Hidden in Plain View Read online

  COLLIDING WORLDS

  After a tragedy rips through her Amish community, Sarah Lapp doesn’t remember anything. She can’t recall her Plain upbringing, her deceased husband or the shooting that landed her under the protection of handsome undercover cop Samuel King. She is, however, aware of the confusing feelings he creates in her from the moment he walks into her life. Sam is determined to protect Sarah and her unborn baby in case the shooters return. Because if they do, it’ll be more than just Sarah’s memory at stake.

  “It is kind of you to show concern, Detective King.”

  “Please, call me Samuel.”

  “Samuel.” Her soft voice drew his attention. “Who are you, Samuel? You dress like an Amish man. Our men are not detectives.” Her eyes studied him.

  “I assure you, Sarah, I am a detective. I was raised Amish. I left my home in Ohio and joined the police force about fifteen years ago.”

  “You are very far from home, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “I wanted to get as far away as I could.” Sam shrugged. “Memories aren’t always good.”

  Her eyes shimmered, and he fought not to lose himself in their beauty.

  “I wish I had some memories,” she whispered.

  “Memories aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, Sarah. I have memories, but no one to love me. You don’t have memories, but you have people who love you very much.”

  Her beauty spoke to him, stirring feelings better left dormant. Stepping back, he reminded himself of his own rules.

  Books by Diane Burke

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Midnight Caller

  Double Identity

  Bounty Hunter Guardian

  Silent Witness

  Hidden in Plain View

  DIANE BURKE

  is the mother of three grown sons and the grandmother of five grandsons and three step-grandchildren. She has three daughters-in-law who have blessed her by their addition to her family. She lives in Florida, nestled somewhere between the Daytona Beach speedway and the St. Augustine fort, with Cocoa, her golden Lab, and Thea, her border collie. Thea and Cocoa don’t know they are dogs, because no one has ever told them. Shhh.

  When she was growing up, her siblings always believed she could “exaggerate” her way through any story and often waited with bated breath to see how events turned out, even though they had been present at most of them. Now she brings those stories to life on the written page.

  Her writing has earned her numerous awards, including a Daphne du Maurier Award of Excellence.

  She would love to hear from her readers. You can contact her at [email protected].

  Hidden in Plain View

  Diane Burke

  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.

  —Isaiah 41:10

  This book is dedicated to the family and friends

  who offered nothing but love and open arms to both my son and me during our long-overdue reunion.

  I also wish to thank Rachel Burkot, my new editor, for jumping in midstream and doing a phenomenal job of helping me make this book the best it could be.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  DEAR READER

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  PROLOGUE

  Mount Hope, Lancaster County, PA

  Sarah Lapp wasn’t thinking about guns or violence or murder on this unseasonably warm fall day. She was thinking about getting her basket of apples and cheese to the schoolhouse.

  Pedaling her bicycle down the dirt road, she spotted the silhouettes of her in-laws, Rebecca and Jacob, standing close together in the distant field.

  Sarah knew when she’d married their son, Peter, that she had been fortunate to have married her best friend.

  But sometimes...

  She glanced at them again.

  Sometimes she couldn’t help but wonder what true love felt like.

  Chiding herself for her foolish notions, she turned her attention back to the road. A sense of unease taunted her as she approached the school. The children should be out in the yard on their first break of the day, but the ball field was empty.

  She hit the kickstand on her bike and looked around the yard.

  Peter’s horse and wagon were tethered to the rail, a water bucket beside them. Children’s bicycles haphazardly dotted the lawn. The bats for the morning ball game rested against the bottom of the steps.

  Everything appeared normal.

  But it didn’t feel normal.

  Sarah climbed the steps and moved cautiously across the small landing, noting the open windows and the curtains fluttering in the breeze.

  Silence.

  Her pulse pounded. When was a room full of children ever silent?

  She’d barely turned the knob when the door was pulled wide with such force that Sarah was propelled forward and sprawled across the floor.

  Peter started in her direction.

  “Stop right there, Peter, unless you want to see your wife hurt.” The speaker was John Zook, a cousin who had recently returned to the Amish way of life. He pulled Sarah roughly to her feet.

  “John?” Sarah gasped when she saw a gun peeking out from the folds of the carpentry apron tied around his waist.

  Immediately Peter and the teacher, Hannah, gathered the children together and took a protective stance in front of them, shielding their view of the room.

  Sarah stood alone in the middle of the room and faced the gunman. She saw fear in his hooded eyes—fear and something else. Something hard and cold.

  “John, why are you doing this terrible thing?” she asked.

  “Is he out there? Did you see him?”

