AMISH COUNTRY REFUGE

Colleen Brennan has one goal—take down her sister’s killer. But chasing after evidence leaves her in the path of a tornado and stranded in an Amish community. With the killer nearby, Colleen must depend on the kindness of Special Agent Frank Gallagher. Although the army officer is recuperating from a battlefield injury, he wants to help the beautiful woman he rescued from the tornado’s fury. He can tell she’s hiding something important. But getting her to reveal her secrets may be his most dangerous mission ever.

Military Investigations: Serving their country and solving crimes

Ice froze Frank’s veins.

He jerked open the fire door and stumbled into the hallway.

“Colleen,” he screamed, racing back to her.

Hurling himself into the trauma room, he expected the worst.

She sat crumpled on the floor, her face twisted with fear.

“Frank,” she gasped with relief. Tears sprang from her eyes.

He was on his knees at her side, reaching for her. She collapsed into his arms. He pulled her trembling body close, feeling her warmth. Hot tears dampened his neck.

She was alive. Relief swept over him. A lump of gratitude filled his throat. He hadn’t lost her. Not this time, but he hadn’t reacted fast enough. She’d almost died because of his inability to protect her.

He rubbed his hand over her slender shoulders. “Shh. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

For now. But someone wanted to kill her. Whether she had been working with Trey or against him, he was determined to end her life.

DEBBY GIUSTI is an award-winning Christian author who met and married her military husband at Fort Knox, Kentucky. Together they traveled the world, raised three wonderful children and have now settled in Atlanta, Georgia, where Debby spins tales of mystery and suspense that touch the heart and soul. Visit Debby online at debbygiusti.com; blog with her at seekerville.blogspot.com and craftieladiesofromance.blogspot.com; and email her at Debby@DebbyGiusti.com.

Stranded

Debby Giusti

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Greater love hath no man than this,

that a man lay down his life for his friends.

—John 15:13

This book is dedicated to Frank Forth,

a member of the Greatest Generation who fought in the Battle of the Bulge.

Thank you, Frank, for your service, your love and your support.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Praise

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, Colleen Brennan shoved a wayward lock of red hair behind her ear with the other and glanced, yet again, at the rearview mirror to ensure she hadn’t been followed. She had left Atlanta two hours ago and had been looking over her shoulder ever since.

Her stomach knotted as she turned her focus to the storm clouds overhead. The rapidly deteriorating weather was a threat she hadn’t expected.

“Doppler radar...storms that caused damage in Montgomery earlier today...moving into Georgia.”

Adjusting the volume on her car radio, she leaned closer to the dashboard, hoping to hear the weather report over the squawk of static.

“Hail...gusting winds. Conditions ideal for tornadoes. Everyone in the listening area is cautioned to be watchful.”

The darkening sky and gusting winds added concern to her heavily burdened heart. She didn’t like driving on remote Georgia roads with an encroaching storm, but she had an appointment to keep with Vivian Davis. The army wife had promised to provide evidence that would convince the authorities Trey Howard was involved in an illegal drug operation.

Hot tears burned Colleen’s eyes. She was still raw from her sister’s overdose and death on drugs Trey had trafficked. If only Colleen had been less focused on her flight-attendant career and more tuned in to her sister’s needs, she might have responded to Briana’s call for help.

Colleen had vowed to stop Trey lest he entice other young women to follow in her sister’s footsteps. If the Atlanta police continued to turn a blind eye to his South American operation, Colleen would find someone at the federal level who would respond to what she knew to be true.

Needing evidence to substantiate her claims, she had photographed documents in Trey’s office and had taken a memory card that had come from one of the digital cameras he used in his photography business, a business that provided a legitimate cover for his illegal operation.

She sighed with frustration. How could the Atlanta PD ignore evidence that proved Trey’s involvement? Yet, they had done just that, and when she’d phoned to follow up on the information she’d submitted, they’d made it sound as if she was the drug smuggler instead of Trey.

Despite her protests, the cop with whom she’d dealt had mentioned a photograph mailed to the narcotics unit anonymously. The picture indicated Colleen’s participation in the trafficking operation she was trying to pin on Trey.

Foolishly, she had allowed him to photograph her with a couple of his friends. A seemingly innocent pose, except those so-called friends must have been part of the drug racket. From what she’d learned about Trey over the past few months, he’d probably altered the photo of her to include evidence of possession and then mailed it to the police.

Too often he’d boasted of being well connected with law enforcement. Evidently, he’d been telling the truth. In hindsight, she realized the cop had probably been on the take.

She wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. No matter how much she wanted Trey behind bars, she couldn’t trust anyone involved in law enforcement at the local level. For all she knew, they were all receiving kickbacks.

Later tonight, after returning to the motel in Atlanta where Colleen had been holed up and hiding out, she would overnight copies of everything she had secreted from Trey’s office, along with whatever evidence Vivian could provide, to the Drug Enforcement Administration’s Atlanta office. Surely Trey didn’t have influence with the federal DEA agents, although after the pointed questions she’d fielded following her sister’s death, Colleen didn’t have a warm spot in her heart for cops at any level.

Glancing at her GPS, she anticipated the upcoming turn into a roadside picnic park. Vivian had insisted they meet in the country, far from where the army wife lived at Fort Rickman and the neighboring town of Freemont, Georgia.

Colleen glanced again at her rearview mirror, relieved that hers was the only vehicle on the road. Vivian was right. Meeting away from Freemont and Fort Rickman had been a good decision. Except for the storm that threatened to add an unexpected complication to an already dangerous situation.

Turning into the picnic park, Colleen spotted a car. A woman sat at the wheel. Braking to a stop next to the sedan, Colleen grabbed her purse off the seat and threw it in the rear. Then stretching across the console, she opened the passenger door, all the while keeping the motor running.

Clutching a leather shoulder bag in one hand and a cell phone in the other, Vivian stepped from her car and slipped into the front seat. She was as tall as Colleen’s five feet seven inches, but with a pixie haircut that framed her alabaster skin and full mouth, which made her appear even more slender in person than in the photographs Colleen had seen on Facebook.

Fear flashed from eyes that flicked around the car and the surrounding roadside park.

“Were you followed?” Vivian nervously fingered her purse and then dropped it at her feet.

