where they’d gone, but hopefully it would buy them enough time to get a head start.

“I’m going to jump down now,” he said. “It’s only about eight feet. When I call you I need you to jump in after me and I’ll catch you. Okay? Trust me. I’ll keep you safe.”

He reached for her again. He felt her fingers slide between his and squeeze. Then he pulled away.

“Ready?” he asked. She nodded. He dropped through the hole and tumbled into darkness.

TWO

Celeste crouched by the hole and waited for Jonathan to give her the all clear. There was a scuffling sound beneath her like something falling. Then there was silence. The kitchen door slammed back on its hinges. Loud footsteps sounded as a second person stormed into the room.

“She ran in here!” It was a male voice, raspy and hoarse.

“And you opened fire?” A second male voice let out a string of swear words. This voice was cold and sharp, like the sound of a knife slicing through wood. “What are you doing? I need her alive!”

Alive. Something about that one simple word and the menace with which it was delivered made her limbs shake. She bent down lower, bracing her quaking hand against the wood, waiting for the sound of Jonathan’s words telling her it was safe to jump.

Lord, You’ve been my light and my guide no matter how rocky things got. Please guide me now.

“Where did she go?” The commanding voice was back.

“I don’t know!”

Then came the sharp beam of light swinging back and forth in the dim kitchen, sending sudden bursts of glaring white light shining through the gap between the door and the door frame, blinding her eyes for a moment before swinging around the kitchen again. She peered out through the tiny gap. The man who’d been shooting at them had rolled up his ski mask. Not much, but enough for her to see he was grizzled, probably in his early sixties, with the kind of broken nose that had been punched more than once and a scar down one side of his jaw, breaking up the gray-and-white stubble.

“Well, find her! I’m not paying for nothing!”

Paying? Who was this second man? Why did he need her alive? What did he think he was paying for?

“I’m ready for you! Time to jump.” Jonathan’s voice floated up through the hole.

She hesitated. She needed to see that man’s face. Just for a moment. She needed to know who was giving the instructions and who Dexter Thomes had sent after her.

“Come on!” Jonathan’s voice grew firmer. “We’ve got to go.”

She stretched her legs slowly, her hand inching up the door frame as she slowly got to her feet. She could see the man’s legs now, clad in jeans and a dark jacket. Shaggy brown hair fell around his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing any kind of mask, almost like he wanted his face to be seen.

Just one glance. That was all she needed. Just a little bit more data to complete the picture.

“Celeste!” Jonathan hissed. Urgency strained the marshal’s voice. “Hurry up!”

The figure turned. She recoiled, wondering for a moment if he’d somehow managed to hear Jonathan’s whisper above the ruckus of gunfire and shouting outside. The man’s eyes seemed to lock on her hiding place and suddenly she saw his face, with its shaggy beard, blue-tinted glasses and squinting eyes.

She stumbled backward. No... No, it couldn’t be.

He raised a finger, then started toward the cupboard. She took another step back. Her foot slipped and she fell. She bit her lip and barely kept from screaming as air rushed past her.

Then she felt the strength of Jonathan’s arms around her breaking her fall. She gasped a prayer of thanksgiving. Darkness filled her gaze. The smell of damp earth and old brick rushed in with each breath. For a moment silence fell, punctuated only by the sound of Jonathan’s ragged breath. “Are you all right? What happened?”

No, she wasn’t all right and she couldn’t begin to make sense of what she’d seen.

“Do you know if they saw where you went or where you were hiding?” he asked. But somehow her mouth couldn’t form words. It was like her brain was stuck on just one thought. Dexter Thomes. She’d seen Dexter... Jonathan’s hand brushed her elbow and steered her down the tunnel. “We’ve got to move. Come on.”

He marched her down the hallway. Her footsteps faltered beneath her.

It couldn’t be Dexter. He’d been arrested—he was behind bars awaiting trial, and if he’d escaped or been released someone would’ve told her. If he was on the run, would he actually be brazen enough to walk into a witness protection safe house without even covering his face? There was something chilling about the arrogance of a man who’d go by a moniker Poindexter that was so close to his own first name. But all of her research had shown he was an only child. He didn’t have a twin...