  “Who, John? Who do you think is out there?” Sarah tried to understand what was frightening him.

  “What do you want?” Peter’s voice commanded from the back of the room.

  “I want you to shut up,” John snapped in return.

  Sarah glanced at the children and marveled at how well behaved and silent they were. John had made sure the adults had seen his weapon, but Sarah was fairly certain the children had not. They seemed more confused and curious than frightened.

  John lifted the curtain. “He’s out there. I know it.”

  “John, I did not pass anyone on the road. It was just me.” Sarah kept her voice calm and friendly. “We will help you if you will tell us what it is that frightens you so.”

  When John looked at them, Sarah was taken aback by the absolute terror she saw in his eyes. “He’s going to kill me,” he whispered. “There will be no place I can hide.”

  Peter, his patience running thin, yelled at the man. “You are starting to scare the children. I am going to let them out t
he back door and send them home.”

  “Nobody moves,” John ordered.

  Feeling the tension escalate, Sarah tried to find words to defuse the situation. “Peter is right. Whatever’s wrong, we will help you. But you must let the children leave.”

  John shot a furtive glance at the group huddled in the corner and then nodded. “All right. Get them out of here, but make it quick.”

  Peter ushered the children outside, with whispers to each child to run straight home. When the teacher came up behind the last child, Peter ignored her protests and shoved her to safety, too.

  John shoved a felt pouch at Sarah. “Hide this and don’t give it to anyone but me. Understand?”

  The heavy and cumbersome bag felt like rocks or marbles were nestled inside. She used several straight pins to bind it to her waistband.

  Suddenly the sound of boots pounding against the wooden steps filled the air.

  “Shut up. Don’t make a sound!” John ordered. With trembling hands, he aimed his gun and waited for the door to open. But it didn’t.

  Instead, bullets slammed through the door.

  “Sarah, get down!” Peter yelled from across the room.

  Pieces of wood from the walls and desks, as well as chunks of chalkboard, splintered as each bullet reached a target.

  John Zook grabbed his shoulder. Then doubled over and clutched his stomach, groaning in pain.

  The door banged open and slammed against the wall. A stranger entered, this one much taller, with darkness in his eyes that cemented Sarah’s feet to the floor in fear.

  “Hello, John. Didn’t expect to see me, did you?”

  The slighter man’s body shook. “I was gonna call and let you know where I was, Jimmy. Just as soon as I found a safe place for us to hide out.”

  “Is that so? Well, I saved you the trouble. Give me my diamonds.”

  Diamonds?

  Instantly, Sarah’s fingers flew to the pouch hidden in the folds of her skirt.

  “You’ve got until the count of three. One.”

  “I don’t have them. I have to go get them.”

  “Two.”

  “I don’t have them!” John’s voice came out in an almost hysterical pitch.

  “Please, Jimmy, honest.” John pulled Sarah in front of him. “She has them. I gave them to her.”

  Sarah looked into the stranger’s face, and evil looked back.

  “Three.”

  The sudden burst of gunfire shook Sarah to her core.

  A small, round hole appeared in John’s forehead. His expression registered surprise and his hand, which had been painfully gripping Sarah’s arm, opened. He fell to the floor.

  The loud, piercing sound of a metal triangle rent the air. The children had reached their homes. Help was on the way.

  The shooter leered at Sarah. “Let’s take a look and see what you’re hiding in that skirt, shall we?”

  “No!” Peter yelled, and ran toward her.

  The intruder fired.

  Her husband’s body jerked not once but twice as he grabbed his chest and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

  “Peter!”

  Sarah’s heart refused to accept what her mind knew was fact. Peter was dead.

  Before she could drop to his side, something slammed into the left side of her head. Another blow to her arm. To her back. Pain seized her breath. Weakened her knees. Crumpled her to the floor.

  She stretched her right arm out toward Peter, their fingers almost touching as she slid into blessed oblivion.

  ONE

  Where am I?

  Sarah Lapp lay on a bed with raised metal rails. She noted a darkened television screen bracketed to the opposite wall. A nightstand and recliner beside the bed.

  I’m in a hospital.

  She tried to sit up but couldn’t. She was hooked up to machines. Lots of them. Fear pumped her heart into overdrive.

  Why am I here?

  Again she tried to move, but her body screamed in protest.

  Burning pain. Throbbing pain.

  Searing the skin on her back. Pulsing through her arm and gathering behind her eyes.

  She tried to raise her left arm to touch her forehead but it felt heavy, weighted down, lost in its own gnawing sea of hurt. She glanced down and saw it bandaged and held against her chest by a blue cloth sling.

  I’ve injured my arm. But how? Why can’t I remember? And why do I feel so scared?