“I doubled back a few times and didn’t see anyone.” Colleen pointed to the thick woods surrounding the off-road setting. “No one will find us here, Vivian. You’re safe.”

Rain started to ping against the roof of the car. Colleen turned on the wipers.

“I don’t feel safe.” Vivian bit her chipped nails and slumped lower in the seat. “And I’m not even sure I should trust you.”

“I told you we’ll work together.”

“What if my husband finds out?”

Colleen understood the woman’s concern. “He was deployed. You were depressed, not yourself. If you’re honest with him, he’ll understand.”

“He won’t understand why his wife accepted an all-expense-paid trip to a Colombian resort while he was deployed to a war zone. He also won’t understand how I got involved with Trey Howard.”

Colleen’s sister had been as naive as Vivian. Briana had been used and abused by the drug dealer, which made Colleen realize how easily Vivian could have been taken in by Trey.

“My sister made the same mistake. Two other women did, as well. That’s why I contacted you. You still have a chance to escape.”

Vivian glanced out the window. “My husband has orders for Fort Hood. We’re moving in three weeks.” She raked her hand through her short hair. “I’ll be okay, unless the cops find out I smuggled drugs into the country.”

“I’ll mail whatever evidence you brought today to the DEA without mentioning your name or mine. They won’t be able to trace anything back to either of us.” Colleen rubbed her hand reassuringly over the young woman’s shoulder. “Besides, you didn’t know what was in the package Trey had you bring into the US for him.”

“I knew enough not to ask questions, which means I could end up in jail.” Vivian shrugged away from Colleen and reached for the door handle. “I made a mistake meeting you.”

“Vivian, please.” Colleen grabbed the young woman’s arm before she stepped from the car.

A shot rang out.

Vivian clutched her side and fell onto the seat.

Colleen’s heart stopped. She glanced into the woods, seeing movement. A man stood partially hidden in the underbrush, a raised rifle in his hands.

Trey.

A car was parked nearby. She couldn’t make out the make or model.

“Stay down,” Colleen warned. Leaning across the console and around Vivian, she pulled the passenger door closed.

Another shot. A rear window shattered.

Vivian screamed.

Fear clawed at Colleen’s throat. She threw the car into gear and floored the accelerator. The wheels squealed in protest as they left the roadside park.

A weight settled on Colleen’s chest. Struggling to catch her breath, she gripped the steering wheel white-knuckled and focused on the two-lane country road that stretched before them.

“He tried to kill me,” Vivian gasped. Tears filled her eyes.

Colleen glanced at the hole in the window and the spray of glass that covered the rear seat. “He tried to kill both of us.”

She should have known Trey would follow her. He loved fast cars, and no matter what he was driving today, her Honda Civic couldn’t outrun his vehicle of choice.

Hot tears burned her eyes. “Our only chance is to find a place to hide and hope Trey thinks we continued north toward the interstate.”

He’d eventually realize his mistake and double back to search for them. By then, they would have left the area by another route.

“I’m scared,” Vivian groaned.

Refusing to give voice to her own fear, Colleen focused on their most immediate problem. “What’s near here that could offer shelter? We need to stow the car out of sight.”

“An Amish community.” Vivian pointed to the upcoming intersection. “Turn left. Then take the next right. There’s a small shop. An old barn sits in the rear. It’s usually empty when I drive by.”

Colleen followed the younger woman’s directions, all the while checking the rearview mirror.

Vivian glanced over her shoulder. “If he catches us, he’ll kill us.”

“Not if we hole up in the barn. He won’t look for us there.”

The army wife pointed to the upcoming intersection. “Turn right. Then crest the hill. The Amish store is on the other side of the rise.”

Colleen’s stomach tightened with determination. She turned at the intersection and kept the accelerator floored until the car bounded over the hill.

The rain intensified. Squinting through the downpour, she spied the Amish store. One-story, wooden frame, large wraparound porch. Just as Vivian had said, a barn stood at the side of the shop.

Colleen took the turn too sharply. The tires squealed in protest. A gravel path led to the barn. The car bounced over the rough terrain.

She glanced at the road they had just traveled. Trey’s car hadn’t crested the hill. Relieved, Colleen drove into the barn. Before the engine died, she leaped from the car and pulled the doors closed, casting them in semidarkness.

Outside, wind howled. Rain pounded against the wooden structure.

“Help me.” Vivian’s voice.

Colleen raced around the car and opened the passenger door. The woman’s face was pale as death. Blood soaked her clothing. For the first time, Colleen saw the gaping hole in Vivian’s side.

Removing her own coat, Colleen rolled it into a ball and pressed it onto the wound to stem the flow of blood. Holding it tight with her left hand, she reached for her cell and tapped in 9-1-1.

Before the call could go through, a ferocious roar, both powerful and insistent, gathered momentum, like a freight train on a collision course with the barn. Even without seeing the funnel cloud, Colleen knew a tornado was headed straight for them.

The barn shook. Hay fell from the overhead loft. The noise grew louder. Colleen’s ears popped.

Swirling wind enveloped them. Clods of Georgia clay and shards of splintered wood sprayed through the air like shrapnel.

She threw herself over Vivian, protecting her. God help us, Colleen prayed as the tornado hit, and the barn crashed down around them.

* * *

“Frank,” Evelyn screamed from the kitchen. “There’s a tornado.”

Startled by the tremor in his sister’s voice, Frank Gallagher pulled back the living room curtain. His heart slammed against his chest at what he saw. A huge, swirling funnel cloud was headed straight for her house.

“Get to the basement, Evie.”

Her sluggish footsteps sounded from the kitchen as she threw open the cellar door and cautiously descended into the darkness below. Injured in a car accident some years earlier, Evelyn’s gait was slow and labored, like a person older than her 42 years.

“Duke?” Frank called. The German shepherd, a retired military working dog, appeared at his side.

“Heel.” Together, they followed Evelyn down the steep steps.

An antique oak desk sat in the corner and offered additional protection. Frank hurried her forward.

“Get under the desk, Evie.”

A deafening roar enveloped them. Frank glanced through the small basement window. His gut tightened.

Debris sailed through the air ahead of the mass of swirling wind bearing down on them.