She opened her mouth, but no words came out, and, instead, a long shiver spread through her body.

“Don’t worry, I have a bag of warm clothes and supplies hidden up ahead,” Jonathan said.

Her limbs were shaking all right, but it wasn’t from the cold. She had to tell him what she’d seen. “Listen, after you jumped through the hole in floor, I heard the gunfire stop and two men talking. I listened to what they were saying and tried to get a look at them—”

“That’s not your job,” he said. “Your job is staying alive, and when I give you an instruction, I expect you to follow it. Now come on.”

“Wait, it’s important...”

“Tell me later. When we’re out of this tunnel and somewhere safe.”

Yes, but if it really was Dexter in the kitchen and he came after them, shouldn’t Jonathan arrest him? Shouldn’t someone do something?

“Wait, I think it was Dexter!” If he heard her, he gave no indication, and he was propelling her at such a brisk walk that she was almost jogging to keep up with his long stride. “He said he wanted me alive.”

“It doesn’t matter if Dexter sent him or not.” His pace didn’t even falter. “All that matters is that I’m going to keep you safe.”

She nearly growled. Was he always this pigheadedly focused? She stopped so short he seemed to barely catch himself from tripping over her. “No, listen, I mean, I think it was literally Dexter Thomes. I just saw Dexter Thomes—Poindexter himself—or a very good lookalike standing in the kitchen, barking orders and talking about taking me alive.”

Jonathan felt his mouth open and shut like a trout. He wasn’t used to being caught off guard and didn’t much like it. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s impossible. Dexter Thomes is in jail. I don’t know how you could even tell in the ski mask.”

“He wasn’t wearing one and the other man pulled his up while they were talking.” Even in the dim light he could tell her arms had crossed. “And I’m telling you that either Dexter, or a doppelgänger who looks remarkably a lot like him, is barking orders upstairs.”

Right. Well, he didn’t know what that meant, but thankfully it didn’t sound like anyone was coming down the tunnel after them, at least for now. Had they not checked the cupboard? Had they been distracted by something?

“I know Dexter Thomes better than anyone,” she continued. “I did my homework before reporting him to the feds. He’s an only child. He doesn’t have a sibling or a twin. He shouldn’t be out on parole...”

Her words paused as his hand brushed her shoulder. “I hear what you’re saying and as soon as we’re safe and clear I’m going to call my boss, Chief Deputy Louise Hunter, for an update and I’ll tell her what you said.”

“I want to tell her myself.”

“Fine.” He hadn’t expected someone who sat behind a computer all day to be quite so driven and tenacious. “Now we need to keep moving.”

He pulled a flashlight from his belt and switched it on. His eyes didn’t exactly need the light to see and it ran the risk of alerting anyone who was following them, but for now they seemed to be alone. Celeste was clearly rattled, and he had a hunch it would make her more comfortable. He swung the beam over the old red-and-orange brick walls and then tilted it down to illuminate the path ahead of their feet. He started jogging again, fast enough to keep moving but not so fast he couldn’t detect any danger ahead. She kept pace.

“You said it didn’t matter if he wanted me dead or alive,” she said, after a long moment. “But of course it matters. When you’re analyzing data you can’t ignore anything. Not the fact he wanted me alive. Not the fact one of them looked exactly like Dexter Thomes and the other like a sixty-something criminal enforcer.”

Wow, she didn’t let up, did she? Her legs might be struggling to keep up with his long strides, but that was nothing compared to what she was doing to his brain. “So, you heard a man who looked like Dexter Thomes tell a violent thug in his sixties that he wanted you alive?”

“Correct.”

“And I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter what he said.”

“How can you say it doesn’t matter?”

“Because who’s to say he was telling the truth?” His voice rose, and he winced as he heard it echo off the tunnel walls. Thankfully, it seemed they weren’t being followed, because if the flashlight hadn’t alerted them the sound of their voices would have. “He’s a criminal! He might’ve said he was going to keep you alive and then kill you anyway. You can’t predict what a monster like that is going to do.”

