Taken (18 page)

“Yes, especially after they began turning on each other. We have enough to charge them with so that they will all spend a lot of time behind bars. Kidnapping, attempted murder, smuggling, arms dealing...”

“I do have one regret in all of this.”

“What is that?”

“I haven’t really seen Paris. Not the way I’d always imagined seeing it, anyway.”

The truth was, though, that it was more than Paris she wasn’t ready to leave behind. It was Marcus. They might live in the same city back in the United States, but getting on that plane still seemed like the first and last step in saying goodbye to Paris and what had happened between them.

“You will,” he said. “One day.”

They started walking again. “I’m going to miss Paris, but I think all I want to do right now is go home and put all of this behind me. And since Rachel is finally awake, she will need a lot of care. I’m thinking about moving in with them for the next few weeks. Just until she is able to go back to work.”

“You’re a good sister, but there’s another reason I’m going to miss Paris,” Marcus said.

“What is that?”

“I met this girl in Paris. There’s something...different about her.”

Kate couldn’t help but smile. “Really?”

“In spite of the fear, she managed to help me break a case and ensure lives were saved.”

“Sounds rather heroic.”

“She is.”

“I meant you.” She stopped and turned toward him. “So you weren’t just playing the role of the romantic hero?”

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about their kiss. Marcus had stolen her heart, and she was pretty sure she didn’t want it back. But just because he’d kissed her, just because he’d rescued her, didn’t mean he was looking for something more.

They’d leave, and that would be it.

Or would it?

“What are you thinking?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

“I was thinking that we’ve both been hurt. That I’ve spent years making excuses as to why not to fall in love. You’ve made me want to take that chance again.”

“Then what happens now? If we both decide to take a chance?” Her breath caught as she sought to capture the magic of the moment. Music played in the background from a nearby gazebo. The summer breeze played with her hair. The setting was perfect. The moment...perfect.

“We both go home,” he said. “Start a relationship the way normal people do. Dinner, walks in the park, a movie or two. And we see what happens.”

“No kidnappings, or smugglers, or gunrunners?” she asked.

Marcus laughed. “Just you and me and boring suburbia.”

“Until you’re off on another case.”

“I like the idea of having someone to come back to. And for now...for now, though, I thought it was time you saw Paris in a different light.”

Kate looked up at him, feeling enchanted.

“Because Paris should be spent with someone you enjoy being with,” he continued. “Strolling along the Left Bank. Maybe into the Latin Quarter. Paris has some incredible antique bookstores, you know, and charming cafés. And you haven’t really seen the Eiffel Tower at night—since the last time you tried swimming in the Seine. It’s dressed with twinkling lights that turn on every hour.”

Kate laughed, took a step forward and rested her hand against his chest.

Everything else—and everyone else—seemed to vanish around them.

“It might sound silly,” she said, “but there was a time when I thought my chance for love was over. That I’d lost my one chance. But now...it’s as if all of that has changed.”

“Good, because I’m ready to put aside my excuses and give this—give us—a try.”

She’d always dreamed of coming to Paris. Imagined it being full of wonder and romance. But something struck her as he reached down, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her in the middle of the City of Lights. It didn’t really matter where they were. As long as they were together.

EPILOGUE

S
ophie met Kate and Marcus at the front door of Rachel’s home, still clad in her purple pajamas and carrying Lily.

“Auntie Kate!” she squealed.

“Still in your pajamas?” Kate dropped her spare key into her purse then drew her niece into a bear hug and laughed. After two weeks back in the United States, she still had to constantly remind herself that Sophie really was safe. “It’s almost lunchtime, silly girl.”

“Mommy said I could stay in my pajamas all day, if I want. Like a slumber party.”

“Well, a slumber party sounds fun to me.” Kate turned to Marcus. “Do you remember the FBI agent who helped rescue you?”

“In Paris?” Sophie’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “Hello.”

Marcus pulled out a sparkly gift bag from behind his back. “I brought you a present. I heard you like making paper dolls.”

“I do.” Sophie’s grin widened. “I love them. And I’ve got lots of presents. Everyone from church, some of our neighbors—”

“Sophie,” Kate started. “Remember what your mother said about gifts.”

“It’s okay.” Marcus laughed and handed Sophie the bag. “Everyone deserves a bit of spoiling every now and then if you ask me. Especially someone who’s been as brave as you have.”

“Thank you.” Sophie beamed up at him.

Marcus winked at her as they stepped inside the house, then shut the door behind them in order to keep out the Texas heat. “You’re welcome.”

