Kit Wilkinson - Plain Secrets

“It is.” He struggled to speak. Seeing her again seemed to have sucked the air from his lungs and brought back so many memories his head was full. “How are you, Hannah?”

She tilted her head to the side, grinning wider. “How long have you been home? I have not heard a word about your visit. How is that so?”

“I just arrived, actually.” He forced out each word carefully. Painfully. He shifted his weight and pressed his lips together. Her friendliness surprised him a little but not as much as his own reaction. Where was all the pain and anger he should be feeling?

“And you have not been first to see your Mamm? How is that?”

A buzzing sound zipped through the air between them. Eli turned his head to the woods. Was that gunfire?

Suddenly all of his wavering uncertainty vanished. Years of training and experience had hardwired his response to that sound—even when it came at the most unlikely of moments. Without a second thought, he dove forward, covering Hannah with his body and forcing her to the ground. Eleven years working the city streets had taught him to react first and think later. A skill that had saved his life on more than one occasion.

A second buzzing flew over them. A nanosecond later, the front window of the house shattered.

Oh yeah. That was gunfire.

TWO

“What’s going on?” Hannah tried to sit up and take stock of the situation. Elijah pushed her back to the ground.

“Stay down. Someone’s shooting at us.” He rolled onto his back and pulled his Glock from its shoulder holster, aiming it toward the woods.

Hannah stared wide-eyed at his gun. She scooted back a few feet, then started to stand.

“What are you doing?” He jumped up after her, shielding her body again but continuing to face the woods with his firearm cocked and ready. “You’re making yourself a target. Those are real bullets, Hannah.”

“Jah, all the more reason to move inside, no?” She hurried toward the porch.

Okay. Maybe she had a point.

Eli covered her as they made their way to the front door. He kept his eyes on the edge of the nearby forest. “Is anyone else home?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll go first.” He slipped in front of her and into the house, gun raised. Glass from the broken window had sprayed out across the hardwood floor. Otherwise, the large open space looked untouched. He pulled her in behind him and placed her in a corner away from the open door and window.

“Stay here while I check upstairs and in the Dawdi Haus.”

Hannah nodded. Eli ran up the stairs. He checked the bedrooms and single bath of the main cottage. He opened the connecting door leading to the Dawdi or grandparent addition and hurried through the small, attached living space. The entire place was empty.

“Clear.” He descended to the living room. Hannah was still crouched in the corner. He put away his gun and knelt in front of her. “I’m going to search the woods. Don’t move until I get back.”

“You’re going back out there?” Her eyes widened.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, trying to catch one of her nervous glances, but her eyes would not rest. She shook all over. And he didn’t blame her. Someone had just blown out her front window. He hated to leave her, but he had to check the woods. “I’ll be right back. And I’ll keep an eye on the house the whole time.”

She nodded, her body still trembling and her eyes avoiding his. But he could see the tears in them. As her head sank lower, Elijah’s heart dropped. He hated the fear she was feeling on top of the pain she’d already been through. This wasn’t the time for condolences, but the words burst out anyway.

“I’m sorry about your daughter. I’m sorry about Jessica.”

He quietly slid through the front door and took off across the front lawn, finding cover behind an unfinished wooden shed, his car, then an old stone well. His mind spun hard and fast with muddled questions and strange emotions…and Hannah. And he didn’t like any of it one bit.

At the forest edge, Eli did his best to estimate the position of the shooter and he scanned for any evidence—a footprint, a thread of material, bullet casings. Anything besides a plethora of flora and fauna. But there was nothing, not even a squirrel skittering about. So when a twig snapped behind him, he immediately turned and raised his gun.

He lowered it just as quickly. A small child stood there—an Amish child, dressed in a blue shirt, black trousers with suspenders and a straw hat.

“Sorry.” Eli clicked on the safety of his gun and slid the piece back into its holster. “Don’t be afraid. I thought you were someone else.”

The boy frowned and pointed through the woods. “He went that way.”

“Who went that way?”

“You look for man with, uh, der Pistole?” The boy looked at the Glock.

“You saw the man with the gun?”

The boy nodded and pulled his hand from behind his back to reveal a large black hat, the kind the Amish men wore.

“The man was Amish?” Eli’s voice cracked with surprise.

The boy shook his head. “Nein. English he was.”

“But he wore this hat?”

“Jah. He wear hat but also he have a…Oberlippenbart.” The boy pointed to his upper lip.

“A mustache?” Eli was thankful the kid was observant. No Amish man grew a mustache—only the beard. So, the kid was right. The shooter could not have been Amish. Not that it was likely a shooter was Amish anyway, as the People did not support the use of weapons—and hence the main reason his own father could not accept his choice of professions. “Did you see where he went?”

“In black car. Big black car.” The boy’s eyes were wide with admiration.

A black car? Like the one that nearly caused the wreck earlier? “And the car?”

“It goes.”

Of course, the car was long gone, but at least he’d been searching in the right place. Whoever he was, he had taken his shell casings with him, meaning he was probably not an amateur. Although if he was a pro, and had been aiming at Eli or Hannah, then why had he missed? They’d been standing out in the open, without a thought of danger, until the first shot had been fired. Could his poor aim have been deliberate? Like warning shots? Eli looked back at the boy. “Okay, son. Let’s get you home. Where do live?”

“Miller’s Grove.”

Elijah nodded. Miller’s Grove was the home of his uncle. “What’s your name, son?”

“Nicholas.” He grinned. “Nicholas Miller.”

“Well, you get on home, Nicholas Miller.” Eli smiled at the child. “Can I have that hat?”

The boy lifted the hat to him. “Are you a policeman?”

“I am,” Eli said, then watched the child, his very own cousin, scramble down the same path he’d taken so many times, so many years ago. At the other edge of the woods, an older girl with golden braids walked the path in her bare feet. No doubt it was Nicholas’s sister come to fetch her brother home.

Elijah sighed and headed back to Nolt Cottage. Great. That cute cousin would head home now and tell all his siblings about the cop in the woods…and then everyone would know he was back in Willow Trace.

But would he be staying long enough to make a difference to his family? He wasn’t sure yet. From those surprising first few minutes, it looked as though he was needed in Willow Trace—at least judging by the flying bullets. But even that didn’t make him want to stay. Seeing Hannah had been strange enough. He couldn’t imagine a confrontation with his own father. No. The sooner he was out of there, the better.

* * *

Hannah wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging her knees to her chest, as if she could squeeze away her own fears. But when her eyes fixed on the shards of broken glass spread across the floor, she continued to tremble.