“Five years ago. April fourteenth.”
The day before Analise had found a tiny bundle on their front porch. Horror stopped his tongue. He wouldn’t believe it. He swallowed hard and managed to feign indifference. “And you believe him? Maybe he’s just yanking your chain.”
She nodded. “He might be trying to hurt me. He says if I come back to him, I can have her back. He says he’s raising her Amish up in Shipshewana, but this little girl is dressed Englisch. So it’s hard to believe what he’s telling me.”
Matt forced himself to breathe, to act naturally. He couldn’t let on how upset he was. At least he knew it was all a lie. “I think he’s bluffing.” He knew he should tell her, but he had to know more first. His child’s future hung in the balance.
Tears hung on her lashes. “He called me yesterday, and I heard her voice. She sounded darling.”
Reece had taped Caitlin’s voice? Maybe Gina wasn’t overreacting and someone had been following her. Maybe Reece had seen Caitlin and realized how much she looked like Hannah. He might have seen this as a way of getting to her.
Matt had to gain some time, figure out what to do. No one was taking his daughter. “You think he’s in town?”
“I’m sure of it. He sent me this picture to flush me out so he could find me.”
“I’ll try to find him, talk to him.”
She shook her head. “He’s crafty. He won’t tell you anything. But can we look for the child?”
“What makes you think she’s in Indiana?” He was total slime to try to confuse her.
“See here?” She handed the picture back to him. “There’s a covered bridge in the background.”
He peered at the picture. She was right. He remembered the picnic by the bridge, too, just a month ago on an unusually warm April day. “That doesn’t say for sure it’s here. There are covered bridges in other places.”
“Yes, but look at the name on the bridge. It’s the one by my—my cousin’s house, the Narrows Bridge. So we need to start here.”
By some miracle, he kept his voice steady. “There’s no crime yet. I’m not sure what you expect me to do.”
“Isn’t it a crime to steal a baby from her mother?” Her voice rose. “How about murdering a child?”
“You don’t know this little girl is even yours. And did you ever press charges against Reece?” He didn’t even have to wait for her to shake her head. Of course she didn’t. She’d simply walked away from him like so many battered wives without making him pay for what he’d done. “So we have no proof of anything.”
“Then what do I do?”
“I’ll find Reece and talk to him.” He waved the picture in the air. “But I think you’re chasing a dream. This little girl probably just has red hair.” He had to believe it for his own sanity, to keep panic from sweeping him away.
“I understand that. But I have to do something. I have to find her, discover the truth for myself.”
He nodded. “I’ll keep you posted. Give me your cell phone number.” As she dug for a pen and paper, he glanced at the photo again. His blood ran cold at the thought that Reece had been watching his baby. The man had to be somewhere nearby, and Matt would find him, force him to tell the truth. Force him to go away and leave them all alone.
ELEVEN
“Take a look at the Amish Bars Quilt. Less is more in the quilt and in the Amish way of life. They’re able to escape the plague of materialism sweeping the country.”
—HANNAH SCHWARTZ,
IN The Amish Faith Through Their Quilts
Angie had the radio turned up and was singing along when Hannah got back to the car. Perspiration trickled along the back of her neck, and her pulse still raced from the effort to convince Matt to help her. If she’d had anywhere else to turn, she wouldn’t have gone to him.
The smile on Angie’s face faltered when she saw Hannah. “It didn’t go well?”
“That man could make a bishop swear.” Hannah slammed the door behind her and fastened her seat belt as Angie laughed. “He’s going to look around, but he’s still looking at our community for the murderer. Just like he did when my family died. One of us was his first assumption. I thought he might have learned something, grown up some.”
Angie started the car and pulled into the line of traffic. “Don’t you watch CSI? It’s generally someone close to the victim. He’s just following standard procedure.”
“But does he have to be so obnoxious about it? I want to talk to my aunt, but not while she’s so upset. She seems to know something about this.”
“Well, you can do that later. Publishers Weekly called, and you have a phone interview with them in an hour and a half. They want a quick quote from you for an article they’re running on why Amish books are so popular.”
Hannah wanted to shake her head and refuse, but Angie was just doing her job. “Angie, I don’t want to do any promotion while I’m here. Please don’t schedule anything more.”
Angie didn’t seem to hear. “We’ve got to maximize the opportunity while we can. I plan to call some women’s magazines next and set up photo shoots here in the area where they can see you interacting with the Amish.”
“No, absolutely not. No photos here. You know the Amish don’t like their pictures taken. They don’t tolerate graven images or vanity.” The very thought made Hannah want to pace. If her family were fully aware of her fame, their disapproval would soar. When had she so fully disassociated herself from the concept of Hochmut? Her people had a horror of elevating themselves into the limelight, but she’d welcomed it when it had come. Perhaps she had even been a bit prideful of her success. No wonder the bishop warned against how easily worldly ways could creep in.
They reached the turnoff to Nora’s farm, and from the corner of her eye, Hannah saw a truck go by. The man’s head swiveled, and their eyes locked. It was Reece. She saw recognition come into his face, and he smiled.
“Step on it, Angie, quick!” Her pulse thundered in her ears. Five years wasn’t long enough to get rid of the metallic taste of terror that came at the first glimpse of his face.
“Who is it?” Angie stomped on the gas. She did a U-turn in the middle of the road and sped away in the opposite direction.
Hannah peeked over the top of the seat behind them. “He’s turning around to follow us!”
Angie accelerated. “Is it Reece?”
“Yes.” Hannah barely breathed. “Go back to town, and we’ll go to Matt.” She glanced behind them. Reece had nearly caught up to them. “Get out of here!” The tan truck stayed on their trail. “There’s a little lane around the next curve. It goes across a covered bridge. There’s a thick hedge on the other side. Maybe we can hide there.”
Angie held to the wheel with both hands. “Call Matt!” The car went airborne over a hump in the road, but Angie maintained control.
Hannah grabbed for her purse and dug out her cell phone. “The battery’s dead!”
“Get mine.”
Hannah looked around for her friend’s bag. “Where’s your purse?”
Angie groaned. “It’s in the trunk.”
They crested the hill, and Hannah kept her gaze glued on the truck behind them. She lost sight of it as they went down the hill. “Right there,” Hannah said, pointing out the narrow lane.
Angie spun the steering wheel, and the car plunged down the overgrown road. They entered the covered bridge, the dark coolness a haven. The tires rumbled over the wooden planks. Then they were out the other side. Still no sign of the truck. Hannah directed Angie to the thick copse of trees and shrubs where she used to play with her siblings.