Amish Country Undercover Page 2

  He pushed the thought away and made his way back to the barn. His path was now clear to get the horse he was here to collect.

  Right inside the door, he located a lantern, and soon had it lit and burning. Some things were like riding a bicycle, even the bicycles he hadn’t been allowed to ride back where he had lived. Most Amish communities felt the commercially produced bicycles were too worldly and too fast, and opted instead for simple, two-wheeled scooters they could stand on.

  Either way, those days were long gone and would never return, if he had something to say about it.

  Jack held the lantern high to peruse the individual stalls. He counted three horses. One had to be the horse the woman had stolen earlier from the track. Were the others also stolen thoroughbreds? Just how deep was she into this heist? How many more had she taken and sold before someone realized?

  The dim light showed each animal was a beautiful creature. The trader knew how to pick a good horse.

  Or steal one.

  “Hey there,” Jack said in a soothing tone, so as not to spook the creature he approached first. He lifted his free hand to caress the side of the horse’s head and was greeted with a soft snicker. “That’s it. Just let me see your lip.”

  Jack lifted the equine’s upper lip to reveal the permanent identification number tattooed above the row of teeth.

  Not one of the numbers he was looking for. Not even the right kind of horse.

  This was a standardbred, not one of the stolen thoroughbreds.

  Jack took his lantern to the next stall and repeated the routine. This horse also allowed him access without a snub.

  And proved to not be the stolen property.

  A niggling doubt crept into his mind. Had he been wrong about the woman? Maybe he had missed the real thief because she had caught his eye for some reason.

  Jack chided himself for thinking such a thing. An Amish woman was not for him. No woman was while he was on the case.

  But he had to admit to himself that Grace Miller was a beautiful woman. Her hair matched the stunning chestnut color of the horse before him, but it was her wide blue eyes that drew attention to her pretty face. Why she wasn’t already married was beyond him. Most Amish couples settled down at a young age. She had to be nearing twenty-five. So what happened?

  “None of my concern,” he muttered, answering his own wandering thoughts. He focused on the task at hand. Finding the thief.

  Jack moved to the last horse in the barn and stopped short.

  “I think we have a winner,” he whispered, and paused to observe the stoic horseflesh before him. Even before Jack held out a hand to touch the smooth, sleek neck of the animal, he knew he was looking at a thoroughbred. This one demanded respect just with the tilt of his head. His coat rippled with tension. “I know it was loud in here tonight,” Jack said, speaking with reverence. “But you’ll be home in your own stall soon. I promise.”

  Jack eased his hand slowly toward the muzzle and was glad when the horse deemed him worthy to touch him further. A quick lift of the lip revealed the correct numbers and letter configuration he’d been looking for.

  Jack let the horse go and stepped back. A growing disappointment percolated through him. A glance in the direction of the house was followed by a frown. “And someone else will be getting a stall tonight. But hers will be at the county’s holding cell.”

  Jack put the lantern up on the ledge of the stall and grabbed some tack. He opened the door and slowly approached the equine with palms up. The horse stepped back, but only once. Jack secured the lead quickly and had him out of the stall and the barn within moments.

  Jack’s waiting truck and trailer were hidden at the end of the drive, as he hadn’t wanted to reveal his presence until he knew if the stolen horse was really here. He needed to call his supervisor and relay the events, but until any other missing horses were found, Jack wanted to wait. His best course of action would be to bring the woman in and get her to talk about their whereabouts.

  Jack brought the horse to the trailer and loaded him up. He moved his truck to the house and prepared to make his arrest. Sitting behind the wheel here in the farmyard reminded him how different his current life was from his past.

  But once he entered the farmhouse, how much of his past would come back? He wanted none of it.

  After locking the truck up, he made his way up the steps and knocked hard on the door. “Open up! FBI! I have a warrant for your arrest. Don’t make me come in there.” Please, don’t make me come in there.

  TWO

  “Arrest?” The appalling word felt foreign to Grace’s lips as she repeated what the gunman had just announced.

  Gunman or lawman?

  She peered out from the side of the curtain to see the looming shape of the man she’d faced in the barn now on her porch. Her mind couldn’t comprehend what all these horrific events were about, and she had no plans to open the door to ask this gunman or lawman or whoever he was to explain.

  “Go away!” she yelled. “You should know the sheriff knows all about you.” It wasn’t a total lie. Sheriff Maddox knew about one of the thefts, so he would know there would be a thief, as well.

  Just maybe not one so menacing.

  “And the FBI knows all about you.” The gunman’s response was quick and nonchalant. “The sheriff won’t be able to stop me from taking you and your daed away.”

  Daed?

  With a gasp of horror, Grace pressed her back against the wall and glanced over at her father, in his chair at the table. He looked so small now, hunched over with fear and confusion on his face.

  “I won’t let them take you,” she said to him. “I promise.”

  “I know you don’t like to consort with the law—” the voice came from behind the door again “—but it’s best if you open the door. Resisting arrest won’t go well for you in court.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know you’re really the police?” she asked. In the next second she heard a tap on the window beside her.

