At well over six feet, Adam is taller than both men. He’s well-muscled and in good physical condition. Watching Mercer take his measure, I wonder if they realize the Amish man is a pacifist. That even if threatened, he would not defend himself or his home.
I edge closer to Adam, look down at the warrant. The knowledge that it is an official document signed by a sitting judge doesn’t alleviate the uneasiness pummeling the back of my brain. I don’t trust these men. If my gut is correct, I suspect they’re going to take Gina back to Columbus on a trumped-up charge. If something happens to her in the course of the arrest or the trip, all the better.
I look at Bertrand. “You ran off my prisoner,” I tell him.
The detective stares back at me, watchdog eyes, weighing my words, my demeanor, judging me. Trying to figure out how much of a problem I’m going to be.
“We need to find Colorosa,” Mercer says.
“I agree,” I say.
Bertrand laser-focuses on me. “You didn’t tell anyone you had her in custody. Why is that?”
I meet his gaze, hold it. “I called BCI within ten minutes of taking her into custody. Not my problem that no one called you.” I motion with my eyes to Mercer. “We need to find her. She’s cuffed,” I lie. “She can’t have gotten far.”
Bertrand looks at Mercer, then motions with his eyes to Adam. “Cuff him. Let’s search the house.”
I start to protest, but realize I’m more likely to win their trust if I don’t. “Mr. Lengacher is not a threat,” I say.
Mercer passes the shotgun to Bertrand, then removes zip ties from his belt and approaches Adam. “We’re going to detain you, sir. For your safety and ours. Just stay calm and do as I say.” A line directly from the procedure playbook.
“Datt!” I look toward the stairs to see Sammy fly down them, taking two at a time. The two girls are behind him, nightgowns billowing at their feet as they descend. “Datt!”
The children reach the base of the stairs. Stocking feet sliding on the wood floor, Sammy pivots, runs to his father.
“Samuel.” Adam barely has time to brace when the boy flings himself into his father’s arms. The Amish man wraps his arms around his son. The girls crowd in next to their brother. Annie has begun to cry, her face pink, her cheeks wet.
“They’re not a threat,” I tell the two men. “You’ve no cause to cuff anyone.”
Mercer and Bertrand ignore us. The Amish man doesn’t resist as Mercer reaches for his arm, turns him around. He places the loop of the zip tie around Adam’s right wrist, pulls both arms behind his back, and yanks the plastic taut.
Mercer pats down Adam, finding nothing, then motions toward the sofa. “Sit down and do not move.”
Sammy takes in the scene, his expression frightened and confused. “Datt?”
“It’s all right,” Adam tells his son. But he’s watching the men with caution, distrust and trepidation etched into his every feature as he lowers himself onto the sofa.
Bertrand hands the shotgun back to Mercer. “As long as you do as you’re told, everything will be fine,” he says to the children and Adam. “Just stay calm and be quiet.”
Mercer trots to the kitchen, shotgun across his chest, looks around quickly. He ducks into the mudroom, his head swiveling left and right. He then goes to the stairs and takes them two at a time to the top. We fall silent. Tension hums. The ceiling above us creaks, Mercer running from room to room, looking for Gina.
Bertrand studies Adam for a moment, then asks, “Where’s Colorosa?”
The Amish man looks back at him. “The sewing room. There is a bed.”
“She’s not there.”
Adam’s brows go up. “Then I do not know.”
Bertrand takes in the children. “Do any of you know where Gina is?” he asks.
The girls, standing between their datt’s knees, shake their heads, not making eye contact. Sammy sits at his father’s side, looking at Bertrand as if the detective is some wild animal that’s found its way into their home.
Good boy.
“You probably scared her and made her run away,” Sammy says in a trembling voice.
Bertrand smiles at the boy. “Where would she go if she wanted to run away?”
Sammy looks from his datt to me, not sure what to say.
Before he can answer, I jump in. “We’re wasting time,” I say. “She gets away or succumbs to the cold, and this is on you.”
Mercer clatters down the stairs, looking at us over the banister. “No one there.”
“You check the attic?”
“That’s affirm.”
Grimacing, Bertrand removes zip ties from his pocket. “I hate to do this, Chief Burkholder. For the record, you are not under arrest, but you are being detained until we get everything figured out.”
My heart begins to pound. “Do not go that route,” I snap. “You’ve no cause.”
“You’ve been aiding and abetting a felon,” Bertrand responds. “At the very least, you have some explaining to do. For now, I need to make sure everyone stays safe.”
“I’m your best hope of finding her,” I tell him. “I know this farm and the surrounding area.”
Bertrand reaches for my arm. “Turn around. You know the drill.”
I pivot away from him. He makes a grab for me, but I’m faster and he misses. I throw myself into a run toward the mudroom. I envision my .38 in the cabinet. Top shelf. Speed loader next to it. My coat on a hook. Boots against the wall. I’ve gone two steps when Mercer comes at me from behind. Full-body tackle. He rams his shoulder into the small of my back. His arms go around my hips; he throws his weight against me. I go down fast, hard enough to bruise bone, no time to break my fall. My cheek strikes the floor, dazing me. I try to roll onto my back, get my feet up to kick him. But he’s too strong. Too heavy. Fast for his size.
“Get off me!” I scream.
He thrusts a knee into my spine, puts his weight into it. “Stop resisting.”
I’m facedown on the floor, unable to move, unable to breathe. Mercer’s knee grinding into my back, pain radiating down my spine. I hear the children crying openly now. Then his hands are on my arms. Zip ties looped around my wrists and yanked tight enough to cut off the blood supply. Another layer of dread settles in my gut when strong arms grasp my ankles and secure them together.
The next thing I know I’m yanked to my feet. Mercer turns me around and shoves me onto the sofa. Feet bound, I fall unceremoniously onto the cushions. Breathing hard. Helpless and angry now. Nothing I can do about any of it.
Removing another zip tie from beneath his coat, he kneels at Adam’s feet and secures the Amish man’s ankles together. When he’s finished, he gets to his feet, jabs a finger in Sammy’s face. “If you untie them, I’ll come back for you. I’ll kill your dad. Your sisters. Then I’ll kill you.” He hefts the shotgun, stopping just short of pointing it at the boy. “You got me, you fucking little pussy?”
Sammy stares at the man, his mouth open and quivering, and he swallows hard. “Ja.”
I stare at Mercer, fury humming in my blood. Next to me, Adam sits unmoving, saying nothing, taking it in, but I don’t miss the anger simmering in his eyes. Sammy snuggles close to his father. Crying, Annie and Lizzie have climbed onto the sofa on the other side of him, their legs curled, expressions frightened.