Читать книгу Amish Hideout - Maggie K. Black - Страница 14

Celeste crouched by the hole and waited for Jonathan to give her the all clear. There was a scuffling sound beneath her like something falling. Then there was silence. The kitchen door slammed back on its hinges. Loud footsteps sounded as a second person stormed into the room.

“She ran in here!” It was a male voice, raspy and hoarse.

“And you opened fire?” A second male voice let out a string of swear words. This voice was cold and sharp, like the sound of a knife slicing through wood. “What are you doing? I need her alive!”

Alive. Something about that one simple word and the menace with which it was delivered made her limbs shake. She bent down lower, bracing her quaking hand against the wood, waiting for the sound of Jonathan’s words telling her it was safe to jump.

Lord, You’ve been my light and my guide no matter how rocky things got. Please guide me now.

“Where did she go?” The commanding voice was back.

“I don’t know!”

Then came the sharp beam of light swinging back and forth in the dim kitchen, sending sudden bursts of glaring white light shining through the gap between the door and the door frame, blinding her eyes for a moment before swinging around the kitchen again. She peered out through the tiny gap. The man who’d been shooting at them had rolled up his ski mask. Not much, but enough for her to see he was grizzled, probably in his early sixties, with the kind of broken nose that had been punched more than once and a scar down one side of his jaw, breaking up the gray-and-white stubble.

“Well, find her! I’m not paying for nothing!”

Paying? Who was this second man? Why did he need her alive? What did he think he was paying for?

“I’m ready for you! Time to jump.” Jonathan’s voice floated up through the hole.

She hesitated. She needed to see that man’s face. Just for a moment. She needed to know who was giving the instructions and who Dexter Thomes had sent after her.

“Come on!” Jonathan’s voice grew firmer. “We’ve got to go.”

She stretched her legs slowly, her hand inching up the door frame as she slowly got to her feet. She could see the man’s legs now, clad in jeans and a dark jacket. Shaggy brown hair fell around his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing any kind of mask, almost like he wanted his face to be seen.

Just one glance. That was all she needed. Just a little bit more data to complete the picture.

“Celeste!” Jonathan hissed. Urgency strained the marshal’s voice. “Hurry up!”

The figure turned. She recoiled, wondering for a moment if he’d somehow managed to hear Jonathan’s whisper above the ruckus of gunfire and shouting outside. The man’s eyes seemed to lock on her hiding place and suddenly she saw his face, with its shaggy beard, blue-tinted glasses and squinting eyes.

She stumbled backward. No... No, it couldn’t be.

He raised a finger, then started toward the cupboard. She took another step back. Her foot slipped and she fell. She bit her lip and barely kept from screaming as air rushed past her.

Then she felt the strength of Jonathan’s arms around her breaking her fall. She gasped a prayer of thanksgiving. Darkness filled her gaze. The smell of damp earth and old brick rushed in with each breath. For a moment silence fell, punctuated only by the sound of Jonathan’s ragged breath. “Are you all right? What happened?”

No, she wasn’t all right and she couldn’t begin to make sense of what she’d seen.

“Do you know if they saw where you went or where you were hiding?” he asked. But somehow her mouth couldn’t form words. It was like her brain was stuck on just one thought. Dexter Thomes. She’d seen Dexter... Jonathan’s hand brushed her elbow and steered her down the tunnel. “We’ve got to move. Come on.”

He marched her down the hallway. Her footsteps faltered beneath her.

It couldn’t be Dexter. He’d been arrested—he was behind bars awaiting trial, and if he’d escaped or been released someone would’ve told her. If he was on the run, would he actually be brazen enough to walk into a witness protection safe house without even covering his face? There was something chilling about the arrogance of a man who’d go by a moniker Poindexter that was so close to his own first name. But all of her research had shown he was an only child. He didn’t have a twin...

She opened her mouth, but no words came out, and, instead, a long shiver spread through her body.

“Don’t worry, I have a bag of warm clothes and supplies hidden up ahead,” Jonathan said.

Her limbs were shaking all right, but it wasn’t from the cold. She had to tell him what she’d seen. “Listen, after you jumped through the hole in floor, I heard the gunfire stop and two men talking. I listened to what they were saying and tried to get a look at them—”

“That’s not your job,” he said. “Your job is staying alive, and when I give you an instruction, I expect you to follow it. Now come on.”

“Wait, it’s important...”

“Tell me later. When we’re out of this tunnel and somewhere safe.”

Yes, but if it really was Dexter in the kitchen and he came after them, shouldn’t Jonathan arrest him? Shouldn’t someone do something?

“Wait, I think it was Dexter!” If he heard her, he gave no indication, and he was propelling her at such a brisk walk that she was almost jogging to keep up with his long stride. “He said he wanted me alive.”

“It doesn’t matter if Dexter sent him or not.” His pace didn’t even falter. “All that matters is that I’m going to keep you safe.”

