Hidden in Plain View. Diane Burke

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      Would he come back for her? And if he did, this time...

      Sarah didn’t have to remember the past to know that she had no desire to die in the present.

      She studied the men passing beneath her window. Did any of them look up in her direction? Was the killer watching her even now?

      Fear shuddered through her.

      How could she protect herself when she didn’t even know what the man who posed a threat looked like? How could she help the police catch him before he could hurt more people if her mind continued to be nothing more than a blank slate?

      Her mother-in-law, Rebecca, and the doctor had filled her in on what they knew of the details of that day.

      The story they had told her was tragic. But she had no emotional connection to that schoolroom, or to the children who had fled out the back door and summoned help, or, even worse, to the man who had once shared her life and was now dead and buried.

      She knew people expected an emotional response from her—tears, at least—but she felt nothing.

      Surprise? Yes.

      Empathy? Of course.

      Pain? Grief?

      No. They were the emotions she saw every time she looked at the sadness etched in Rebecca’s face. She had lost a son.

      Sarah had lost a stranger.

      Earlier Rebecca had told Sarah that she’d been raised Englisch until the age of eight. Try as she might, she couldn’t find any memory of those childhood years.

      Following her mother’s death, she’d been adopted by her Amish grandmother, who had also passed on years ago. Then she’d come to live with Jacob and Rebecca, embraced the Amish faith and married their son. Sarah found it more difficult to come to terms with the person she was supposed to be than to try to summon grief she couldn’t feel.

      She was a pregnant Amish widow recovering from multiple gunshot wounds and suffering from amnesia. That was her reality. That was the only world to which she could relate.

      She couldn’t conjure up the slightest recollection of Peter Lapp. Had he been of average build? Or was he tall? Had he had blond hair like his mother? Or maybe brown?

      Rebecca had told her they’d been married five years and were happy together.

      Had they been happy together? Were they still as much in love on the day of his death as they’d been the day they married? She hoped so. But can true love be forgotten as easily as a breath of air on a spring day? If they’d been soul mates, shouldn’t she feel something? Have some sense of loss deep in her being, even if she couldn’t remember the features of his face or the color of his hair?

      Rebecca had also told her that she’d had two prior miscarriages. Had Sarah told her husband about this pregnancy? Were they happy about this blessing or anxious and fearful that it, too, would fail?

      A surge of emotion stole her breath away. It wasn’t grief. It was anger.

      She wanted to be able to grieve for her husband. She wanted to be able to miss him, to shed tears for him. Instead, all she felt was guilt for not remembering the man. Not the sound of his voice. Not the feel of his touch. Not even the memory of his face. What kind of wife was she that a man who had shared her life was nothing more to her now than a story on someone else’s lips?

      She was no longer a complete human being. She was nothing more than an empty void and had nothing within to draw upon. No feelings for her dead husband. No feelings for an unborn child she hadn’t even known she carried. No memories of what kind of person she had been. She was broken, damaged goods and of no use to anyone.

      Please, God, help me. Please let me climb out of this dark and frightening place.

      In the stillness of her empty room, the tears finally came.

      * * *

      Sam stood up from the chair outside Sarah’s door and stretched his legs. Hours had passed since Rebecca had left with Jacob. He hadn’t heard a sound lately, and the silence made him uneasy. Quietly, he opened the door and peeked inside.

      He was surprised to see Sarah out of bed and standing at the window. Her floor-length robe seemed to swallow up her petite, frail figure. The swish of the door opening drew her attention.

      “Hi.” Sam stepped into the room. “Are you supposed to be out of bed?”

      Sarah offered a feeble smile. “The nurses had me up a few times today. I won’t get stronger just lying in bed.”

      Sam could see she wasn’t having an easy time of it. Dark circles colored the skin beneath her eyes in a deep purplish hue. The telltale puffiness told him that she’d been crying. Her sky-blue eyes were clouded over with pain and perhaps even a little fear.

      “It is kind of you to show concern, Detective King.” Her voice sounded fragile and tired.

      “Please, call me Samuel.”

      He flinched at the sound of his true Amish name slipping from his lips. Donning Amish clothes had returned him to his roots. But the sound of his given name instead of Sam sealed the deal. He had stepped back in time—and it was the last place he wanted to be.

      “Samuel.” The sound of his name in her soft, feminine voice drew his attention back to her. She smiled again, but it was only a polite gesture. Happiness never lit her eyes. “What can I do for you?”

      “I thought I’d poke my head in and make sure you’re all right.”

      “Thank you, but you needn’t bother. I’m fine.” A shadow crossed her face.

      Fine? He didn’t think so. Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed the puzzled expression on her face until she questioned him.

      “Who are you, Samuel?”

      She stood with her back to the window and studied him.

      Who was he? He’d told her he was a detective. Was her loss of memory getting worse?

      Sarah went right to the point. “You dress like an Amish man. Our men are not detectives.” Her eyes squinted as she studied him.

      She looked as if she might be holding her breath as she waited for his answer.

      “I assure you, Sarah, I am a detective.”

      “And the Amish clothes? Is it a disguise?”

      “Yes—and no. I was raised Amish. I left my home in Ohio and joined the police force about fifteen years ago.”

      “Ohio? You are very far from home, aren’t you?” she asked.

      Was that empathy he saw in her eyes? She was feeling sorry for him. Didn’t that beat all?

      “I wanted to get as far away as I could.” Sam shrugged, and his mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “Memories aren’t always good.”

      She СКАЧАТЬ