His heart stalled, and for one long moment, he was back in Afghanistan. The explosion. The flying debris. The building shattering around him.

Trapped under the rubble, he had gasped for air. The smell of death returned to fill his nostrils. Only he had lived.

Duke whined.

“Frank,” Evelyn screamed over the incessant roar. She grabbed his arm and jerked him down next to her.

Frank motioned for Duke to lie beside them. The thunderous wail drowned out his sister’s frantic prayers. All he heard was the howling wind, like a madman gone berserk, as chilling as incoming mortar rounds.

He tensed, anticipating the hit, and choked on the acrid bile that clogged his throat. Tightening his grip on his sister’s outstretched hand, Frank opened his heart, ever so slightly, to the Lord.

Save Evie. The prayer came from deep inside, from a place he’d sealed off since the IED explosion had changed his life forever. Just that quickly the raging wind died, and the roar subsided.

Frank expelled the breath he’d been holding.

Evelyn moaned with relief. “Thank you, God.”

Crawling from under the desk, he helped his sister to her feet and then glanced through the window. Mounds of tree limbs, twisted like matchsticks, littered the yard. At least the house had been spared.

He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. No bars. No coverage.

Evelyn reached for the older landline phone on the desk. “I’ve got a dial tone.”

“Call 911. Let them know the area along Amish Road was hit and to send everything available. Then phone the Criminal Investigation Division on post. Talk to Colby Voss. Tell him the Amish need help.”

“Colby would tell you to stay put, Frank. You’re still on convalescent leave.”

Ignoring her concern for his well-being, Frank patted his leg for Duke to follow him upstairs.

Another close call. Was God trying to get his attention? A verse from scripture floated through his mind, Come back to me.

In the kitchen, Frank yanked his CID jacket from the closet and grabbed leather work gloves he kept nearby. Pushing through the back door, he stopped short and pulled in a sharp breath at what he saw—a different kind of war zone from what he’d experienced in Afghanistan, but equally as devastating.

The tornado had left a trail of destruction that had narrowly missed his sister’s house. He searched for the Amish farmhouses that stretched along the horizon. Few had been spared. Most were broken piles of rubble, as if a giant had crushed them underfoot.

A sickening dread spread over him. The noise earlier had been deafening. Now an eerie quiet filled the late Georgia afternoon. No time to lament. People could be trapped in the wreckage.

“Come on, boy.” Frank quickly picked his way among the broken branches and headed for the path that led through the woods. He ignored the ache in his hip, a reminder of the IED explosion and the building that had collapsed on top of him. Thankfully, a team of orthopedic surgeons had gotten him back on his feet. A fractured pelvis, broken ribs and a cracked femur had been insignificant compared with those who hadn’t made it out alive.

Still weak from the infection that had been a life-threatening complication following surgery, Frank pushed forward, knowing others needed help. Skirting areas where the tornado had twisted giant trees like pickup sticks, he checked his cell en route and shook his head with regret at the lack of coverage.

At the foot of the hill, he donned his leather work gloves and raced toward the Amish Craft Shoppe. A brother and sister in their teens usually manned the store.

“Call out if you can hear me,” he shouted as he threw aside boards scattered across the walkway leading to the front porch. “Where are you?” he demanded. “Answer me.”

Duke sniffed at his side.

“Can you hear me?” he called again and again. The lack of response made him fear the worst and drove him to dig through the fallen timbers even more frantically.

An Amish man and woman tumbled from a farmhouse across the street. Their home had lost its roof and a supporting side wall.

The bearded man wore a blue shirt and dark trousers, held up with suspenders. Dirt smudged his face and his cheek was scraped.

“The store was closed today,” he shouted, waving his hands to get Frank’s attention. “The youth are at a neighboring farm.”

“You’re sure?” Frank was unwilling to give up the search if anyone was still inside.

The man glanced at the woman wearing a typical Amish dress and apron.

“Jah, that is right,” she said, nodding in agreement.

“What about your family?” Frank called. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Thanks to God, we are unharmed, but our neighbors are in need.” The man pointed to the next farmhouse and the gaping hole where the wall and roof had been. He and his wife ran to offer aid.

Before Frank could follow, he glanced at the nearby barn. The corner of one wall remained standing, precariously poised over a pile of rubble. At that moment, the cloud cover broke, and the sun’s reflection bounced off a piece of metal buried in the wreckage.

Something chrome, like the bumper of a car. The Amish didn’t drive automobiles, but a traveler passing by could have been seeking shelter from the storm.

He raced to the barn and dug through the debris. “Shout if you can hear me.”

A woman moaned.

“Where are you?” Frank strained to hear more.

All too well, he knew the terror of being buried. His heart lodged in his throat as the memories of Afghanistan played through his mind.

Duke pawed at a pile of timber, his nose sniffing the broken beams and fractured wood.

He barked.

“Help.”

Working like a madman, Frank tossed aside boards piled one upon the other until he uncovered a portion of the car. The passenger door hung open. Shoving fallen beams aside, he leaned into the vehicle’s interior.

A woman stared up at him.

“Are you hurt?”

She didn’t respond.

Hematoma on her left temple. Cuts and abrasions. She was probably in shock.

“Can you move your hands and feet?”

She nodded.

“Stay put, ma’am, until the EMTs arrive. You could have internal injuries.”

She reached for his hand and struggled to untangle herself from the wreckage.

“You shouldn’t move, ma’am.”

“I need help.” She was determined to crawl from the car.

“Take it slow.” Frank had no choice but to assist her to her feet. She was tall and slender with untamed hair the color of autumn leaves. She teetered for a moment and then stepped into his arms.

He clutched her close and warmed to her embrace. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“But—”

She glanced over her shoulder. He followed her gaze, his eyes focusing on a second woman.

Black hair. Ashen face. A bloodstained jacket lay wadded in a ball at her waist.

Pulling back the covering, Frank groaned. Her injury hadn’t been caused by the storm.

She’d taken a bullet to the gut.

TWO

Where were the emergency response teams?

Police, fire, EMTs?

Frank removed his belt and wove it under the victim’s slender waist. Determined to keep her alive, he cinched the makeshift tourniquet around the rolled-up jacket to maintain pressure and hopefully stop the flow of precious blood she was losing much too fast.

