Amish Covert Operation. Meghan Carver

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       THREE

      As the crow flies, the drive would probably have been only a few minutes, and that certainly would have been safer. But the back roads through the hills and hollows of Northern Indiana Amish country took a bit more of a winding route. Adam found he couldn’t get over thirty miles per hour in most stretches. Slowing down for a couple of buggies didn’t help either.

      The painfully slow speed also didn’t help his anxiety at the shooter still being on the loose. Would he come back for Katie? Why was he shooting at her in the first place? Would he go after a law enforcement officer? Some criminals did, and some didn’t. Adam just didn’t know enough about who this shooter might be to be able to determine his probable next move.

      He tore his attention from the rearview mirror and checked both side mirrors. Through the drive, all had been clear. As he crested a hill, an Amish homestead came into view.

      “There. On the right.” Katie leaned forward as if it would help her get to her children faster, her hand on the cane.

      The property wasn’t large, but the whitewashed house was sizeable, the barn a cheerful red. Colorful flowers—marigolds, maybe—dotted the edge of the house and the barn. A large vegetable garden filled a back corner. As he approached, a malamute bounded forward, tail wagging and tongue lolling.

      Memories of childhood time spent with Amish grandparents struggled to free themselves from the dusty corners of his mind. His grossmammi with a plate full of oatmeal cookies and a pitcher of warm milk that was fresh from their dairy cow. His grossdaadi sitting on the porch, showing him the finer points of whittling, while his cousins swung from the hayloft. Adam swallowed hard and shoved the memories back to their places. His father’s rumspringa and continuing alcoholism had altered not only his father’s life but the lives of his future children, as well. And after his father’s and brother’s untimely deaths in the automobile accident, those remembrances didn’t deserve the freedom to roam unhindered through his thoughts. The only way to assuage the grief was to maintain his laser-like focus on his job and the justice for victims that he sought every day.

      Adam pulled into the lane, and a man emerged from the house, placing a straw hat on his head as he approached the vehicle. Adam opened the car door and hopped out. He smiled as warmly as he could and raised a hand in greeting, palm open and facing out, as he jogged around the front of the Tahoe. The man’s countenance was expressionless until Adam helped Katie down from the SUV. As she emerged from behind the door, a wide smile split the man’s face, and a woman with three girls, all in identical blue Amish dresses and white starched prayer kapps, stepped out of the house.

      “Katie, are you all right?”

      “Jah, Jed.” She leaned heavily on Adam’s forearm. Grasping the cane, she stepped toward Jed but still held on to Adam’s arm.

      The woman who must have been Sarah flew toward them. The three girls followed on her heels, all chattering at once.

      “Ach, Katie! Where have you been? You are injured!”

      “Mamm! Are you all right?”

      “What happened, Mamm?”

      Sarah frowned in Adam’s direction and took Katie’s arm from him as twin girls threw their arms around Katie’s waist. Both had the same shade of dark blond hair and the same pert nose, although one appeared to have a few more freckles than the other. Adorable seemed too blasé of a word to describe them.

      “Liebchen! My loves!” Katie smiled broadly and shrugged at Adam as she tried to hug both twins with Sarah hanging on. “I will be fine, Sarah. I will tell you everything inside.”

      He felt himself begin to trust her a little bit more as he observed Katie’s affection for her girls. She gently pulled her arm from Sarah, and, leaning on the cane, she tucked a stray hair back into one girl’s kapp and then ran her finger down the cheek of the other girl. A smile played about her lips as she seemed to relax. With a reflex honed from training and experience, Adam glanced around the yard and down the lane to make sure all was quiet. Then he stepped toward Jed.

      “You must be Jedediah Miller. Sheriff Moore told me you’re retired from Fort Wayne PD.” He extended his hand, and they shook. “I’m Adam Troyer, special agent with Immigration and Customs Enforcement, Homeland Security.”

      “Call me Jed. And yes, retired police officer.”

      Adam felt his eyebrows scrunch together. “You don’t sound Amish, like Katie and Sarah.”

      Jed smiled. “No. Most of my growing-up was in the Englisch world. I just took my vows to join the Amish church a few months ago, so I’m still learning. I imagine it’ll be a lifelong process.” He looked Adam up and down, the smile sliding off his face. “What’s your business here?”

      Before Adam could respond, Sarah called from the house. Jed turned to wave and then spun back to Adam. “Before you can answer that, we’re required to head in the house for cookies and coffee. Or tea. Or milk. Whatever’s your pleasure. It’s the Amish way.”

      In the house, Adam squeezed into a place at the long table and gobbled down three of the most delicious oatmeal cookies he had ever eaten. A twin leaned on either side of Katie as she told of going to her brother’s house and then to the cabin. All eyes widened at the mention of the gunman, and Jed nodded an acknowledgment to Adam.

      “You must leave Ruth and Rebekah here overnight, then.” Sarah leaned forward to run a hand down Katie’s arm. “You will rest better.”

      Katie paused before answering. “Danki. That would probably be best for my recovery.”

      As he reached for a fourth cookie, Adam’s phone rang, the ringtone a loud gong in the quiet Amish house. “Excuse me,” he said softly and stepped outside the back door before answering.

      The late afternoon sun was beginning to cast sleepy shadows across the property, shadows that, to Adam’s way of thinking, could hold danger. But Sheriff Moore’s voice filled his ear, and the best he could do was visually survey the perimeter.

      “Yeah, Troyer? We got nothing. You said you wanted to be kept in the loop, but there’s nothin’ there. We pulled the bullet from the tree.”

      “I knew that before I left the site.”

      “Yeah, and there was nothing worth fingerprinting inside the cabin. Pretty bare in there. All rough wood surfaces, way too porous and too recessed to collect fingerprints. Even if I could find a print, it wouldn’t stick to the lift tape. There’s no way to lift a print in a wooden cabin.”

      “So, we got nothing.”