“Is your mommy awake?” Kate asked, looking across the living room. Dora the Explorer sang on the flat screen in the living room. Women from church had come in and transformed the house so that no one could tell what had taken place the day that had changed all their lives.

“Grandma’s helping her get ready.”

A moment later, Rachel and her mother started down the stairs, while Kate sent up a short prayer, thankful for the simple fact that her sister was alive and beginning to heal both physically and emotionally. Losing Chad would always leave a hole in her heart, but one day, maybe she’d find someone else to help fill that hole.

“I was hoping that was the two of you.” Rachel smiled as she made her way slowly down the stairs.

“Marcus, you’ve already met my mother. This is my sister, Rachel,” Kate said as her sister stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m happy to finally meet you, Rachel,” he said, shaking her hand. “Glad to see you up and out of the hospital.”

“I’m the one who’s happy to meet you,” Rachel said. “I owe you so much. You saved my daughter’s life.”

“And Mrs. Elliot,” Marcus said, shaking their mother’s hand.

“Please.” Kate’s mom smiled up at him. “Call me Sharon.”

“All right. How are you, Rachel? Kate’s been able to keep me updated via Skype.”

“I’m tired.” Rachel went to the couch, while the rest of them took her lead and sat down with her. “The doctors said I should have a complete recovery. The road there might not always be the easiest, but we’re going to make it.”

“A lot of prayers have been answered,” Kate said.

Sophie jumped up on the couch beside her mother.

“So, Marcus,” Rachel said, “I heard you’ve just arrived home from Paris a couple of days ago.”

“Took a while to finally wrap up the case, and there will be more involved once the cases go to court, but we’ve made a total of nine arrests.”

Rachel tousled Sophie’s hair. “I was hoping for the opportunity to thank you in person for everything you did for me, for Sophie and for Kate.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Rachel leaned forward, her gaze on Kate. “To be honest, I don’t want to hear more about the case. What I want to know about is the two of you.”

“What about the two of us?” Kate’s eyes widened.

They’d taken every chance they could over the past two weeks, between Marcus’s investigation and her schoolwork, to talk, making Kate realize what she was discovering with Marcus was worth holding on to. They’d talked about family, work, fears and plans for the future, and in turn, she’d begun to see him as the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

Marcus winked at Kate as she fumbled to answer. “Marcus just got back in town.”

“Mom has told me about the late-night Skype calls,” Rachel teased.

“The time difference made it a challenge,” Kate said.

“Chad and I were married three months after we met.” A shadow crossed Rachel’s face at the mention of Chad’s name. “But while my marriage might not be the best example, don’t let it discourage you. Besides, there’s something mysterious about Paris when it comes to love.”

“As for us,” Marcus said, and squeezed Kate’s hand, “it might be a bit...complicated, but we both think it’s a relationship worth working on.”

“Look what he got me,” Sophie said, pulling out the paper-doll book and smiling up at Marcus. “Will you help me with it later?”

“I would love to, but first I have another present to give out.” Marcus smiled at Sophie. “This one is for your aunt Kate.”

“Marcus?” Kate’s eyes widened.

Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out a black velvet box, then turned to Kate. “Call me a bit old-fashioned, but since I couldn’t ask your father, I decided to ask your mother.”

“You asked my mother?” Kate looked at her mother then back to Marcus again. Surely he wasn’t...proposing...now? “You asked her permission to marry me?”

“We went out for coffee,” her mother said. “And as far as I’m concerned, you’ve found yourself quite a catch, Kate. I think you should say yes.”

Marcus got down on his knee in front of her and opened up the box. “They’re pink amethysts, untraditional, maybe, but diamonds just didn’t seem like the right choice. And yes,” he rushed on, “I know this is crazy, and fast, but I don’t care because I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Kate covered her mouth with her hand, tears welled in her eyes and her heart felt as if it were about to explode. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Yes would be the answer I’m looking for.”

“Yes...yes...of course.”

He kissed her firmly on the lips until she was certain she was going to melt into a puddle of emotions, while Sophie squealed in the background and her mom and sister clapped and hooted.

“Wow.” Kate’s heart was still pounding as he slid the ring onto her finger.

“That’s just the beginning. I plan to make you very, very happy.”

“What else did you have planned?”

“Besides a house in the suburbs and three or four babies?” he asked with a broad smile.

“Three or four?”

“We can talk about that later,” he said, grinning. “For the moment, I was thinking dinner with the five of us as a way to celebrate.”

Kate couldn’t stop smiling. “Are you up to it, Rachel?”

“Absolutely. The doctor said I should try getting out some. Just give us a few minutes to get ready. Someone is still in her pajamas.”