He glanced at the redhead hovering nearby. She looked as concerned as he felt. They both knew that without immediate medical help, the injured woman wouldn’t survive.

“If you’ve got a cell, call 911.”

She pulled a phone from her pocket and shook her head. “There...there’s no coverage.”

The gunshot victim needed an ambulance and needed it fast. Frustration bubbled up within him. After ten years with the US Army’s Criminal Investigation Division, Frank didn’t like the only conclusion he could make with the information at hand.

“Why’d you shoot her, ma’am?”

Red shook her head, her eyes wide. “I did no such thing.”

He pointed to the demolished car. “This is your Honda?”

She nodded.

“How’d she end up in your car?”

“I...I stopped at the picnic park about a mile from here. She needed help. I opened the passenger door, and a shot rang out.”

“Did you see the shooter?”

Red rubbed the swollen lump on her forehead. “I...I don’t remember.”

“Don’t remember or don’t want to remember?” Even he heard the annoyance in his voice.

The woman stared at him, her face blank. Maybe she was telling the truth.

“What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Colleen...Colleen Brennan.”

“You’re from around here?”

“Atlanta.”

Which didn’t make sense. “But you just happened to pull into a nearby picnic park?”

Her green eyes flashed with fear.

Trauma played havoc with emotions and memory. Frank wanted to believe her, but he knew too well that the pretty woman with the tangled hair could be making up a story to throw him off track.

Duke sniffed at her leg. She reached down and patted his head.

A raspy pull of air forced Frank’s attention back to the gunshot victim. She moaned.

Sirens sounded in the distance.

He leaned into the car. “Stay with us, ma’am. Help’s on the way.” Hopefully it would arrive in time.

Her glassy eyes focused on Colleen. Frank turned to stare at her.

The redhead blanched. The lump on her temple cried for ice, and the scrapes to her cheek and hands needed debridement.

“After your friend’s treated, we’ll have the EMTs take a look at you.”

“I’m fine.” Colleen’s voice was lifeless.

Slipping past her, he waved his arms in the air at the approaching first responders. Two ambulances and a fire truck from one of the rural fire stations.

The emergency crew pulled in front of the Craft Shoppe. Frank motioned them closer to the barn, where they parked and jumped from their vehicles.

“Two women are injured.” Frank pointed to the collapsed structure. “One with a bullet wound to her gut. She’s lost blood. The other woman has a knot the size of a lemon on her forehead and could be in shock.”

Hauling medical bags and a backboard, a pair of EMTs waded through the collapsed wreckage around the car. A second set of paramedics set up an emergency triage area near the second ambulance.

“We’ll need you to step away from the car, ma’am,” one of the EMTs told Colleen.

Her brow furrowed. She peered around them at Frank.

Seeing the confusion in her gaze, his anger softened. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “They’re here to help.”

Despite the niggling worry that Colleen Brennan may have been involved in the shooting, he reached for her. “Come toward me, and we’ll get out of their way.”

She offered him her hand. Her skin was soft, but clammy, which wasn’t good.

“Let’s see if someone can check your forehead.”

She shook her head. “Vivian’s the one who needs help.”

“You know her name?” Although surprised by the revelation, Frank kept his voice low and calm. “What’s her last name?”

“I...I don’t remember.” Colleen pulled her hand from his grasp. “We were trying to get away—”

She hesitated.

“Away from—” he prompted.

“A man. He was in the woods. Tall. Dark jacket. Hood over his head. He had a rifle.”

“Did you see a car?”

She shook her head. “Not that I remember.”

Selective memory or a partial amnesia brought on by trauma?

“Come with me.” Frank ushered Colleen to the triage site. Duke followed close behind.

A pair of EMTs helped her onto a gurney pushed against the side of the ambulance. One man cleaned her hands and face and treated the scratches on her arms while the other took her vitals, checked her pupils and then applied an ice pack to the lump on her forehead.

“You’ve got a slight concussion, but you don’t need hospitalization,” he said. “Is there anyone who can check on you through the night?”

She shook her head. “I...I live alone.”

“In Atlanta,” Frank volunteered.

An Amish man stumbled toward the ambulance. Blood darkened his beard. The EMTs hurried to help him.

“You’ll spend the night here in the Freemont area,” Frank told Colleen. Before she could object, he pointed to the one-story brick ranch visible in the distance. “My sister, Evelyn, owns the house on top of the knoll. There’s an extra room. You can stay with her.”

“I...I need to get back to Atlanta.”

“From the looks of your car, travel anytime soon seems unlikely. Downed trees are blocking some of the roadways and won’t be cleared until morning.”

“Is there a bus station?”

“In town, but you need to talk to law enforcement first.”

The downward slope of her mouth and the dark shadows under her eyes gave him concern. She looked fragile and ready to break.

“I...I don’t know your name,” she stammered.

“It’s Frank Gallagher, and the dog’s Duke.”

Her face softened for a moment as Duke licked her hand, then she glanced back at Frank.

“You’re a farmer?”

He shook his head. “I’m an army guy. CID.”

Seeing her confusion, he explained, “Criminal Investigation Division. We handle felony crimes for the military.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re a cop?”

He shrugged. “More like a detective. What about you?”

“Flight attendant.”

“Hartsfield?”

She nodded, indicating the Atlanta airport.

One of the EMTs returned and pulled a bottle of water from a cooler. “I want you to sit up, ma’am, and drink some water. I’ll check on you again in a few minutes.”

Frank pointed to the nearby fire truck. “You relax while Duke and I talk to the guys from the fire department.”

Rounding the ambulance, Frank glanced at the road. A line of first responders and Good Samaritan townspeople had arrived to help in the rescue effort. The scene farther south was probably the same, with people flocking to the area in hopes of aiding those in need.

Glancing back at Colleen, he was relieved to see she had closed her eyes and was resting her head against the side of the ambulance.

Static played over the fire truck’s emergency radio. A tall, slender guy in his midtwenties stood nearby. He wore a navy blue shirt with the Freemont Fire Department logo and a name tag that read Daugherty.

His face brightened when he saw Duke.

“Nice dog.”

“Daugherty, can you can patch me through to the local police?”

“No problem, sir.”