“Dexter Thomes isn’t a monster—he’s a man,” Celeste argued. “A very smart, evil and cunning man who spent years planning his heist. Everything he does matters. Even the fact that either he didn’t check the cupboard to see if I was in there, or he saw the hole and decided not to come down after me.” Huh. So she’d noticed that, too. “My life is staring at tiny pieces of code and lines of text, looking for the patterns. That’s how I found him and that’s how I’m going to find the money he stole. That’s who I am. I’m a computer programmer.”

Something almost like understanding flickered in the corner of his mind, but he didn’t let it take root. A chill brushed his skin. Cold air was seeping in from somewhere. Was the door to the entrance open?

“And I’m a US marshal with the Federal Witness Protection Program,” he said. “I place witnesses into new lives and keep them safe. Maybe one day you’ll go back to being a computer programmer again, but right now, you’re a witness. Now, we need to stop talking, and if anything happens stay behind me.”

His footsteps slowed. He needed to figure out where the cold was coming from. Celeste fell into step beside him and he had the unexpected and ridiculous urge to slide his arm around her shoulder. Instead, he switched off his flashlight, keeping one hand on it and the other on his holstered weapon. Their feet moved without making a sound. He’d never minded quiet. In fact, he preferred it over noise. But there was nothing comfortable or peaceful about the bubble of silence that surrounded Celeste. She was on edge and uneasy. It was like her mind was a whirling machine, spinning and turning so quickly her entire body radiated tension. His hand twitched with the desire to brush his fingers reassuringly across her shoulder blades and tell her that she had nothing to worry about, because he was here and he would keep her safe.

Faint and pale light trickled through from the end of the tunnel.

“Stay here,” he said. “As close to the wall as you can get. I mean it. Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Got it! I’ll stay right here with my back against the wall.” Her voice was almost defiant, then suddenly her tone dropped and he felt a hand brush his arm. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I didn’t mean to make your job any harder that it already is.”

He swallowed. “It’s okay. It can’t be easy to go from being a folk hero to thousands of people to taking orders from someone like me. Now, wait here. I’ll be back in a second.”

He pulled away from her and walked slowly and carefully down to the end of the tunnel. Something lay across the doorway. His heart stopped.

It was the body of a US marshal.

THREE

“Stand back!” Jonathan’s voice echoed down the tunnel ahead of her. Celeste’s heart pounded hard in her chest as she heard the worry moving through his deep voice.

Dear Lord, was I wrong to stay up above in the kitchen and listen? Did I really see who I thought I saw? What can I do? How can I help? I feel so helpless.

She’d felt almost fearless days ago when she was sitting in her living room, alone with her laptop searching for Poindexter. She’d never expected to be able to find him. Not really. She’d just started pulling one thread that led to another thread and then another, until they reached deeper and deeper into Poindexter’s online web to the man in the center of it all. But no, she hadn’t felt like a hero. She hadn’t even figured out where he’d hid the money. Besides, all she’d been doing was using her talent to the best of her ability and counting on God to guide her.

“What’s going on?” she called.

At first there was no sound except the beat of her own heart. Then she heard a deep, long sigh moving through the darkness.

“Hang on one second,” Jonathan said. “There’s a body here. It’s another marshal by the look of it. I need a moment to check it out and also do a visual sweep for any hostiles. I need you to stay there and don’t move until I give you the all clear. Please confirm that you’ve heard me.”

“I’ve heard you,” she said. She pressed her back against the wall, feeling the cold of the bricks seep into her limbs. She wasn’t cut out for this. She didn’t hide in dark tunnels. In fact, she rarely even left her little rented apartment in the city, not that she didn’t love the thought of country living. In fact, thanks to the internet she’d been able to shop for handmade clothes and blankets from self-employed seamstresses, handmade soaps from home-based artisans and order everything imaginable—from fresh vegetables grown on farms outside the city to homemade soups to cheeses, breads and even pies. Before someone working for Dexter had emptied her bank account and wrecked her credit, she’d been saving up for years to buy an actual house of her own, somewhere outside the city, where grass and trees would fill her view from the window beside her desk instead of buildings and buses. She’d lost all of that; she was trapped. She pressed her hands to her eyes to keep sudden tears at bay.

