Katy Lee - Amish Country Undercover

“Are we under attack?” Grace’s father laid his forehead on her shoulder. His voice had never sounded so fearful. The whole scenario was unfathomable for their simple Amish lifestyle, never mind for someone whose mind couldn’t comprehend normal, everyday things.

As Grace rubbed his cheek, she looked up at the closed door. The FBI agent had just left through it, hoping to catch the thief stealing his truck and trailer— and her horse. Would she hear another gunshot? Or had the thief just found his mark?

“I wish I could say no, Daed , but I’m not sure what’s going on. It appears someone is using me to steal horses from Autumn Woods, and the FBI believe I’m involved.” Grace wasn’t sure how much of that her father understood, if anything. She didn’t understand it herself. “What do I do? I could be in a lot of trouble.”

“We mustn’t fight,” he said solemnly, and lifted his head. “No fechde .”

Grace frowned at his appropriate reply. It was not what she wanted to hear. His Amish gentleness stayed true, even when he could lose his daughter to prison. He didn’t understand what was at stake. But he was still right. There could be no fighting.

“I know,” she replied, and swallowed a growing lump of resentment. With the possibility of going to jail, Grace wondered how far God would ask her to go.

She thought of Joseph in the Old Testament, wrongly accused of a crime that had put him in jail for years. As horrifying as it was for him, Joseph had to go there to save many lives. God needed him there. God’s will was done. “ Gött ’s will be done to me, as well,” she said under her breath. Her gaze dropped to her folded hands in her lap. A prayer formed in her heart, and she spoke it quietly as her eyes drifted closed. She sought protection for herself and her father in whatever place they were called to go from here.

Grace opened her eyes and lifted her gaze to the window the agent had been standing by earlier. The curtain billowed out in the slight breeze. Then Grace heard the truck’s engine shut down. Someone was out there.

Was it the agent? Or the thief?

Rising up on her knees, Grace crawled over to the window, careful to keep her skirt under her, protecting her from the broken glass. As she reached the window, she noticed a stain on her white curtains. Smudges of dirt, she thought.

But when she touched the fabric, a bit of the substance came off on her fingers. She studied her fingertips, then looked at the floor in front of her, finding little droplets of a dark liquid.

Grace dabbed her pointer finger in one and knew in an instant what it was.

“He’s bleeding,” she whispered, as the possibility became real.

Agent Kaufman was injured. But how?

It didn’t matter.

“ Daed , he’s hurt!” Grace spoke louder, crawling back to her father. She pushed herself up on her feet, then cried out, crumpling back to the floor in pain.

Carefully moving to stand on the edges of her feet, Grace found her balance and caught her breath. “ Daed , I have to go outside. The agent is bleeding.”

Grace remembered the grunt the lawman had given when he was carrying her. Had he been shot and never said a thing?

She glanced to the floor where he had placed her and taken care of her burned feet. He had lowered her father so gently, as well, all the while hurt and bleeding from his own wound?

The idea bewildered her. It was a gesture of charity even in the midst of pain. And now he was out there searching for the gunman.

Or bleeding out.

Grace felt at an impasse. Should she go out to look for him and help him? Or stay inside and risk him never returning?

Whatever she chose would put them in danger. But if she stayed inside, she would invite the danger in.

Grace’s eyes filled with tears at her father’s feebleness. Whatever she did, she had to make sure he was safe. That’s all that mattered.

“ Daed , I’m going to go out for a while. I’ll be back real soon,” she said, in the most normal voice she could muster.

Benjamin squinted up at her and she knew he wasn’t placing her. She figured it was just as well. In a sad way, his brain was protecting him through this ordeal. When this nightmare was over, hopefully he wouldn’t remember a single gunshot.

Though Agent Kaufman would.

Grace limped over to the closet and found a pair of her father’s boots. She bound wet rags around her feet and gingerly slipped them into the boots. A careful test proved she could endure walking in them. At the door, she reached for a lantern to take with her, but thought better of it. A flame would only draw attention. Still, going out empty-handed seemed just as dangerous.

An idea flickered in her mind, one that seemed so wrong.

A glance in the direction of the closet, with its door still opened wide, showed her the long box with the shotgun was still there. She’d never fired it but had seen her daed load it enough times to understand the mechanics involved.

She looked his way, and it was as though her father could read her thoughts. His head tilted, and his green eyes sought hers for an excuse valid enough to go against the Amish way of no violence.

She had none.

With quiet acceptance, she opened the door and walked out into the dark of night empty-handed. She couldn’t use a weapon to help the agent, but Grace didn’t think there were any rules about creating a diversion.

She looked to the barn and the trailer. The thoroughbred kicked up a fuss against the steel sides. Grace headed toward the horses and thought that she just might have the perfect weapon, or weapons.

Three to be exact.

As soon as Jack left Grace’s house, he shot his truck’s tire to stop the thief from riding out with the vehicle and trailer. With a flat tire, the pickup couldn’t go anywhere, but by the time Jack made it there the driver’s side door was open and the cab was empty. The man had run off.

Jack scanned the tree line, knowing he would have to go in if he was going to catch this guy. The horse thief wasn’t leaving without the thoroughbred, and Jack wasn’t leaving without his thief—or thieves, if Grace Miller was really part of the operation. Although that was appearing to be not the case, he wouldn’t rule it out yet, especially since he’d witnessed her taking the horse at the track.

Jack reached under the dashboard and pulled apart the twisted strands that had hotwired the vehicle. With the engine killed and his gun up, he headed toward the base of the cliff for a game of cat and mouse in the woods.

Jack held his weapon in his right hand. His other palm was pressed tightly against his left side, where a bullet had clipped him during his run with Grace. “Thank you, God,” he muttered under his breath. The gash burned like crazy, but could have been so much worse than a missing chunk of skin. It still could be dangerous if he didn’t stop the bleeding, of course. Judging by the feel of the wound, the gunman had nothing bigger than a .22. Most likely why he’d missed his mark from out in the woods.

Jack pulled his hand away, only to find fresh blood on it. Well, maybe it wasn’t a complete miss. But at least the bullet didn’t get Grace. At least she was still locked up safely in her home. Jack would play hide-and-seek with this gunman all night if it meant keeping him away from Grace and Benjamin.

Jack pressed his hand over his side again and tilted an ear to his right. The sounds of leaves rustling in the breeze mingled with a few far-off crickets. Then he heard what he was waiting for.