Once Frank got through to the dispatcher, he explained about the gunshot victim. “Colleen Brennan was the driver of the vehicle. She’ll be staying overnight at Evelyn Gallagher’s house.” He provided the address.

“Everyone’s tied up with the rescue operation,” the dispatcher explained. “I’ll pass on the information, but be patient.”

After disconnecting, he requested a second call to Fort Rickman.

“Did you want to contact the military police?” Daugherty asked.

“That works.”

He connected Frank to the provost marshal’s office. After providing his name, Frank requested all available military help be sent to the Amish area.

“Roger that, sir. I believe we’ve already received a request for aid, but I’ll notify the Emergency Operations Center, just in case. They’ll pass the information on to General Cameron.”

“Any damage on post?”

“A twister touched down. Some of the barracks in the training area were in the storm’s path. No loss of life reported thus far. The chaplain said God was watching out for us.”

Frank wasn’t sure he’d give God the credit. If the Lord protected some, why were others in the storm’s path? “What about Freemont?”

“We’ve got some spotty reports. A trailer park on the outskirts of town was hit with some injuries. A few shops downtown and a number of the old three-story brick buildings on the waterfront.”

“The abandoned warehouses?”

“That’s correct. We’re awaiting more details from the local authorities. The information I received is that Allen Quincy is heading the civilian relief effort.”

“The mayor?”

“Yes, sir. He’s asked for our help. We’ve called in all personnel. I’ll pass on the information about the Amish area.”

“Let the Red Cross and medical personnel know, as well.”

“I’m on it, sir.”

“Do you have landline access?” Frank asked.

“To main post only.”

“See if you can contact CID Headquarters. Ask for Special Agent Colby Voss. Tell him Special Agent Frank Gallagher is at the Craft Shoppe, located at the northern end of Amish Road. We’re going to need him.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Colby’s wife, Becca, had been raised Amish. She knew the area and the local Amish bishop, but Becca was on temporary duty out of the state so Colby was the next best choice.

He and Frank had joined the CID years earlier and had served together before. Frank could attest to Colby’s ability both as an investigator and diplomat.

The Amish were a tight community and preferred to take care of their own. After the tornado, they needed help. Colby might be able to bridge the gap between the Amish and their English neighbors.

Frank thanked Daugherty for the use of his radio. He and Duke returned to the ambulance in time to hear the EMT reassure Colleen.

“Looks like dehydration was the problem, ma’am,” he told her. “Your vitals are better so you’re good to go.”

“What about that lump on her forehead?” Frank asked.

“She should be okay, especially if someone checks on her through the night.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Colleen insisted as she hopped down from the gurney.

Frank reached out a hand to steady her. She held on to him for a long moment and then nodded her thanks. “I’m okay.”

“Ma’am, you need to take it easy for the next day or two,” the EMT cautioned.

“And the gunshot victim?” Frank asked, his gaze flicking to the other ambulance.

“They’re preparing to transport her to the hospital at Fort Rickman, sir.”

“Not the civilian facility in Freemont?”

“She was conscious long enough to give her last name. Her husband is a sergeant on post. Sergeant Drew Davis.”

Frank didn’t recognize the name, but if Vivian was an army spouse, the CID would be involved in the investigation. With the Freemont police working hard on the storm-relief effort, the military might take the lead on the case.

Tonight, everyone would focus on search and rescue. By morning both the Freemont cops and the military law enforcement would have more time to question Colleen. Until then, Frank would keep her under watch.

Too many things didn’t add up. In spite of being on convalescent leave, Frank needed to learn the truth about how a military wife with a gunshot wound had ended up in Colleen’s car.

* * *

Colleen tried to ignore the pointed stare of the CID agent who had dug her from the rubble. His deep-set eyes and gaunt face were troubling and cut her to the core. In fact, the only redeeming quality about the guy was his dog.

She rubbed her temple, hoping to drive away the pounding headache that had come with the storm. Her memory was fuzzy at best, and she had difficulty recalling some of the most basic information, especially pertaining to Vivian. Without thinking, she’d left her purse in her car along with the memory card.

A pickup truck pulled to a stop in the triage area. The driver, a middle-aged farmer wearing bib overalls and a baseball cap, rolled down his window and nodded to the EMT.

“We found a guy hunkered down in a ditch just over that ridge.” The farmer pointed to the rise in the roadway. “His sports car was destroyed, but he survived, although he’s scraped up a bit. Face could have been in worse shape if he hadn’t been wearing a sweatshirt. Looks like the hood protected him. A guy with an SUV is bringing him your way.”

Hooded sweatshirt. Colleen’s heart jammed in her throat. Trey had a sporty BMW, although she hadn’t seen which of his many cars he was driving today.

If he was the injured man, Colleen had to get out of sight. She’d come back later for the things she’d left behind.

A gold SUV headed down the hill.

Her stomach fluttered. She turned and started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” Frank called after her.

To hide.

What could she tell him? Think. Think.

Her stalled brain refused to work. Searching for an answer, she glanced at the house on the knoll.

“I’m taking you up on that invitation to stay with your sister.” Even she heard the tremble in her voice.

Frank raised his brow. Surely he wouldn’t rescind the offer?

Her pulse throbbed and sweat dampened her back.

The SUV drew closer.

Colleen waved Frank off. “Stay here and help with the rescue operation. I can find my way up the hill.”

She lowered her head, wrapped her arms around her waist and started along the path with determined steps. Keeping her back to the approaching car, she was grateful for the descending twilight and the shadows cast from the tall pines. The path wound along the roadway for a short distance and then burrowed deeper into the woods.

If only she could reach the denser underbrush before the SUV got too close. She couldn’t let Trey see her.

Flicking a quick glance over her shoulder, she recognized the firm set of Trey’s jaw and the bulk of his shoulders as the car pulled to a stop.

No mistaking the man riding shotgun.

At that moment, he glanced up.

Ice froze her veins. Her heart slammed against her chest. If Trey recognized her, he would track her down. Not only did Colleen have incriminating photos, but she had also witnessed him shoot Vivian in cold blood.

She increased her pace and darted along the path.

“Wait, Colleen.”

The military CID agent ran after her, along with his dog.