  Grace slipped aside the curtain just enough to see a badge and a small flashlight on a phone illuminating it.

  Federal Bureau of Investigation... Special Agent Jack Kaufman.

  The light beam moved to the tall man’s face.

  They were a match.

  Her breath picked up its pace at her dilemma, and she said the first thing that came to her mind. “Please don’t take my daed.” It felt like begging, but that was the only choice she appeared to have left. “You can take the horses, but please leave us alone.”

  “That’s not how this works. I watched you steal that horse today from Autumn Woods. There’s nothing you can say to make me not take you in. You’re all under arrest. And that includes your partner with the gun back there, when I catch him. And believe me, I’ll catch him.”

  “My partner?” Now Grace was even more confused. But another feeling rose to the surface in a rush before she could temper it. The audacity of this man to accuse her of consorting with someone with such evil intentions as murder! Grace grabbed the doorknob. “He was with you, not me. How dare you?”

  “Grace, a soft answer turns away wrath,” Benjamin called from the table in a shocked and concerned voice. He stood up abruptly, knocking over his ladderback chair with a crash. The sound of that and her father’s rightful reminder brought Grace back to her senses. Opening the door to set this man straight would only put them in more danger.

  “Thank you, Daed, for reminding me. I’ll be certain sure to keep my mind at peace, even in the midst of such danger.”

  “Ya, we must always strive for that peace of mind, Gracie.”

  A burst of hope caused Grace to smile at her daed. His moment of clarity was a glimpse into the man that she knew was still inside him. His response was lucid and insightful when he cautioned her to keep her calm. These moments made her fo
rget about all the times he didn’t recognize her.

  Until the next time.

  Was he even aware of them? Or would it be only Grace who would bear the burden of watching Benjamin Miller become lost in his own mind?

  “Open the door, miss.” The lawman spoke again, and it didn’t sound like he was asking.

  Grace stared at the doorknob she still held in her hand. Indecision paralyzed her. Never had she had to decide between two perils.

  A blast sounding in the distance jolted her, but immediately afterward the window she stood beside shattered inward, knocking her to the floor.

  Grace let out a scream as her body hit the wood planking. She rolled over onto her belly and started crawling toward her father. “Get down, Daed!”

  The doorknob rattled. “Grace!” the man outside yelled. “Are you hurt?”

  Grace hadn’t even thought to examine herself. She only wanted to get to her daed. “N-no, I don’t th-think so,” she said, glancing down in panic.

  “Please, open the door.” The demand in his voice had been replaced with concern...and maybe some fear, she thought. He could have been killed if the bullet had hit him.

  And still could be.

  Grace pushed herself up on her knees and scrambled to the door, her long skirt protecting her from the scattered shards of glass. As soon as she unlocked it the man pushed it wide, and Grace fell onto her back, peering up at his towering figure. Her gaze lit on his drawn gun, once again leveled at her.

  “Stay down!” he commanded and slammed the door behind him. His booming authority sent a spike of fear through Grace. Had she made the right choice, letting him in? Or were she and Daed in even more danger now?

  * * *

  The moonlight filtered through the windows, casting shadows on the large interior of the Amish home. The door from the porch opened into the sitzschtopp, the living room, and from there the kitchen opened off to the side, much like the homes he remembered. The Amish woman and her father sat together against that wall.

  At the racetrack, he had determined her to be in her midtwenties, with light brown hair pulled back tight beneath her white kapp. With no one else in the house, it seemed he was right about her being unmarried, especially if her community followed the same rules as his, with the white halsduch cape worn over her dress. But that was a long time ago. Perhaps things had changed in eight years.

  The Amish, change? No, not possible. He scoffed at the idea and got back to work.

  “Stay where I can see you,” he instructed, keeping to the side of the broken window. He scanned the tree line, his gun at the ready. The shooter had circled back. Jack should have expected he would return for what he’d come for. The guy couldn’t go back to his boss without the horse. “I can’t believe I can’t turn my back on an Amish woman. Never would have believed it. I’ve been assigned to investigate your horse theft operation.”

  Jack looked at Grace Miller and shook his head in disappointment. “What were you thinking when you decided to join the operation with these thieves?”

  Grace rubbed her father’s hand to keep him calm, but her chin lifted in defiance. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘join the operation.’ I didn’t join anything.”

  “Partner. Alliance. Bintness.” Jack said the last word in her Pennsylvania Dutch language and saw her face contort in shock over him knowing it. He looked away from her inquisitive stare and glanced at the elderly Amish man beside her.

  Benjamin Miller rubbed his straggly gray beard, which bobbed as he opened and closed his mouth in confusion. Did the man not know his daughter was a horse thief? “Mr. Miller, I’m sorry to tell you this, but your daughter has been caught stealing a horse. With my own eyes I saw her take the animal out of the stable.” He looked back at Grace and said, “But if she cooperates and tells me who she is stealing for, I might be able to get my supervisor to cut her a deal. Right now, I want the guy who nearly clipped me back there in the barn, and again on the porch. Thankfully, he’s a bad shot, or my blood would be all over your property now.”

