Amish Country Amnesia. Meghan Carver

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СКАЧАТЬ protective gear, including helmets and tinted goggles and snowmobile suits completely zipped up. Not an inch of skin or anything identifying was showing, not even Jimmy’s telltale purple-and-blue birthmark. All of their gear was black, as well, a rather standard color for snowmobilers. That bit of information wouldn’t help at all.

      A shiver ran down his arms at the thought of the man at the head of the counterfeiting ring. A nasty birthmark wound its way around the man’s neck and down his arm. Being on the police force had brought Jed into contact with a lot of different people, but there was no getting used to a guy who looked like that. No matter how long he lived, Jed would never forget the look of that dark splotch that appeared to hold the man’s throat in a vice grip.

      Jed had seen that mark plenty of times in the past twelve months of undercover work that had taken him from Fort Wayne to Indianapolis to Cincinnati and back to Fort Wayne. It had been a harrowing experience that still haunted his dreams, both in the daytime and at night, but it was going to pay off. In just a few weeks, his testimony in court would put the counterfeiters behind bars, at least most of them. Jimmy the Bruise and another had gone missing, escaped from police custody.

      A third shot pinged off the back of his snowmobile. The case would fall apart without Jed’s testimony. If they could kill him, the counterfeiting ring would get off easy and be back in business within months. Only Jed could put them away for good.

      It was time to lose these two yahoos. Without backup available, he couldn’t apprehend them. He wanted to kick himself for forgetting his phone that morning. But at least he could try to save himself and the valuable testimony he possessed. Then he would call for a search of the area. There were only so many places to hide in and around the heavily Amish community of Nappanee, and he couldn’t imagine that any Amish would shelter two people as prone to violence as these were. Jed tossed up a prayer for the safety of any of the peace-loving Amish who might come into contact with these two thugs.

      He inhaled as deeply as he could with the restrictions of his helmet. Fresh oxygen infused him as he leaned his body weight forward on the snowmobile to increase the speed. What was supposed to have been a restful week off in the stillness of northern Indiana had suddenly morphed into a deadly chase. Jed allowed a brief thought of what his life might be like without the danger or violence of being a police officer, but the snowmobile shot up another ridge and brought him back to the present.

      A small pocket of evergreens stood ahead, to the side of the trail. At the last moment, just at the edge of the grove, he leaned left and gripped the handlebars, shooting behind the trees and off the trail. The snow wasn’t as packed here, but he increased the throttle, urging the machine to go faster. He wound through the trees, dodging boulders, but the two men continued behind him. At least the shooting had stopped, but that was probably just because they needed both hands on the handlebars to stay in a forward motion.

      He searched his memories of the area frantically. Where could he hide? It had been years since he’d been here. And he was limited in where he could go because of the snowmobile. Plowed roads were definitely not conducive to a vehicle that ran on skis. So, he couldn’t lead them to a sheriff’s office, and he certainly didn’t want to take that violence where there might be people.

      A small stream burbled to his right, large rocks and snow-covered foliage on either side, and he leaned left to steer the snowmobile away from the water. Even though the sound of their engines told him they were fast approaching, he dared another glance back. They were too close. Much too close for safety.

      He faced forward again as the machine arced to the left. A tree rushed up in front of him, and he jerked the snowmobile to the right. But another tree rose up in that direction. He pushed his body to the side to steer the machine away, but it was too late. The fiberglass front of the snowmobile crumpled into the solid trunk of the tree, killing the engine. Jed couldn’t control his body, and like a rag doll, he pitched forward. His helmet hit the windshield, and his head slammed against the inside of the helmet.

      Pain shot through his frontal lobe. Lightning seemed to flash behind his eyes. Lifted from the seat by the impact, he soared forward and to the right. The limbs of the tree and the snow-covered underbrush flew by. He landed in the bushes on his back, snow falling on him and brambles tearing at his nylon suit. Pain coursed through his body as he rolled over just in time to see his snowmobile burst into flames.

      He jerked off his goggles and helmet and gasped for air as the cold bit at his skin. Despite the snow that had fallen on him, he was still exposed in his gray snowmobiling suit. Surreptitiously, moving only his eyes, he looked toward the boulders at the edge of the stream. He would be better camouflaged among those rocks.

      His two pursuers had finally stopped, but just a few yards from his wreck. Jed couldn’t see their eyes through their goggles, but from the tilt of their helmets, he surmised they were watching the fire.

      In an army crawl, lifted up only on his elbows, Jed inched toward the rocks around the stream. Aches ricocheted through every inch of his body. The closest boulder seemed miles away, moving at that speed, but it was his only hope.

      Suddenly, one of the men turned, appearing to survey the area. Jed buried his face in the snow and froze. There was something about a face and, in particular, eyes that always seemed to draw attention, and Jed determined that he would not be found out simply because he couldn’t look away. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, praying for safety and courage and survival, his muscles taut. When nothing happened, he slowly lifted his head, just enough to be able to scan the area.

      The men still sat on their snowmobiles, watching as Jed’s machine burned. If there was anything Jed had learned in twelve months of undercover work, it was patience. He could wait there, lying in the snow, as long as necessary.

      After a few minutes, the men turned around to look behind them. Jed grabbed his opportunity.

      Still lying nearly prostrate, he scuttled toward the rocks and catapulted himself over the closest grouping of boulders. He landed on his back on an unyielding surface, and a sharp rock caught the side of his head on the way down. A fire of pain shot through his skull, and he reached up a hand to touch a warm, sticky spot. The sky swirled and danced unnaturally above him until all went black.

      * * *

      Sarah Burkholder stood at the kitchen sink, her hands immersed in the warm soapy water, and stared out the window at the snow-covered barn. An apple pie rested on the counter, its aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the roomy kitchen. The pie would be a welcome addition to supper.

      The mechanical whine of a snowmobile had not been far off that afternoon, the noise an unwelcome intrusion into her normally peaceful world. Her home was miles from the snowmobile trail through the state park, but it sounded as if a rider had left the beaten path. She would be glad when he stopped his racing and returned to the park.

      An envelope propped on the windowsill drew her attention. Her mother’s careful handwriting scrawled Sarah’s name and address across the front. Sarah had read it so many times that she almost had it memorized. In no uncertain terms, her mother had urged her to return to live with them in Lancaster County. She had written that they could sell at the market together, and Sarah would be supported and encouraged by the love of her family. Her real point in writing, it seemed, was to tell her of one particular widower who had been asking after her.

      Sarah rubbed the back of her hand across her chin. She remembered the man her mother had mentioned in her letter. He was nice-looking enough, and kind. But there never had been a spark between them. Still though, would it be better than being alone? Did Gott only grant one love in a lifetime?

      The fresh dilemma swirled in her mind. Should she continue to teach school in the Indiana Amish СКАЧАТЬ