Stay away from me, she wanted to scream, but reason won out. She needed Frank. She was stranded without a car with a killer on the loose. She needed the security of his sister’s house and his protection throughout the night.

Later, she’d return to the wreckage and retrieve her purse and the memory card. Tomorrow, she’d catch the bus to Atlanta. From there, she’d hop a flight for the West Coast and disappear from sight. She’d leave Trey behind along with the special agent who didn’t understand what she was trying to hide.

* * *

Frank wondered at Colleen’s rush to get away, but then, he wasn’t the best at reading women. Case in point Audrey, who said she’d wait for him. The memory still burned like fire.

“Wait up, Colleen.”

Frank ran after her. His hip ached, and his breathing was tighter than he’d like.

Before the IED, he’d never questioned his strength. Now he had to weigh everything in light of his physical stamina.

Drawing closer, he grabbed her arm.

She turned troubled eyes filled with accusation. “Let me go.”

Releasing his hold, he held up both hands, palm out. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She glanced through the bramble to the triage area, where a cluster of rescue workers gathered. “I’m still shaky.”

An understatement for sure. “You’ve been through a lot today. The temperature’s dropped since the storm. You must be cold.”

“A little.”

He shrugged out of his windbreaker and wrapped it around her shoulders. “This should help.”

“What about you?”

“Not a problem.” He pointed to the path. “Let’s keep going while there’s still some light.”

“Are you sure your sister won’t mind taking in a stray?”

He almost smiled. “She welcomed me a few weeks back with open arms. If I had to guess, I’d say she’d enjoy having another woman in the house. She claims I get a bit snarky at times.”

“I’m sure she loves your company.”

“She loves Duke.”

Colleen almost smiled. “Who wouldn’t?” She patted his head, and he wagged his tail, enjoying the attention.

“You’ve got brothers?” Frank asked, hoping to learn more about the reclusive flight attendant.

She faltered. Her face darkened. “One sister. She passed away four months ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Watch your step.” Frank pointed to an area littered with rocks. Taking her arm, he supported her up the steep incline.

“Thanks,” she said when they reached the top.

Stopping to catch her breath, she glanced over her shoulder. Frank followed her gaze. Darkness had settled over the small valley, but headlights from the response vehicles and flashing lights from law enforcement cut through the night.

A number of Amish buggies were on the street. Lights from additional rescue vehicles appeared in the distance. Frank needed to get Colleen settled and then return to the triage area and wait for personnel from post to arrive.

If anything good came from the tornado, it was the wake-up call that Frank had been lingering too long, nursing his wounds. He didn’t want to appear weak. Not to the military or the other CID agents. Most especially not to himself.

Colleen turned back to Evelyn’s house and paused for a long moment. Perhaps she was as unsettled about moving forward as he was. Frank could relate.

But that wouldn’t change the problem at hand. He needed to learn more about Colleen Brennan and the gunshot victim. Why were they on the run, and who was after them?

THREE

Some of Colleen’s nervous anxiety eased when Frank opened the door to his sister’s home, and she stepped inside. The dog followed.

A brick fireplace, painted white, drew her eye along with a beige couch and two side chairs, nestled around a low coffee table. An oil seascape hung over the mantel flanked by built-in shelves filled with books. She neared and glanced at the titles, seeing some of her favorites.

Frank came up behind her. “Did I tell you Evelyn is a librarian?”

“I’m in here.” A voice called from the kitchen.

He motioned for Colleen to follow as he headed toward a small hallway that led to a keeping area and open kitchen.

A slender woman, early forties, with chestnut hair and big blue eyes, stood behind a granite-topped island and greeted Frank with a warm smile. She was fair and petite and contrasted with her brother’s rugged frame and broad shoulders.

Colleen and her sister had shared similar facial structures, although Briana had been golden-haired like their mother, while Colleen inherited her flaming-red locks from her dad. Seeing the warmth of Evelyn’s welcome made Colleen long for her own sister.

“I’m baking a ham and making potato salad for the rescue effort.” She stirred mayonnaise into the bowl of boiled potatoes and sliced hard-boiled eggs.

As Colleen moved closer, Evelyn glanced up. The look on her face revealed her surprise at finding a visitor. She wiped her hand on a dish towel.

With a pronounced limp, she moved around the island and opened her arms to greet Colleen with a hug. “Welcome. Looks like you were caught in the storm.”

The sincerity of Evelyn’s voice touched a raw edge in the depths of Colleen’s self-control. Her eyes burned and a lump formed in her throat in response to the genuine concern she heard in the older woman’s voice.

Frank quickly made the introductions, his tone suddenly curt and businesslike and so opposite his sister’s soothing welcome. As if unsure of where to stand or what to do next, he headed for the coffeepot.

“Care for a cup?” he asked Colleen before glancing at his sister. “Decaf, right?”

“Always at this time or I’d never sleep.”

“A glass of water might be better,” Colleen said. “But I don’t want to trouble you.”

Duke nuzzled her leg. He held a tennis ball in his mouth and wanted to play. Before she could take the ball, Frank motioned him to the corner, where he dropped the toy and obediently lay down.

“Good dog.”

Frank turned to his sister. “Colleen’s car was damaged by the tornado. She lives in Atlanta and hopes to return home in a few days.”

“Preferably tomorrow,” she quickly added.

“You need a place to spend the night.” Evelyn’s eyes were filled with understanding. “We have a spare room. Of course you’ll stay here.”

Turning to Frank, she added, “Did you bring her luggage?”

“I’ve got a carry-on bag in the trunk of my car, but I didn’t think about it until now,” Colleen admitted.

“I’ll get it when I head back to the triage area,” Frank volunteered.

Colleen held up her hand. “No need. I’ll get it in the morning.”

“Is there anyone in Atlanta you want to call who might be worried about you?” Evelyn asked.

“That’s kind of you, but I have a cell phone.” Colleen patted her pocket, reassured by the weight of her mobile device.

“You might not have coverage,” Evelyn said. “Some of the cell towers were hit by the storm. Thankfully our landline is still working.”

“I take it you got through to the rural fire department,” Frank said to his sister.

She nodded. “Which was a blessing. They passed on the information to emergency personnel in town. The local radio station quoted the mayor as saying search-and-rescue operations would continue into the night and throughout the next few days.”