  The Amish woman’s eyes glittered so fiercely Jack thought he was about to experience an Amish person resisting arrest. Never would he have believed it, growing up. Didn’t they abhor fighting in all cases?

  But could this Amish woman be different? After all, she had attacked him in the barn with the pitchfork.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Grace said. “That man was your partner, not mine. In case you didn’t notice, you both had your guns pointed at me. The only people working together here are the two of you.”

  Jack had to admit that something didn’t add up. But that didn’t mean he was about to turn around and let this woman continue running a horse theft ring. “Except I saw you take the horse, and the thoroughbred is right outside, on your property.”

  Grace pointed to the barn. “My horses are not stolen. I purchased them all fair and square. But someone has been coming here at night and stealing them from me. And when I say someone, I mean you and your partner.”

  “That man was not my partner. I don’t have a partner. I work solo. Do you? Or do you have a team?” Jack crossed his arms and spread his legs wide, awaiting her response.

  Grace pursed her lips. “I don’t know how else to tell you this, but you have the wrong person. I am not stealing from Autumn Woods. I would never do that. They have been good to my father for years and his daed before him. And now to me, since I took over the dealings.”

  Jack glanced at Mr. Miller again. The man mumbled something incoherent. He was obviously unable to handle the role of an Amish horse dealer, but Jack struggled with the idea that the elders would allow Grace to take over.

  Something was amiss.

  “How long have you been working in your father’s place?” he asked.

  Grace’s bravado dispersed in an instant. Obvious pain washed over her shadowed face as she glanced her father’s way, but when she turned back to Jack, he saw worry had replaced the pain—more worry than when he had told her he was here to arrest her.

  Something really was amiss.

  Grace shook her head. “I’m not answering any of your questions. My daed’s business isn’t your concern.”

  “It is if you’re stealing horses.”

  “I have the papers to these animals.”

  “You may have papers, but they don’t all match. At least one of those horses was stolen, and I’ve already loaded him into my trailer.”

  In the next instant, Grace let go of her father’s hand and jumped to her feet. “I’m telling you the tru—”

  Another gun blast cut her off, and Jack dived toward her. Before he reached her to cover her, yet another shot went off. They were coming from outside, but didn’t appear to be aimed their way. Still, he tried to pull her down. But Grace Miller held firm.

  Then her face reflected what she was looking at: a golden glow coming from the yard.

  Jack turned to the window, to see flames burst from the barn door.

  “The horses!” Grace yelled, and passed him in a flash.

  “It’s not safe,” Jack said, and stretched out his arm to attempt to hold her back. But there was nothing he could do to stop the woman from racing into danger.

  “Get off my property!” Mr. Miller hollered in confusion from behind, as Grace ran out the door and onto the porch. “All of you!”

  Benjamin Miller was obviously suffering from some illness like dementia. Grace would need a lot of money to give him the care he needed, especially with no health insurance, as was the Amish way. That told Jack that Grace Miller could be bought.

  And she needed those horses alive.

  When no more gunshots went off, Jack wondered if that was the proof he needed to show she had teamed up with this operation. But she knew the thoroughbred had been moved to the trailer. So why was she putting her life at risk for the other ho
rses?

  Was he wrong about her?

  THREE

  Grace had her halsduch cape unpinned and pulled over her head before she reached the open barn doors. Flames flickered outward, but she could see there was still room for her to slip inside. Knowing that the shooter was somewhere outside encouraged her to race forward to get out of the line of that fire, too. As she drew closer and closer, she expected to hear another shot go off, stopping her from rescuing her horses before the flames grew too fierce.

  Heavy footsteps thudded behind her. Before she could turn her head, Jack Kaufman ran up beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Stay low!” he yelled, pulling her closer to shield her the rest of the way to the barn.

  They reached the doors and, with faces turned away from the flames, ran inside.

  “Grab the blanket on the hook,” she yelled, while she threw her heavy organdy cape over the flame closest to the first stall to stomp it out.

  The FBI agent lifted the blanket and threw it over the strongest blaze. Together they beat at the fire until it was finally out.

  Grace’s heart raced, and her breathing was fast and rasping. “The shooter must have struck a lantern and knocked it into the hay,” she said, feeling her adrenaline slowly start to ebb.

  “That was my fault,” the agent said, taking his cap off and swiping at his forehead. “I lit the lantern and left it on when I went to your door.”

  Grace took in the smoldering hay scattered across the dirt floor. A slow awareness of pain radiated up her legs. As she began to squirm, she said, “And I threw the hay down to try and catch my thief. It made for a fire hazard that didn’t have to...”

  She couldn’t say another word as agony overcame her, emanating from her feet.

  Her bare feet.

  She hadn’t thought her actions through before racing to put the fire out.

  Grace stumbled back, and as she raised her head she caught the lawman staring at her. She watched shock overtake his face and knew it had to match her own.