“Oh, and there is something else I have planned,” he said a moment later when they were alone.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled. “What is that?”

“A honeymoon in Paris. I’ve always thought you needed to see the city with someone who loves you.”

“Paris in the spring is supposed to be beautiful.”

“I’m not planning to wait until the spring.” He kissed her on the nose, then fully on the lips.

“You’re making my head spin,” she said.

“I know this has all been fast, but if you have any doubts...”

She shook her head. “None. And while it seems crazy, I feel completely at peace. Like you’re the missing piece in my life.”

“Good, because having you as my wife sounds pretty perfect to me.”

* * * * *

Read on for an extract from PLAIN PERIL by Alison Stone.

Dear Reader
,

Like Kate, I have to admit that Paris is one of my favorite places in the world to visit. Along with living in France while attending language school, I have also been able to walk the streets of Paris, and visit the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower a number of times. There is something timeless, romantic and energetic about the infamous City of Lights that I love.

Clearly, though, Kate wasn’t in Paris as your typical tourist. While most of us will never have to experience what Kate did, most—if not all of us—will experience a time in our life when we feel as if everything around us is out of control. When we feel propelled down in a path we don’t want to go.

The words from Isaiah still hold true for us today. “Don’t be afraid, for I am with you. Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.”

Be blessed,

ONE

T
he long shadows from the branches clacking against the bedroom window stretched across the two small lumps in the queen-size bed. Hannah tucked the hand-stitched quilt—the one her grandmother had made—under her six-year-old niece Emma’s chin and smiled. A pathetic smile. The poor child stared back, a cross between grief and contempt on her precious little face. On the other half of the bed, Sarah, Emma’s nine-year-old sister, had already lost the battle against the flood of tears, and sleep had taken her. Merciful sleep.

Hannah blinked her gritty eyes a few times and drew in a deep breath, praying for wisdom.

“I want
Mem
.” The plea in Emma’s tiny voice tore at Hannah’s heart.

I want your mem, too.
But Hannah kept those words locked in her heart along with her conflicting emotions. She kissed her niece’s cool forehead. “Sleep, little one. I’ll be here in the morning.”

Emma pursed her lips, unimpressed with the promise of another day with Aunt Hannah.

How many more mornings could Hannah maintain this routine? She had already been here for three days, and she only had two weeks before she had to return to her job as a bank teller in Buffalo. She tried to quiet her mind and prayed the young girls’ father would return home soon. Everyone had anticipated that her sister’s husband, John, would returned for his wife’s funeral.

Everyone was wrong.

Hannah’s chest tightened. The circumstances surrounding John Lapp’s disappearance were sketchy at best. Would leaving these two sweet girls with the father who had abandoned them at the most critical time in their lives be the best option—even if he did return?

A little voice told Hannah John was not going to return.

Emma crinkled her nose at Hannah. The familiarity of the gesture took Hannah’s breath away. How many times had she seen Ruth make that same face when she was a little girl
?
Poor Ruthie.
Hannah smoothed her niece’s hair, and the child jerked away.

Hannah’s heart broke a little bit more.

“
Guten nacht
, Emma. I love you.” Hannah took a step toward the door. Every inch of her ached for her precious nieces who had lost their mother in a horrible farming accident, after which their father had apparently run off in grief upon finding her body partially buried in the grain silo.

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the horrific image. She ran her hand along the smooth railing on the stairs. The swooshing of her long dress brushing against her legs felt strange yet familiar. She slowed at the bottom of the stairs, allowing her eyes to adjust to the gathering darkness. She hadn’t bothered to turn on the gas-powered lights before she had headed upstairs to tuck the children into bed.

Now she didn’t mind lingering with the long shadows. It suited her mood. She wondered fleetingly what time it was, then realized it didn’t matter. The children and the chores on the farm dictated her day. Not a clock.

Through the front window, she noticed the sun low on the horizon. Soon the entire house would be cast in darkness. Then she’d be left with nothing but her thoughts because sleep didn’t come for the guilt ridden. A chill skittered up her spine, and her neck and shoulders ached from exhaustion. She dreaded the long night in her childhood home in the middle of nowhere.

She wished she had something mindless to occupy her time, like TV or her iPad, two things she had reluctantly given up when she stepped foot into her sister’s Amish home.

Her dead sister’s home.

Her eyes drifted to the far wall in the room, an empty spot where her sister’s simple pine casket had held her body as friends and neighbors came to give their final respects. She closed her eyes and felt the familiar tingling, the promise of more tears. How could it be that her younger sister was dead? She sighed heavily. Hannah had abandoned her Amish ways, but she hadn’t abandoned her faith. She’d get through this. For the sake of her nieces, she had to.