“At a minimum.” Frank glanced at his watch. “I need to hurry back.”

“You need to eat something,” Evelyn insisted.

He shook his head.

“Then I’ll make a sandwich to take with you.”

“More of your attempts to fatten me up?” His tone held a hint of levity that surprised Colleen.

Evelyn opened the refrigerator and pulled out lunch meat, cheese and mustard. As she layered the meat and cheese on two slices of bread, Frank grabbed a glass from one of the overhead cabinets. He filled it with ice and added water from the dispenser on the door of the refrigerator.

“You’ll need your coat,” Evelyn said, cutting the sandwich in half and wrapping it in foil.

Colleen accepted the water from Frank. From all appearances, his sister was the nurturing type, and despite the macho persona he tried to impart, the CID special agent seemed to readily accept her advice.

“I’m changing into my uniform. Fort Rickman’s getting involved, and I want to help them set up.”

“You’re still on convalescent leave, Frank.”

“Only for another week.”

He glanced at Colleen and then headed into the hallway that led to the front of the house. “Back in a minute.”

While Frank changed, Evelyn showed her to a guest room located behind the kitchen. “This doubles as my office and sewing room. I hope you won’t mind the clutter.”

A computer sat on a small desk, and colorful baskets filled with fabric and threads were neatly tucked in the shelving that covered the far wall. A double bed, nightstand and small dresser took up the rest of the space.

“If the weather warms tomorrow, you can use the screened-in porch.” Colleen pointed to the French doors leading to the private sitting area. “It’s usually nice this time of year, although tonight the temperature’s a bit chilly.”

“It’s a lovely room, Evelyn, but I fear I’m putting you out.”

“Nonsense. I’m glad Frank found you.”

Which he had. He and Duke had found her in the rubble. If they hadn’t, no telling how long she and Vivian would have been trapped.

“You’re fortunate the storm spared your house,” Colleen said as she glanced outside at the downed branches littering the yard.

“God answered our prayers.”

Colleen nodded. “I’m sure the Amish folks prayed, as well.”

“Of course. Their faith is strong. In fact, they are a resilient community and a forgiving people. They’ll rebuild.”

“I hate to see dreams destroyed.”

Evelyn nodded knowingly. “If only we knew what the future would hold.”

The melancholy in her voice gave Colleen pause. Perhaps Evelyn had her own story to tell.

“Frank said there’s a bus station in Freemont.”

Evelyn raised her brow. “You’re in a hurry to get back to Atlanta?”

The question caught Colleen off guard. “As...as soon as possible.”

Mentally weighing her options, she realized none of them were good. She couldn’t fly without her driver’s license and airline identification. Both were in her purse, buried in her car.

She had planned on a fast trip to Freemont to gather the last bit of evidence she needed to send Trey to jail. Now Vivian was in the hospital, and Colleen was stranded in an area devastated by a tornado. To add to her situation, she was holed up with a law enforcement officer who made her uneasy.

A tap sounded at the entrance to her room. She turned to find Frank standing in the doorway. He was clean-shaven and dressed in his army combat uniform. Maybe it was the boots he wore or the digital print of the camouflage that made him seem bigger than life.

She needed to breathe, but the air got trapped in her lungs.

“I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up, sis.”

“The sandwich is on the counter.”

“You’re spoiling me.” Raising his hand, he waved to Colleen and then hurried toward the kitchen.

“The sandwich,” Evelyn reminded him.

“Got it,” he called before the front door slammed closed behind him.

“Why don’t you wash up and come back to the kitchen for something to eat.” Evelyn motioned toward the hallway.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

“A bowl of soup might be good.”

The woman didn’t give up.

As if on cue, Colleen’s stomach growled, causing her to smile. “A cup of soup sounds good.”

Once Evelyn returned to the kitchen, Colleen pulled back the curtain in the bedroom and watched Frank lower the back hatch on his pickup truck. Duke hopped into the truck bed and barked as if eager to get under way.

Frank climbed behind the wheel. The sound of the engine filled the night. He turned on the headlights that flashed against the house and into the window, catching her in their glare.

She stepped away, hoping he hadn’t seen her. Much as she appreciated Evelyn’s hospitality and grateful though she was of having a place to stay, Colleen worried about Frank’s questions and the way he stared at her when he thought she wasn’t looking.

After her sister’s death and her own struggle with the Atlanta police, Colleen wanted nothing more to do with law enforcement. Now she was seeking shelter in the very home of a man she should fear.

Only she didn’t fear Frank. Something else stirred within her when he was near. Unease, yes, but also a feeling she couldn’t identify that had her at odds with her present predicament. She needed to leave Freemont as soon as possible, but until she retrieved her purse and the photo card, she had no other choice but to stay with Frank and his sister.

Hopefully she wasn’t making another mistake she would live to regret.

* * *

A desire to protect her stirred deep within Frank when he saw Colleen standing at the window as he pulled his truck out of the drive. She had a haunting beauty with her big eyes and high cheekbones and the shock of red curls that seemed unwilling to be controlled.

Did her rebellious hair provide a glimpse into who Colleen really was? She tried to maintain a quiet reserve, yet perhaps a part of her longed to be free like the strands of hair that fell in disarray around her oval face. That disparity between who Colleen tried to be and whom he had caught a glimpse of when she wasn’t looking gave him pause.

Driving down the hill from his sister’s house, Frank thought of his own past, and the picture he had painted for his life, all with broad brushstrokes. At one time, he’d had it all and thought the future would provide only more positive moments to share with Audrey. He found out too late that she lived life on the surface and wasn’t willing to go beneath the false facade she had created.

Frank had thought she understood about sacrifice for a greater good. He’d realized his mistake when she left him, unwilling to be tied down to a wounded warrior who had to face a long, difficult recovery.

At this point, Frank didn’t know who he was. Too many things had changed that clouded the picture. He certainly wasn’t the same man as the cocky, sure-of-himself CID agent patrolling an area of Afghanistan where terrorists had been seen. Perhaps he had been too confident, too caught up in his own ability to recognize the danger.

Not that he could go back or undo what had happened. He had to move forward. Donning his uniform tonight was a positive step. The stiff fabric felt good when he’d slipped into his army combat uniform.