Lord, I know I should trust You have a plan in all this. I’ve trusted You to guide me this far. I need to believe You won’t abandon me now.

Then she heard Jonathan’s voice again, deep, comforting and as solid as steel.

“Celeste? A US marshal has been shot and killed. His name was Rod Cormac. He was a good man. My guess is he was shot at a distance and tried to make it to the safe house to warn the rest of the team before he died. He didn’t look like he was followed. Now I need you to come to me, nice and slow.”

She took a step forward and saw them. Jonathan 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. He shoved a hat down hard over his head and wrapped a scarf around his face. Then he gunned the engine. The truck shot out of the woods and straight across the road, swerving to a stop behind Celeste so that the driver’s side door was directly behind her.

She spun back, her eyes wide. Her hand rose to her lips.

The gun-wielding showman jumped back in shock with a shout that turned into a nervous laugh. “Whoa! Lee, you getting this? Make sure you’re getting this!”

Jonathan unholstered his weapon. Disgust whelmed up inside him. These criminals were threatening Celeste at gunpoint and treating it as some kind of game, when a good man had just died protecting her. He leaped from the truck and raised his gun high with both hands. “Celeste! Get behind me!”

She ran for him, darting behind him so quickly she nearly slid and fell. Miller turned back.

“Who are you?” Miller shouted. Jonathan didn’t answer. No, he wasn’t about to announce who he was and flash his badge on camera until he found out what exactly they were caught up in. For now, being undercover suited him just fine. Miller jabbed the air with the barrel of his gun. “Look, I don’t want trouble. I just want the hacker girl. Let me take her and go.”

His voice shook. There was a whole lot of nervousness hiding behind the bravado, and desperation, too. Not that it made anyone safer. A determined and reckless amateur was every bit as dangerous as a professional.

“That’s not going to happen,” Jonathan shouted. “Put the gun down.”

Miller waited a long moment, eyeing him as if weighing invisible options. Jonathan stared him down and didn’t blink. The US marshal had no doubt what would happen if it came to a shoot-out, but still he was going to do anything in his power to stop it from happening. He could still remember vividly what it was like to fire a gun for the first time. For a young man coming from an Amish background, there’d been something so foreign about it. Now, as his eyesight narrowed, his shoulders relaxed and his fingers prepared to fire, it was as comfortable as if the weapon was an extension of him. He just prayed that today wouldn’t be the first day he took a life in the line of duty.

“Whatever, man!” Miller threw his hands up like an exaggerated shrug. “You win this round. I don’t care. I’m just in it for the money, and Lee here’s just got us probably a grand’s worth of footage. Poindexter’s got everyone with dark web access and the willingness to step up and make a few bucks out looking for her. So, you can take her now, but someone else is going to take her back from you later. That’s just how the game’s played.”

“What game?” Celeste’s voice came from behind Jonathan. “Tell me! How did you know where I was? Why does Poindexter want me taken alive?”

Miller didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back toward the car, gun still dangling from his fingers as he had a quick word with Lee outside of Jonathan’s earshot.

“Get in the truck,” Jonathan said without turning. “Keep your head low. The keys are in the ignition. If bullets start flying, gun the engine and don’t stop driving until you reach a police station.”

Please, Celeste, don’t argue with me. He heard the scuffle of her footsteps on the snow and the slam of the door closing. Thank You, Gott!

Miller nodded to Lee. Then he swung back. The gun rose in his hands. His finger flicked over the trigger. Jonathan dropped to one knee and fired, hearing Miller’s bullet fly past him into the trees a millisecond before his own bullet ripped through the arm now pointing a gun at him. Miller dropped the gun, grabbing his arm and collapsing to the ground as a scream flew from his lips. Lee turned his camera phone toward his writhing partner.

Jonathan bounded into the driver’s side as Celeste moved over to the passenger side to make room for him. He holstered his weapon, shut the door and slammed his seat belt on in one seamless move.

“Fasten your seat belt and hang on tight!” He glanced at Celeste. “It’s going to get rough.”