She nearly growled. Was he always this pigheadedly focused? She stopped so short he seemed to barely catch himself from tripping over her. “No, listen, I mean, I think it was literally Dexter Thomes. I just saw Dexter Thomes—Poindexter himself—or a very good lookalike standing in the kitchen, barking orders and talking about taking me alive.”

Jonathan felt his mouth open and shut like a trout. He wasn’t used to being caught off guard and didn’t much like it. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “That’s impossible. Dexter Thomes is in jail. I don’t know how you could even tell in the ski mask.”

“He wasn’t wearing one and the other man pulled his up while they were talking.” Even in the dim light he could tell her arms had crossed. “And I’m telling you that either Dexter, or a doppelgänger who looks remarkably a lot like him, is barking orders upstairs.”

Right. Well, he didn’t know what that meant, but thankfully it didn’t sound like anyone was coming down the tunnel after them, at least for now. Had they not checked the cupboard? Had they been distracted by something?

“I know Dexter Thomes better than anyone,” she continued. “I did my homework before reporting him to the feds. He’s an only child. He doesn’t have a sibling or a twin. He shouldn’t be out on parole...”

Her words paused as his hand brushed her shoulder. “I hear what you’re saying and as soon as we’re safe and clear I’m going to call my boss, Chief Deputy Louise Hunter, for an update and I’ll tell her what you said.”

“I want to tell her myself.”

“Fine.” He hadn’t expected someone who sat behind a computer all day to be quite so driven and tenacious. “Now we need to keep moving.”

He pulled a flashlight from his belt and switched it on. His eyes didn’t exactly need the light to see and it ran the risk of alerting anyone who was following them, but for now they seemed to be alone. Celeste was clearly rattled, and he had a hunch it would make her more comfortable. He swung the beam over the old red-and-orange brick walls and then tilted it down to illuminate the path ahead of their feet. He started jogging again, fast enough to keep moving but not so fast he couldn’t detect any danger ahead. She kept pace.

“You said it didn’t matter if he wanted me dead or alive,” she said, after a long moment. “But of course it matters. When you’re analyzing data you can’t ignore anything. Not the fact he wanted me alive. Not the fact one of them looked exactly like Dexter Thomes and the other like a sixty-something criminal enforcer.”

Wow, she didn’t let up, did she? Her legs might be struggling to keep up with his long strides, but that was nothing compared to what she was doing to his brain. “So, you heard a man who looked like Dexter Thomes tell a violent thug in his sixties that he wanted you alive?”

“Correct.”

“And I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter what he said.”

“How can you say it doesn’t matter?”

“Because who’s to say he was telling the truth?” His voice rose, and he winced as he heard it echo off the tunnel walls. Thankfully, it seemed they weren’t being followed, because if the flashlight hadn’t alerted them the sound of their voices would have. “He’s a criminal! He might’ve said he was going to keep you alive and then kill you anyway. You can’t predict what a monster like that is going to do.”

“Dexter Thomes isn’t a monster—he’s a man,” Celeste argued. “A very smart, evil and cunning man who spent years planning his heist. Everything he does matters. Even the fact that either he didn’t check the cupboard to see if I was in there, or he saw the hole and decided not to come down after me.” Huh. So she’d noticed that, too. “My life is staring at tiny pieces of code and lines of text, looking for the patterns. That’s how I found him and that’s how I’m going to find the money he stole. That’s who I am. I’m a computer programmer.”

Something almost like understanding flickered in the corner of his mind, but he didn’t let it take root. A chill brushed his skin. Cold air was seeping in from somewhere. Was the door to the entrance open?

“And I’m a US marshal with the Federal Witness Protection Program,” he said. “I place witnesses into new lives and keep them safe. Maybe one day you’ll go back to being a computer programmer again, but right now, you’re a witness. Now, we need to stop talking, and if anything happens stay behind me.”

His footsteps slowed. He needed to figure out where the cold was coming from. Celeste fell into step beside him and he had the unexpected and ridiculous urge to slide his arm around her shoulder. Instead, he switched off his flashlight, keeping one hand on it and the other on his holstered weapon. Their feet moved without making a sound. He’d never minded quiet. In fact, he preferred it over noise. But there was nothing comfortable or peaceful about the bubble of silence that surrounded Celeste. She was on edge and uneasy. It was like her mind was a whirling machine, spinning and turning so quickly her entire body radiated tension. His hand twitched with the desire to brush his fingers reassuringly across her shoulder blades and tell her that she had nothing to worry about, because he was here and he would keep her safe.

Faint and pale light trickled through from the end of the tunnel.

“Stay here,” he said. “As close to the wall as you can get. I mean it. Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Got it! I’ll stay right here with my back against the wall.” Her voice was almost defiant, then suddenly her tone dropped and he felt a hand brush his arm. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I didn’t mean to make your job any harder that it already is.”

He swallowed. “It’s okay. It can’t be easy to go from being a folk hero to thousands of people to taking orders from someone like me. Now, wait here. I’ll be back in a second.”

He pulled away from her and walked slowly and carefully down to the end of the tunnel. Something lay across the doorway. His heart stopped.

It was the body of a US marshal.