Down a Dark Road (Kate Burkholder #9)

He frowns at me.

“Keep the kids away from the windows.” I set my hand on the phone and slide it across the table to him. “When Scanlon calls, do not hang up on him. Talk to him. Work with him. He is your lifeline.”

He starts to protest, but I stop him. “You owe me that, Joseph. I’m going to look into your case. Don’t forget that.”

He picks up the phone and puts it in his pocket without looking at it. Rising, he motions toward the door. “You can go out through the front.”





CHAPTER 8

As Joseph and I pass through the darkened living room, I feel eyes on me. I glance up, toward the stairs, and see Sadie and Rebecca sitting together on the top step of the landing, hands gripping the rails, watching me. I want to wish them good night, but Joseph and I continue on and the chance is lost.

We reach the door. The flashing lights of the emergency vehicles parked at the end of the lane dance and skitter on the opposite wall. King has taken my pistol from his waistband and grips it in his right hand. His finger is outside the trigger guard, but even in the dim light I can see that his knuckles are white, his hand shaking.

He opens the door. His eyes scan the porch, darting to the shadows cast by the juniper and trees in the yard, going finally to the ocean of vehicles beyond. “Must be a couple dozen vehicles out there,” he says quietly.

I stop next to him. “There’s still time to end this.”

“You never were one to give up easily. Even when you were wrong.” He turns to face me, his eyes searching mine. “But then that’s one of the things I always liked about you.”

“Now that I’m a cop, maybe you’re not quite so fond.”

“I’m still fond of you.” The shadow of a smile passes over his lips as he raises his finger as if to scold. “You’re the same, whether you want to admit it or not. You haven’t forgotten who we were.”

I stare at him, feeling watched and exposed, standing in the doorway, his face a scant foot away from mine. I want to think it’s because an army of my counterparts with binoculars and night vision are camped out a hundred yards away. Or maybe it’s the thought of a sniper with Joseph in the crosshairs. But neither of those things are the reason why my heart is pounding. Or why I suddenly can’t seem to get enough oxygen into my lungs.

“We never talked about the way things were between us,” he tells me.

I shrug. “We were kids.”

As I stand here, looking into a face I once knew so well, I’m shocked to realize some small part of me still remembers that knockout punch of my first crush.

“Joseph, this isn’t the right way to do this,” I tell him, surprised when my voice is breathless. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

He doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at me, his eyes roaming my face. “You never married, Katie?”

“That’s none of your business.”

A sudden grin and he braces a hand against the jamb behind me. I know an instant before he leans close that he’s going to try to kiss me. A farewell kiss? Or something more final? Whatever the case, it’s inappropriate. I turn my head an instant before his mouth would have made contact with mine. Instead, his lips brush my cheek and linger. I’m aware of the warmth of his face against mine, the scrape of his whiskers, the realization that he’s trembling, his breaths are quickened. It’s not a chaste kiss, but neither is it overtly sexual. Just a tidal wave of something melancholy and bittersweet laced with the knowledge that I’m a fool for caring about any of it.

Raising my hand, I set my palm against his cheek and ease him away. “Cut it out.”

“You remember,” he says thickly.

“I remember you’re full of shit.”

“That’s my Katie.” He studies me a moment as if debating and then steps away. “Whoever he is, he’s a lucky man.”

I glance toward the road, then back to him. “Goddamn you for doing this.”

“Find the truth, Katie Burkholder.”

I step onto the porch and turn to him, surprised to find that my legs are shaking. My heart pounding a hard tattoo against my ribs. Quickly, the adrenaline ebbs into something else. Something final, uncertain, and unbearably sad. There’s nothing left to say.

“Joseph…”

He melts into the shadows of the living room. “Get out of here,” he says. “Go on.”

I turn and descend the steps to the sidewalk. Even as I walk away, the ties to Joseph King and the children wrap around me and pull taut. I have no idea how long I was inside. For the first time in what feels like hours, I can breathe. The night air is cool and humid against my face. As I walk toward the gravel lane that will take me to the road, it occurs to me that I should have called Scanlon to let him know I was coming out. All it takes is one overzealous trigger finger to take out a cop with friendly fire.

I reach the lane and go left toward the road. A sea of emergency lights ahead. Dust floating in the glare of a hundred headlights. The rumble of a diesel engine and at least one generator. I’m walking blind. I raise my hands to shield my eyes, and I call out, “I’m Chief of Police Kate Burkholder! I’m coming out!”

The hairs at the back of my neck prickle uneasily as I draw closer. I envision the crosshairs of the sniper’s scope on my chest, and I call out again.

A spotlight sweeps toward me. In the glare, I see the bulky silhouette of a man in tactical gear rush toward me, equipment jingling, boots thudding against the ground.

“Kate Burkholder?” he shouts.

I raise my hands to shoulder level. “Yes.”

“Keep your hands where I can see them.”

I know it’s protocol, but still I’m perturbed by the order.

He reaches me and takes my arm with a gloved hand. He’s armed with a tactical rifle. A Kevlar vest. Protective helmet and face shield. He’s breathing heavily. SWAT, I think. Through the face screen I see he’s young, probably not yet thirty, and high on a mix of testosterone and adrenaline.

“He didn’t booby-trap you or anything, right?” he asks.

“No, he didn’t. I’m unarmed.”

“Are you injured in any way?” he asks as he walks with me toward a massive RV emblazoned with LICKING COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT. “Do you need an ambulance?”

“I’m fine. I need to talk to whoever’s in charge.”

We reach the mobile command center vehicle. Behind it, two Holmes County cruisers block the road. An SUV from Geauga County Sheriff’s Department. A swarm of cops from half a dozen jurisdictions rush around, speaking into their cell phones or shoulder mikes. A television news van is parked behind a line of orange cones roped off with yellow tape, several people are setting up lights and equipment, and I realize this situation is big news. Not only are we dealing with a barricaded gunman and hostage situation, but the perpetrator is Amish. That makes for sensational airtime no matter how you cut it.

The SWAT officer escorts me to the door of the mobile command center and opens it. Yellow light floods out, blinding me.

“I’ve got Burkholder,” he calls out.