FOUR

He heard her seat belt click. Jonathan’s truck surged backward, coming within a foot of hitting Miller before swerving sharply off the road to get around the criminals’ car. For a split second the entire scene played out before him in a glance. A howling and angry young man was down on the ground beside the car. Another bullet ripped from his gun that once again failed to meet its mark. The second young man bounded from the car and ran toward Miller, filming the scene with his phone as he did, and somehow Jonathan’s eyes managed to meet his and hold them for a split second. They were devoid of emotion. This wasn’t personal. It was just a payday for whatever criminal found her first. How was he supposed to protect Celeste against that?

Then he threw the truck into Drive.

“Hold on!” he shouted. “We’re about to spin!”

He hit the gas and yanked the steering wheel hard to the right. The truck spun. Its wheels skimmed over the ice. He waited until the final moment, and tapped the breaks and yanked the wheel back. The truck righted. They sped forward, down the road as trees and the early-dawn sky flew past them in a blur of white, pale purples and grays. Gunshots faded in the distance. The sun crept over the edge of the horizon. He pulled off the scarf and hat, then glanced at Celeste. “Are you okay?”

Her smile was weak, but she seemed to be giving it her best shot. “That was some driving. Guessing you must’ve been tearing up the streets when you were a teenager.”

He shifted his gaze to the windshield ahead. The road spread ahead of him in an endless line of white. “Actually, I didn’t get my license until I was twenty.”

Before then it had just been horses driving the family buggy. It was funny. As a teenager, he couldn’t wait to get behind the wheel of a car and drive. But when he had, he’d been surprised how impersonal it felt. It didn’t listen or respond. It was just a machine, like any other.

“Speaking of vehicles, our first stop is going to be switching this truck out for another one,” he said. “I do use the other truck when I can because it drives better. But the fact Lee was recording all that makes it more important that we do. Then it’s about a five-hour drive to the new safe house, which, as I believe you know, is set in an apartment complex in the suburb of Pittsburgh. We’ll stop for breakfast in about an hour, but there are some granola bars, apples and bottles of water in the cooler behind your seat. I’ve got to call my supervisor and let her know where we’re at.”

He reached for his earpiece, clipped it to his ear and turned on his phone. Celeste’s fingers brushed his arm.

“Wait, aren’t we first going to talk about what happened?” she asked.

He sat back. “I don’t know what went wrong, how those criminals found you or what they’re really after. Clearly, someone’s out to get you and trolling to rope in any criminal element they can find, from people with tactical weapons and smoke bombs, to idiots with cell phones. Hopefully, talking to my supervisor will help.”

He dialed the number.

“Louise Hunter.” His supervisor’s voice came on the line, crisp and clear. He had no idea how old Chief Deputy Hunter was, but both the streaks of gray in her jet-black hair and the stories she told led him to believe she was probably hovering somewhere on either side of sixty. She was the kind of woman who’d been married to the same man for forty years, had fourteen grandchildren and a career that spanned countless escaped convicts, national manhunts and hundreds of lives saved.

Jonathan gave her a heads-up that Celeste was sitting beside him in the truck and then filled her in on Rod Cormac’s death and the ambush at the safe house. As much as he hated briefing his boss in front of the person he was assigned to protect, time was of the essence and there weren’t that many options. Then she confirmed what he’d feared—this was the first update she’d received about the situation at the safe house since he himself had called for backup before going to find Celeste. Communications were still down at the farm. He could only hope Stacy and Karl were okay.

“Rod was a dedicated marshal,” Hunter said. “He’ll be deeply missed.” There was a pause, long enough to let him know she felt the sudden loss every bit as hard as he did. “Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to confirm anything about the situation or the safety of the other marshals on-site. But we have a team currently moving into formation. I will make sure you are updated as soon as we have more information. How is Miss Alexander doing?”

Jonathan glanced over at Celeste. Her head was turned away from him. The morning rays caught her golden hair.

“Miss Alexander is safe and well. She was thankfully unharmed and has come through her ordeal with remarkable resilience,” he said. Was remarkable too strong a word? Perhaps. But it was true. “She’d like to speak to you personally about the man she saw in the safe house. She said he looked like Dexter Thomes.”

“I’d like to speak to her, as well,” said Hunter.

He reached to turn off his earpiece, then paused. “Are we certain that Dexter Thomes is still behind bars?”