Hannah found herself in the kitchen putting on the teakettle. She stared over the yard and daydreamed about the days she and her sister—two years younger—had run in and out of their mother’s fresh sheets hanging on the line. The scent of clean laundry and newly cut hay. Not a care in the world.

A nostalgic unease wormed its way into her memory. No cares as long as
Dat
was busy working on the farm because as soon as his chores were done, he’d find a reason to scold Hannah while allowing Ruthie to play undisturbed with her dolls.

Hannah never understood the favoritism. Now, more than a decade after she had slipped away from Apple Creek in the middle of the night, she felt the emptiness. An emptiness that had kept her away.

Until now.

A knocking at the door startled Hannah. She turned off the gas stove. Her pulse whooshed in her ears as her long gown whooshed around her calves. Had her sister’s husband, John, finally returned? Doubt whispered across her brain. Why would he knock on the door of his own home?

Why would he abandon his daughters after their mother’s tragic death? John was obviously not well.

She drew in a deep breath and reached for the door handle. What could she possibly say to him? Could she muster the compassion her brother-in-law needed? She feared she’d be unable to hold back the torrent of angry words criticizing him for not manning up when it came to his bereaved children. She yanked open the door, praying for the former. The greeting froze on her lips.

“Miss Wittmer, I’m sorry to bother you so late. I’m Sheriff Spencer Maxwell. We met earlier today.”

Alarm sent goose bumps racing across her skin.

“Yes, Officer?” Self-consciously, Hannah smoothed her apron and skirt, an outfit she wore out of deference to her grieving mother. Hannah’s English wardrobe would have been an in-your-face reminder that her mother had lost not one, but two daughters. The handsome sheriff had paid his respects at the funeral earlier today in the barn. He was one of only a few outsiders to mingle among the hundreds of Amish. That’s the reason she noticed him, or so she told herself.

The sheriff removed his hat and pressed it to his chest revealing short-cropped hair and kind eyes. “I almost didn’t stop when I noticed the lights weren’t on, but I took a chance.”

Something in his tone made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. “It sounds important.” She didn’t invite him in, fearing the neighbors would question why a single Amish woman—she referred to herself as Amish in the loosest of terms—had invited a man into her home. Part of her wondered why she cared. “Do you have news regarding my brother-in-law?”

“No, I’m sorry. I don’t.” His even tone gave nothing away. “But I do have something important to discuss.”

Hannah listened for any sounds from the bedrooms. It was quiet save for the chirping of the crickets floating in through the open windows on the warm summer evening. Hannah hoped Emma had finally drifted to sleep. Hannah stepped onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind her. “Let’s talk out here.”

Hannah sat on one of the rockers, fearing her legs wouldn’t hold her upright. She was still struggling to get over the news that her sister had died. Her twenty-seven-year-old sister.

Sheriff Maxwell walked the length of the porch slowly then turned around and stopped in front of her. He leaned back on the porch railing. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts, but his hesitation made her feel suspicious, like when a man wandered into her bank with sunglasses and a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes. “Please sit, Officer Maxwell. You’re driving me crazy and if you don’t sit, I’m going to lose it.”

The sheriff angled his head and studied her for a minute. She knew the look. Something wasn’t adding up in his head. She had seen it many times, mainly in Buffalo. It was the double take of a bank patron when the word
yah
slipped from her lips. Or the pestering of her coworkers who couldn’t understand why she didn’t join them for happy hour. Or her roommates, who playfully mocked her unassuming wardrobe.

Now her English vocabulary was invading her Amish ruse.

The sheriff lowered himself into the chair next to hers and ran his hand along the smooth wood of the arm. “You seem different than the other Amish women I’ve met.”

And there it was.

Hannah flattened her hand against her prayer covering and forced a smile. “Is my bonnet on crooked?” After burying her sister and suffering withering looks from her former Amish neighbors and so-called friends, she was in no mood to be scrutinized by the sheriff, too.

The setting sun reflected in his brown eyes, and his brows shifted, as if he were adjusting his line of thinking. Regret at her snippy comment teased her insides, but not enough to apologize.

“I didn’t mean to pry.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I have some difficult news.”

Hannah hiked her chin and tried to ignore her racing heart. “At this point, I’m numb to bad news.”

