CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PROLOGUE
Eight years earlier
The moon peered down between dark, billowing clouds and cast the Amish farmhouse in shadows. Rebecca Miller stepped from her car onto the one-lane, dirt road she knew so well and shivered in the frosty night air.
Leaving two years earlier had sealed her fate. She would not be welcomed nor accepted back unless—and until—she asked forgiveness. Something she could never do.
If only her father had believed her. Perhaps then, she would have remained in Harmony, Alabama, and spent the rest of her life wrapped in the familiar embrace of the Amish way.
Instead she had created a new future for herself in the military. Seemingly a drastic shift from the peace-loving community of her childhood, but then too many ignored what Rebecca knew so well. Evil existed even among the Amish.
After driving straight through from Fort Campbell, Kentucky, her legs were stiff and her shoulders tense.
Cautiously she climbed the front steps, her breath clouding the air. She shivered, anticipating her father’s icy stare and quick rejection.
Her sister’s words replayed in her memory. I fear for my life.
Rebecca tapped ever so lightly on the unlatched door. An even more chilling shiver snaked up her spine.
“Katie,” she whispered, pushing the door open.
An acrid stench wafted past her before she saw her father and the dark circle of blood pooling on the wooden floor beneath his chest. The cloying scent of copper clogged her throat and sent a jab of fear deep into her heart.
“Datt?” Without thought, she slipped back to her Amish past.
He lay on the hand-hewn floorboards his bearded face pale and drawn, life ebbing from his glassy eyes. Trying to assess which of the many stab wounds to stanch, Becca dropped to her knees and touched his outstretched hand.
Her father’s eyes widened ever so slightly.
“Who was it?” she whispered, knowing even before he answered.
“Ja-Jacob,” he stammered, ignoring the ban that forbid him from speaking to his daughter.
A shuffle sounded overhead.
Rebecca’s breath hitched. “He’s here?”
“Yah.”
An unseen sword pierced her soul, the pain so intense she gasped for air. “Katie?”
He pointed to the pantry. “Go,” he demanded, with a flick of his hand.
Recalling the times she and her younger sister had playfully hidden in the adjoining alcove, Becca hastened toward the pantry and inched the door open.
Her heart stopped.
Katie sat slumped against the wall, eyes open, face contorted in terror. Blood spilled from the gaping wound that sliced through her gut.
“No!” she moaned ever so softly.
Rebecca bit her fisted hand, unable to see anything except her sister’s lifeless gaze. Guilt overwhelmed her. If she hadn’t left, Katie would still be alive.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs and warned of his approach. Rebecca scurried back to the kitchen. Her father’s head lay slack against his arm. She leaned down to touch his neck, feeling nothing except his soft flesh and prickly beard.
No pulse. No life.
A floorboard groaned on the landing. Close. Too close.
“Goodbye, Datt,” she whispered.
Rebecca opened the door and slipped into the darkness. Once at her car, she glanced back.
Jacob appeared in the farmhouse doorway.
She could see the outline of his face, his beard, his lips snarling as he stared into the night.
“Who’s there?” His eyes found her in the shadows.
He raised his fist in the air. “You cannot run from me, Rebecca. I will find you. When I do, you will die.”
ONE
Eight years later
Run faster!
He was behind her, gaining speed.
The raspy pull of air in and out of his lungs grew louder, signaling his approach.
At any moment, she expected his work-worn hand to grab her shoulder and send her crashing onto the asphalt roadway.
How had he found her?
For the last eight years, she’d been stationed overseas. Three deployments to the Middle East, a twenty-four-month tour in Korea and a three-year assignment in Germany, all far from Harmony, Alabama, and her past.
She smelled his stench, an evil mix of hay and sweat.
“Becca,” he whispered in her ear.
She gasped for air, woke from her nightmare, clawed at the sheets and blinked her eyes open, searching the darkness of her bachelor officer’s quarters.
Sitting up in bed, she threw the covers aside and stepped onto the floor, the tiles cool to her bare feet. She shook her head in an attempt to scatter the dream that came too often.
She was at Fort Rickman, Georgia, not the Amish community where she had grown up.
Reality check. She had run away from Jacob Yoder eight years earlier. Supposedly he had died later that night after killing her father and sister.
Unnerved by the nightmare, Becca grabbed her holstered, service weapon off the nightstand and stumbled