“Last I heard,” she said. “But I will be confirming that immediately.”

“Thank you.” He kept one hand on the steering wheel. With the other he switched off the earpiece and then he held out the phone toward his passenger. “Celeste, my supervisor, Chief Deputy Louise Hunter, would like to speak to you. I’ve switched off my earpiece, so her voice should come through the phone’s speaker now. But if not, I’m sure you know how to change that in the settings.”

“Thank you.” Her fingers brushed his, just briefly, as he handed her the phone and he felt something like electricity rush through him.

What was it about this woman that had this strange impact on him? Her file had been thin. Her parents had died when she’d been just nineteen, and had no siblings and no significant romantic entanglements. She’d taught herself programming in elementary school and won several computer, electronic and robotic awards in high school and university. She’d started getting a master’s degree but had to drop out for financial reasons and had made her own way as a self-employed computer programmer after having been turned down for way too many tech jobs that she was clearly overqualified for.

Brilliant and attractive, not to mention tenacious, it was no wonder he was attracted to her. He could rationalize that much at least. But, even if circumstances had been different, she deserved better than a man like him who, when faced with a choice between the career he felt called to and his own family and Amish heritage, had walked away and chosen work because the call on his heart to serve his country had been too loud for him to ignore.

Yes, he’d been eighteen, Mamm had just died, his older bruder and only sibling had told him he had to make a choice, and his pa had never been someone he’d felt like he could talk to. But it had been his choice and one he could never undo. He shuddered to think what a woman who had no family would ever think of a man who’d walked away from his.

He took a deep breath, pushed aside the unwanted thoughts and listened as she talked to Hunter. Truth was, he wasn’t sure what to expect. After all, she’d been pretty stubborn back at the safe house and dug her heels in pretty hard. To his surprise she was crisp, polite and thorough, going through exactly what she’d heard and seen without any embellishments or exaggerations.

“The man I saw looked exactly like Dexter Thomes,” she told Hunter, “even though my vantage point was obscured by smoke and low light. Clearly, if Dexter is still in prison, he must be a doppelgänger, but the similarity was uncanny. I researched everything I could find about Dexter Thomes before I contacted the feds and told them my suspicions he was Poindexter. His mother is deceased, his father is not listed on his birth certificate and he has no known siblings. If he had a secret twin I should’ve uncovered it.”

The women exchanged a few more words, and he noticed Celeste made a point of asking his boss to please let them know when the safe house had been secured and if the other marshals were all right. Then she handed the phone to Jonathan. He switched his earpiece back on.

“I’d like you to take her to the central Pennsylvania safe house outside of Altoona for one night,” Hunter said, “while we do another sweep of the Pittsburgh apartment and also confirm that Dexter Thomes is really still behind bars. Barring any unforeseen difficulties, she can move into the Pittsburgh apartment tomorrow.”

“Understood,” he nodded, feeling the lines of a frown wrinkle his forehead. The plan would add extra travel time and delay the start of her new identity and life. Not to mention the diversion would take them right through Amish country and painfully close to the family farm he’d left behind. He thanked his boss and they ended the call.

“Everything okay?” Celeste asked.

“I hope so,” he said. “She’ll keep us posted. We’re going to take a brief detour to another safe house for one night and then head on to your new apartment in Pittsburgh tomorrow.” He paused. Worry hovered in the depths of her eyes. “I have faith that Stacy and Karl will be okay. They’re very good agents. They know what they’re doing. And don’t worry. We’ll be at the temporary safe house later today, and if all goes well you’ll be in your new life tomorrow.”

They lapsed into silence as the truck drove through the winter morning. The sun rose higher. They passed farms with rolling fields and empty roadside wooden fruit and vegetable stands that reminded him of those his mother had expected him and his brother, Amos, to help out with during the summer.

“Did you grow up in the city or the country?” Celeste asked after a pause so long he wondered if she’d fallen asleep.

He guessed she was trying to change the subject away from Dexter, the fallen marshal and what had happened at the farmhouse. He was thankful for it. He pressed his lips together for a long moment and debated how to answer. He didn’t talk about his past for a very good reason. Most people knew nothing about the Amish, and the last thing he wanted was to listen to someone else’s uninformed opinion about the world he’d grown up in or answer questions about why he’d left. But maybe Celeste wasn’t like most people. “The country.”