“You’ve had a rough time of it.” Sheriff Maxwell’s Adam’s apple moved in his throat, and his hesitation made her panic swell, forcing all the air from her lungs. She wasn’t as numb as she claimed to be. He shifted toward the edge of the rocker and looked like he wanted to reach out and take her hand, but thought better of it.

Hannah sent up a silent prayer.

Dear Lord, please be merciful and let me handle whatever it is this man has come here to say.

“Yesterday, I drove out to Bishop Lapp’s farm.”

“John’s father.” The elder Lapp had to be escorted by the arm into the barn for his daughter-in-law’s funeral. His stooped posture radiated his grief. The bishop had only a few terse words for Hannah. It didn’t come as a surprise, considering the bishop’s loss and Hannah’s non-grata status in the community.

“The bishop’s other son, Lester, dismissed me without hearing what I had to say.” The sheriff stared toward his vehicle parked on the side of the road; its presence no doubt had the neighbors’ tongues wagging. Wireless technology had nothing on the old-fashioned rumor mill in Apple Creek.

“Bishop Lapp must be having a difficult time.” Hannah said the first polite thing that popped into her head. She had no firsthand knowledge on how he was doing. Since Hannah had never been baptized, she wasn’t officially shunned, but the bishop was determined to freeze her out all the same.

“I understand, but I need to talk to him about his son, John.”

“I’ll be of no help there.”

“It’s important you know where the investigation is headed, especially since you’re staying in John Lapp’s house.”

A hot flush swept over her body. “This was my family’s home before John moved in with my sister.”

“I understand.” Spencer sounded contrite, but determined.

She tugged on the folds of her skirt to allow the fresh evening air to cool her shins and bare feet. “You’re investigating my sister’s accident?”

“Yes. It’s customary for the medical examiner to be called out after a death like this. Law enforcement needs to make sure there was no foul play involved.”

Apprehension prickled Hannah’s scalp. She winced and scratched her hair through the fabric of the cap. Her tight bun was giving her a headache. “My sister’s death was an accident. A tragic farming accident.” That’s what everyone had repeated over and over as they paid their final respects and then again when they delivered casserole dishes with wordy instructions on how to warm them up.

Such a shame. A tragic farming accident. And those poor girls, to lose their mother...

They’d shake their covered heads then bustle into the kitchen and make tsking sounds at her nieces, who sat cross-legged on the floor, stacking blocks.

What was left unsaid, but blatantly obvious in their Amish faces, was that if John had been a better husband, Ruthie wouldn’t have been left with the brunt of the chores while her husband fraternized and schemed. What exactly he had been scheming, Hannah’s mother wouldn’t tell her.

Apparently, John Lapp hadn’t entirely shed his youthful, rebellious ways.

This wasn’t news to Hannah.

Sheriff Maxwell stood and faced her. The setting sun behind him cast his face in shadows. Tension hung heavy in the air. “There’s no easy way to say this.” The shaky quality of his voice made icy dread pool in her stomach.

“Tell me.” She wrapped her fingers around the arms of the chair and squeezed.

“Before your sister ended up in the silo, she was already dead.”

* * *

Miss Wittmer slumped in the wood rocker. Spencer’s first instinct was to reach out, grab her, but she clutched the arms of the chair and stiffened her back, as if determined to be strong, regardless of the devastating news. The color draining from her face told a different story.

She drew in a deep breath. “I...I don’t understand.” The Amish woman rose and stood next to him. A thin strand of brown hair poked out from underneath her bonnet. She turned to face him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Are you telling me my sister was murdered?” Her tone was shaky, brittle.

“I’m afraid so.” Spencer let his hand hover near her elbow, ready to grab her if she should faint. She stood absolutely still, and he thought he heard Miss Wittmer’s gasp above the incessant chirping of the crickets. As a cop originally from the inner city, he still hadn’t gotten used to the racket nature created.

She shook her head briskly, as if trying to shake away the image, or perhaps his words. “My sister was murdered.” It was no longer a question.

This time there was no mistaking her gasp. Spencer clutched her elbow. She crumbled to her knees, her thin frame swallowed in a pool of black material. She bowed her head. Spencer had seen loud grief—the wail of a mother who had lost her child in a drive-by shooting. He had never seen such a quiet, heartbreaking display. He didn’t know how to react, and he didn’t know which was worse.

Spencer crouched next to the woman and held her arm. “Let me help you up. I can get you some water. A cold washcloth. Something.”

“Who did this?” Her words came out, barely a whisper.

“We’re investigating.”

The woman brushed his hand away and grabbed the railing and pulled herself to her feet, a mix of embarrassment and anger lacing her tone. “Ruthie told me she was afraid.”