  She took a deep breath.

  Don’t panic. Take your time. Think.

  Once more she inhaled, held it for a second, and forced herself to ever so slowly release it. Repeating the process a couple more times helped her regain a sense of calm.

  Okay. She could do this.

  She opened her eyes and stared into the darkness.

  “Sarah?”

  Sarah? Is that my name?

  Why can’t I remember?

  Her heart almost leaped from her chest when one of the shadows moved.

  The man had been leaning against the wall. She hadn’t seen him standing in the shadows until he stepped forward. He obviously wasn’t a doctor. His garb seemed familiar yet somehow different. He wore black boots, brown pants held up with suspenders and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He carried a straw hat.

  “I thought I heard you stirring.” He approached her bed and leaned on the side rail. She found the deep timbre of his voice soothing.

  The faint glow from the overhead night-light illuminated his features. She stared at his clean-shaven face, the square jaw, the tanned skin, his intense brown eyes. She searched for some form of recognition but found none.

  “I’m glad you’re awake.” He smiled down at her.

  She tried to speak but could only make hoarse, croaking sounds.

  “Here, let me get you something to drink.” He pushed a button, which raised the head of her bed. He lifted a cup and held it to her lips. There was something intimate and kind in the gesture, and although she didn’t recognize this man, she welcomed his presence.

  Gratefully, she took a sip, enjoying the soothing coolness of the liquid as it slid over her parched lips and trickled down her throat. When he moved the cup away, she tried again.

  “Who...who are you?”

  His large hand gently cupped her fingers. She found the warmth of his touch comforting. His brown shaggy hair brushed the collar of his shirt. Tiny lines crinkled the skin at the sides of his eyes.

  “My name is Samuel, and I’m here to help you.”

  Her throat felt like someone had shredded her vocal cords. Her mouth was so dry that even after the sip of water, she couldn’t gather enough saliva for a good spit. When she did speak, her voice reflected the strain in a hoarse, barely audible whisper.

  “Where... What...” She struggled to force the words out.

  “You’re in a hospital. You’ve been shot.”

  Shot!

  No wonder she had felt so afraid when he’d moved out of the shadows. She might not remember the incident, but some inner instinct was still keeping her alert and wary of danger.

  “Can you tell me what you remember?” There was kindness in his eyes and an intensity that she couldn’t identify.

  She shook her head.

  “Do you remember being in the schoolhouse when the gunman entered? Did you get a good look at him?”

  Schoolhouse? Gunman?

  Her stomach lurched, and she thought she was going to be sick. Slowly, she moved her head back and forth again.

  “How about before the shooting? Your husband was inside the building constructing bookshelves. Do you remember bringing a basket of treats for the children?”

  His words caused a riotous tumble of quest
ions in her mind. She had a husband? Who was he? Where was he? She tried to focus her thoughts. This man just told her she’d been shot inside a school. Had anyone else been hurt? Hopefully, none of the children.

  “Hus...husband?”

  “Sarah. There’s no easy way to tell you. Your husband was killed in the shooting.”

  The room started to spin. Sarah squeezed her eyes shut.

  “I’m so sorry. I wish there had been an easier way to break the news.” His deep, masculine voice bathed her senses with sympathy and helped her remain calm. “I hate to have to question you right now, but time is of the essence.” The feel of his breath on her cheek told her he had stepped closer. “I need you to tell me what you remember—what you saw that day, before things other people tell you cloud your memories.”

  A lone tear escaped and coursed its way down her cheek at the irony of it all.

  “Can you tell me anything about that day?” he prodded. “Sometimes the slightest detail that you might think is unimportant can turn into a lead. If you didn’t see the shooter’s face, can you remember his height? The color of his skin? What he wore? Anything he might have said?”

  He paused, giving her time to collect her thoughts, but only moments later the questions came again.

  “If you don’t remember seeing anything, use your other senses. Did you hear anything? Smell anything?”

  She opened her eyes and stared into his. “I told you.” She choked back a sob. “I can’t...can’t remember. I can’t remember anything at all.”

  His wrinkled brow and deep frown let her know this wasn’t what he had expected.

  “Maybe you should rest now. I’ll be back, and we can talk more later.”

  Sarah watched him cross to the door. Once he was gone, she stared at her hand and wondered why the touch of a stranger had made her feel so safe.

  * * *

  Sam stood in the corridor and tried to collect his thoughts.

  Sarah.

  He hadn’t expected to be so touched by her unfortunate circumstances. He had a policy to never let emotions play a part when he was undercover or protecting a witness. Sarah Lapp was a job, nothing more, and he had no business feeling anything for her one way or the other.