Amish Safe House. Debby Giusti

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       Keep them safe.

      “Police!” a voice shouted.

      A shot, followed in a nanosecond by another. A scream. Then the scurry of feet.

      Someone pounded on the door. “Ma’am, it’s the police. Unlock the door.”

      Could she trust the voice? Could she trust anyone?

      Will climbed from the tub, his cheeks wet with tears, his nose running. He touched her hand.

      She saw his lips move, but she couldn’t understand what he was saying.

      He nudged her aside, undid the lock and slowly opened the door.

      Hands grabbed both of them and pulled them through the bedroom, past two bleeding bodies on the floor, past the group of officers huddled around another gang member. His wrists were cuffed behind his back. Curly black hair, a mustache and goatee, deep-set eyes that stared at her as they passed.

      Recognition flickered in the back of Julia’s mind.

      A female officer introduced herself and held up a badge. “We’re taking you someplace safe.”

      Julia shook her head. She reached for William and pulled him close. “My son?”

      “He’s going with you.”

      “Kayla? My...my daughter—”

      “Where is she, ma’am?”

      “Upstairs.”

      Without letting go of William’s hand, Julia climbed the stairs, pulling her son behind her. The officer followed.

      “It’s Julia.” She tapped on Mrs. Fielding’s door. “I need my daughter.”

      The door cracked open. Mrs. Fielding peered through the narrow crevice.

      “Where’s Kayla?”

      “Mama!” The child yanked on the door. Her eyes widened as she glanced at the throng of police swarming the stairwell. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

      Julia pointed to the female officer. “We’re going someplace with this lady.”

      “I don’t wanna go.”

      “Shhh, Kayla. It’ll be okay.”

      “My dolly.”

      “Kayla, please.”

      She ran back into the apartment and returned with the doll clutched in her arms.

      Julia squeezed Mrs. Fielding’s hand. “Thank you.”

      “God keep you safe,” the older woman said. “I’m praying for you.”

       If only God would listen.

      The officer touched Julia’s arm. “We need to leave now.”

      “My purse?”

      “I’ll have someone retrieve your things.”

      “I homeschool my children. There are books and—”

      “I’ll tell them to bring the schoolbooks and supplies.” The officer put her hand on Julia’s shoulder and pointed her down the stairs.

      Outside, the flashing lights of the ambulance and police squad cars captured them in their glare. Julia pulled her children close and ran toward the waiting car, her head lowered as the officer had instructed.

      They slid into the back seat of the large sedan. Heat pumped from air vents. Julia buckled seat belts and wrapped her arms around the children, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest.

      The officer glanced at William. “Did you see anyone shot this evening?”

      He lowered his gaze and nodded. “Oscar... Oscar de la Rosa.”

      “Who shot him?”

      William glanced at Julia before he answered, his voice little more than a whisper. “Frankie Fuentes.”

      Julia’s heart broke. Her son was caught in the middle of a Philadelphia turf war between the Philadores and Delphis. Both gangs killed in cold blood and left no witnesses.

      Kayla snuggled closer, her eyes heavy.

      “Everything’s all right, sweetie,” Julia assured her.

      But it wasn’t. Nothing was right and everything was wrong.

       ONE

      “I have your new identities.” US Marshal Jonathan Mast sat across the table from Julia in the hotel, situated on the outskirts of Philadelphia, where she and her children had been holed up for the last five days. He was a pensive man with a dark beard and equally dark eyes.

      “The night of the shooting I asked you to be patient, Mrs. Bradford, and you have been, which we all appreciate.” He glanced at the two other marshals at the table. Both Stacy Porter, slender and focused on her job, and Karl Adams, more laid-back with an easy smile, nodded in agreement.

      Julie didn’t feel patient. She felt frustrated and stir-crazy. Keeping her children content in a two-room suite had been a challenge. Plus, she was scared to death about their safety.

      The Philadores wanted to kill William so he wouldn’t testify against their leader. As much as Julia didn’t trust law enforcement, she had to rely on the US Marshals and their witness protection program to keep her family safe. No wonder her nerves were stretched thin. She had slept little over the last four nights, and the nagging headache and dark circles under her eyes were proof of her struggle to maintain some semblance of normalcy in her children’s lives.

      As efficient as Marshal Mast seemed, he failed to realize how antsy kids could be without sunshine and fresh air. Fortunately, Stacy and Karl had seemed more empathetic. Both in their early thirties, they had played games with William and Kayla and had provided pizza and colas and an abundance of snacks. But even a diet of junk food got old.

      “We’re ready to transport you and the children,” Jonathan Mast continued. “We’ll fly into Kansas City tonight, then drive to Topeka and north to Yoder.”

      “What’s in Kansas?”

      “What’s not there is more important. Kansas is one of the few states where the Philadores don’t have a strong presence. As I’ve mentioned previously, Frankie Fuentes is a killer. He runs drugs, has his hand in prostitution, trafficking and illegal gambling. Three weeks ago, he gunned down two cops in cold blood. No witnesses and no way to bring him to justice. Your son saw him kill Oscar de la Rosa. William’s testimony will send Fuentes to jail for a long time.”

      Jonathan pulled out his phone and accessed a photograph. He handed the cell СКАЧАТЬ