off when he realized he had opened mouth, inserted foot. Fox had turned on the charm with Zach’s sister. Married her. Then showed his true self when it was too late. “I’m sorry. I know this is personal for you.”
Zach ignored the last comment. That was the only way he got through each day. The only way he was able to do his job. Each day he did his best to catch the bad guys, something he did in memory of his little sister. But he had yet to find a way to do his job and not be haunted by the horrific scene in which she died.
He was successful in shutting down the dark thoughts maybe 20 percent of the time, at most. Despite helping other people, he’d never get past failing the one person who had spent her entire life looking up to him.
I’m sorry, Jill.
“Brian Fox’s on the run.” His boss got back to the facts.
“Any idea where he’s headed?”
“His first wife moved to Quail Hollow about nine months ago. She’s renovating an old house. Word is she’s opening a bed-and-breakfast.”
“She’s here in Quail Hollow?” Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t the first time Zach had wondered how a guy like Fox landed not one, but two wives. “Does Fox know where she is?”
“Not sure. But his cellmate said he’s fixated on her. Blamed her for putting him in prison.”
“Great. The jerk kills my sister and he blames his first wife for his imprisonment. What a delusional idiot.”
“About that vacation...” his boss said, a hint of hesitancy in his voice.
“I’m officially off vacation.”
“I need you to track down his ex-wife. Put her in protective custody until we have Fox back behind bars.”
“Give me her info.”
Dave rattled off an address for the woman. “Listen, we couldn’t find a phone number, but we found her current address from a public real estate transaction. Fox could do the same thing.”
“Well—” Zach sighed “—Heather Miller hid for ten years from this guy. She only came out of hiding to testify against him in my sister’s murder case. I owe her.”
“Keep your head on straight. If it gets too personal, I’ll send someone else in.”
Zach gritted his teeth. “I’m already here.”
“I know. That’s why I called. Besides, they have every law enforcement agency in Western New York tracking Fox. I can’t spare another person. Stay cool. And I’ll let you know as soon as we have him in custody. It shouldn’t be long. And let me know when you make contact with Miss Miller.”
“Will do.” He ended the call and grabbed the car keys from the table. So much for rest and relaxation.
* * *
A crack of lightning illuminated the night sky in the distance. The stillness felt electric. A sense of expectation hung in the air. Swallowing around a knot of emotion, Heather Miller adjusted the plain roller shade on the bedroom window. A light breeze blew in from the cracked window and with it a mist of rain and the scent of country air.
Her mammy had lived out her life in this home, looking out this same window at the barn and the seasons that cycled through tall rows of corn and barren land. How had her mammy been able to look at that barn every morning and night? The dilapidated structure hunkered in the shadows, a silent reminder of a tragic event that had changed the course of all their lives. Back then, could her mammy, Mariam Lapp, ever have predicted that her descendants would be living as outsiders, defying their Amish roots?
Heather had been six years old when her father slipped out of town with his three young daughters in their long dresses and bonnets. That was the last time she had seen this house, her mammy and her Amish wardrobe. Their father had stopped at a superstore outside of town and purchased his daughters cheap sneakers and Englisch clothes and they’d never looked back.
The memories of that day were both disjointed and etched in her memory. The bright white sneakers. Her first pair of jeans. The colorful unicorn on her T-shirt.
Her heartbroken father had taken what was left of his family and carved a life for them in the outside world. Leaving the Amish was one of a handful of events that had shaped Heather into the woman she was today.
Today was yet another milestone. A happy one.
Heather was back in Quail Hollow, an Englischer, planning to run a bed-and-breakfast for all the tourists interested in seeing the Amish countryside. The inheritance had come as a surprise and Heather hoped her grandmother wouldn’t mind that her eldest granddaughter had opened her home to the outside world in this way.
Heather was excited by the possibilities. She had come a long way since she had fallen for a charmer when she was only nineteen. Now she was making a second—no, a third—go at life in a place that held her roots, yet she’d never felt more free.
She would learn to live in the moment and let go of the past.
Moving away from the window, Heather flipped back the covers and climbed into bed. She pulled up the hand-stitched quilt passed down to her through generations. She was exhausted but feared she wouldn’t sleep. Without a TV or Wi-Fi, her options for wasting time were limited to reading and her eyes were too tired for that. Besides, she needed to try to rest. She had another long day ahead of her. The house still needed work before opening weekend in a couple weeks. Just in time for the peak autumn colors. She had hoped to remain in her nearby apartment until renovations were completed, but time and money had run out.
Just as she settled her head on the pillow, a thunderclap made her jump and the resulting rumble vibrated through the walls of her new home. A whoosh of wind rustled the oak tree on her front lawn. A vague memory whispered across her brain. Had her father brought her back here to play on a tire swing hanging from its limbs? Or was that a memory from before their family moved out of the home they shared with their mammy? Her mother had been an only child, a rarity in the Amish community, and she and her husband had moved into the home with Mariam to start their family. When Heather’s mother died and her father left Quail Hollow, her mammy had been left alone in this big house.
Heather closed her eyes and imagined the wind blowing through her long flowing hair—free from the constraints of a tight Amish bun—as she pumped her legs on the swing. Despite the vivid memory, or maybe it was a dream, her father claimed he had never gone back to Quail Hollow. He couldn’t face the tragic past. Heather forgave her father that. His wife—Heather’s mem—had been murdered by a stranger passing through town, or so they suspected. No one was ever arrested. Every corner, every face, every waking moment in Quail Hollow had reminded him of all he had lost.
All they had lost.
Heather threw back the quilt, climbed out of the bed and was drawn again to the window. Thick drops of rain pelted the glass and screen. She pushed down on the frame and it slid with a loud screech, making the hairs on her arms stand on edge. A shadow in the distance, near the rows of corn, caught her attention. She blinked rapidly. It was gone.
Am I imagining things?
Heart racing in her chest, she flattened herself against the wall, careful to stay out of view.
An