At least he looked like a soldier, even if he wasn’t sure about the future. Would he continue on with the military or put in his papers for discharge?

A decision he needed to make.

Headlights from a stream of military vehicles appeared in the distance when Frank parked at the barn. Two more ambulances from Freemont had arrived to transport the injured, and radio communication was up and running among the various search-and-rescue operations.

A fireman with wide shoulders and an equally wide neck approached Frank. “Thanks for helping with the relief effort.”

“How’s it look so far?”

“At least twelve Amish homes and barns have been destroyed. Close to twenty people have been identified as injured. No loss of life, but we’re still looking.”

“I heard Freemont had damage. A trailer park and some of the warehouses by the river.”

“Might be time to clean out that entire waterfront,” the fireman said, “but the mayor and town council will make that decision.”

Noting the approach of the convoy, Frank pointed to a grassy area between the Amish Craft Shoppe and the collapsed barn. “Can you get someone to direct the military personnel to that level area where they can set up their operations center?”

“Will do.” The fireman called two other men who used flares to direct the military vehicles into the clearing.

Frank saluted the captain who crawled from his Hummer.

“Thanks for getting here in a timely manner, sir.” Frank introduced himself. “I’m CID, currently on convalescent leave, but I reside in the area and wanted to offer my assistance.”

“Appreciate the help.” The captain shook Frank’s hand and then smiled at Duke. “Nice dog.”

“He’s a retired military working dog. Duke lost his sense of smell in an IED explosion, but that doesn’t stop him from helping out when he can.”

Frank passed on the information the fireman had shared about the damage and the injured.

“I’ve got engineers who will check the structural integrity of the homes still standing once we’re assured all the victims have been accounted for.” The captain pointed to a group of soldiers raising a tent. “We’re setting up a field medical unit to help with the injured. That way the ambulances can transport those needing more extensive medical care to the hospital.”

“The local fire and EMTs have a triage area you might want to check out, sir.”

“Thanks for the info. I’ll coordinate with them.”

The captain headed for the civilian ambulances just as Special Agent Colby Voss pulled to a stop in his own private vehicle, a green Chevy.

He climbed from his car and offered Frank a warm smile along with a solid handshake. Instead of a uniform, Colby wore slacks and a CID windbreaker. “I thought you were still on convalescent leave.”

“Another week, but I’m ready to get back to work.”

“Wilson will like hearing that. We’re short staffed as usual, and he’d welcome another special agent.”

Frank appreciated Colby’s optimism. “Did anyone notify you about Vivian Davis, a gunshot victim who got caught in the storm? She’s a military spouse. EMTs took her to the hospital on post.”

“The call could have come in while I was away from my desk. Do you have any details?”

“Only that she flagged down a driver at a picnic park farther south, saying she needed help. A shot rang out, the woman was hit. She and the driver escaped.”

“Did you question the victim?” Colby asked.

“Negative. She was slipping in and out of consciousness. EMTs needed to keep her alive.”

“I’ll notify CID Headquarters. What about the driver?”

“Colleen Brennan. She’s a flight attendant from Atlanta. Her vehicle is buried under rubble.” Frank pointed to the spot where the barn had once stood. “She won’t be driving home anytime soon. My sister has a spare bedroom. I invited her to stay the night. The local police don’t have time for anything except search and rescue, and I know Fort Rickman is probably equally as busy. I thought keeping an eye on her here might be a good idea, at least until we get through the next twenty-four hours or so.”

“Was she injured?”

“A slight concussion and some cuts and scrapes. Nothing too serious, although she was pretty shook up and not too sure about some details. I’m hoping she’ll be less confused and more willing to talk in the morning.” Frank pointed to the barn. “I’m planning to check out her car if you’re looking for something to do.”

“Sounds good, but I’ve got to call Becca. She left a message on my cell after seeing video footage about the storm on the nightly news. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll catch up to you.”

“The last remaining portion of the barn looks like it could easily collapse, so be careful. If you’ve got crime scene tape, I’ll cordon off the area.”

“Good idea. We don’t need any more injuries.” Colby opened his trunk and handed the yellow roll of tape to Frank.

He grabbed a Maglite from his truck and patted his leg for Duke. “Come on, boy.”

The two of them made their way to what remained of the barn. Frank heaved aside a number of boards and cleared space around the rear of Colleen’s vehicle before he opened the trunk.

Aiming the Maglite, Frank saw a carry-on bag with a plastic badge identifying Colleen’s airline.

“Let’s check up front,” he told Duke, after he had retrieved the bag and placed it on the ground.

The dog whined.

“What is it, boy?”

Duke climbed over the fallen boards and stopped at the passenger seat, where Vivian had lain earlier. Blood stained the upholstery.

“You’re upset the woman was injured.” Frank patted the dog’s flank. “I am, too. We need to find out who shot her and why.”

Bending, he felt under the seat. His fingers touched something leather. He pulled it free.

A woman’s purse.

He placed it on the seat and opened the clasp. Shining the light into the side pocket, he spied Vivian’s government ID card and driver’s license. Tissues, face powder and high-end sunglasses lay at the bottom.

Leaning down, he again groped his hand along the floorboard. This time, his fingers curled around a smartphone. He stood and studied the mobile device.

An iPhone with all the bells and whistles.

He hit the home button. A circle with an arrow in the middle of the screen indicated a video was primed to play.

Colleen claimed to have happened upon the distressed woman, but if the two had arranged to meet, the video might have been meant for Colleen to view.

Frank hit the arrow, and the footage rolled. A man sat at a booth with Vivian sitting across from him. From the angle, the camera appeared to have been upright on the table, perhaps in a front pocket of her purse with the camera lens facing out.

The guy didn’t seem to know he was being recorded.

The audio was sketchy. Frank turned up the volume.

“You brought the package?” The man’s voice.

“Relax, Trey. I don’t go back on my word.”

Trey?

She slipped a rectangular object across the table. The man nervously glanced over his shoulder.

Frank stopped the video. His gut tightened. He’d been in law enforcement long enough to know what the small package, shrink-wrapped and vacuum sealed in plastic, probably contained.

Snow, Flake, Big C.

Also known as cocaine.

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