“I always wanted to live in the country,” she said. “I don’t know why, but even though I’m a born-and-bred city girl, I always felt like something—God, maybe—was calling me to live in the country. When I was little, my parents used to rent this summer house, surrounded by nothing but trees and fields. I loved it. Then my parents both got cancer and we couldn’t afford it anymore. There were a lot of medical bills. I always told myself that one day I’d save enough to buy my own place outside the city, but Dexter Thomes took all that.” She looked up at him. “You know he stole all my money, too, after I turned him in? Took out multiple loans in my name, stole my identity and utterly destroyed my credit.”

He didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“At least I knew the risk I was taking. I chose to hunt him down and tell the feds what I found. I put myself in his crosshairs. All the other people who had their life savings, college funds and retirement nest eggs stolen didn’t do anything. They just woke up one day to find their lives ruined. I just wish I’d found where he hid the money.” Her hands clenched into tight fists on her lap. “Not to mention it looks like he’s now using his stolen money to pay criminals to come after me.”

Instinctively, his hand reached out and brushed her arm. Her muscles were so tense she might as well have been carved from stone. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe no matter how many criminals he throws at you.”

Something fierce flashed in the depths of her eyes. “And who’s going to stop the next Rod Cormac from dying? Or get those people their money back?”

He didn’t have an answer to that. Then again, he wasn’t sure she was expecting one. After a while, he saw her eyes close and her lips move in silent prayer. He found prayer filing his own core, too.

God, I don’t reckon You and I are on speaking terms. But, please be with Rod’s family and friends right now. Comfort them in their sadness. Please, may no one else die because of Dexter and his crimes. And be there for Celeste, too. Help me keep her safe, protect her from anyone who would want to hurt her and make her dreams for the future still come true.

He’d seen the size of the new apartment he’d be moving her into tomorrow, and it was a long way away from a house in the country. He could still remember the day he’d stopped believing that God called anyone to anything. He’d been eight and had excitedly told his brother, Amos, who was then seventeen, that God had called him to be a cop. And Amos had told him that it wasn’t God—it was his own stubborn willfulness, because he couldn’t be both a cop and Amish.

He turned off the small rural highway onto a larger one. After a while, a large, expansive truck stop came into view. It was teeming with vehicles and several big chain restaurants. He pulled to a stop in a row in the back beside the big blue pickup. He cut the engine. “Now we grab our stuff, switch vehicles and get back on the road.”

They hopped out of the black truck and into the blue one, after he’d done a complete sweep of the vehicle for tracking devices or anything so much as a speck of dust out of place. Thankfully, it was clean. A moment later they were weaving their way back through the crowded parking lot.

The smell of doughnuts and coffee wafted toward them. Normally he’d have taken her in to grab a quick bite before hitting the road again. It was easy to be anonymous in a crowd, and there was no way any criminal organization could have eyes on every single rest stop of the highway, even if they happened to either figure out or guess what direction they were headed. After all, WITSEC expected their marshals to spend just a couple of weeks with witnesses helping them integrate safely into a community and letting them know where to reach help before leaving them to live their new lives. Starting over safely was the goal—not spending the rest of their lives hiding behind a closed door.

Still, something about this particular case and this particular witness gave him pause. If Dexter Thomes had been able to find a WITSEC safe house, was it possible he’d be able to find her in Pittsburgh? It wasn’t like hunkering down behind her computer screen and cutting off all contact with the outside world was going to be an option for Celeste. Hunter had been very clear the plan to ensure her safety involved keeping her off-line. Yes, they’d stop for food, and he’d use that opportunity to introduce her to the idea of watching her own back when he wasn’t going to be there. His gut told him to find somewhere much smaller and more remote. Fortunately, he knew just the place.

Suddenly her fingers grabbed his arm and squeezed so tightly he almost winced.

“We need to go—now.” She pointed with the other hand out the window at what looked like a remote-controlled helicopter hovering behind them. “Because I think we’re being watched by that drone.”

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