Amish Hideout. Maggie K. Black

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.

       THREE

      “Stand back!” Jonathan’s voice echoed down the tunnel ahead of her. Celeste’s heart pounded hard in her chest as she heard the worry moving through his deep voice.

       Dear Lord, was I wrong to stay up above in the kitchen and listen? Did I really see who I thought I saw? What can I do? How can I help? I feel so helpless.

      She’d felt almost fearless days ago when she was sitting in her living room, alone with her laptop searching for Poindexter. She’d never expected to be able to find him. Not really. She’d just started pulling one thread that led to another thread and then another, until they reached deeper and deeper into Poindexter’s online web to the man in the center of it all. But no, she hadn’t felt like a hero. She hadn’t even figured out where he’d hid the money. Besides, all she’d been doing was using her talent to the best of her ability and counting on God to guide her.

      “What’s going on?” she called.

      At first there was no sound except the beat of her own heart. Then she heard a deep, long sigh moving through the darkness.

      “Hang on one second,” Jonathan said. “There’s a body here. It’s another marshal by the look of it. I need a moment to check it out and also do a visual sweep for any hostiles. I need you to stay there and don’t move until I give you the all clear. Please confirm that you’ve heard me.”

      “I’ve heard you,” she said. She pressed her back against the wall, feeling the cold of the bricks seep into her limbs. She wasn’t cut out for this. She didn’t hide in dark tunnels. In fact, she rarely even left her little rented apartment in the city, not that she didn’t love the thought of country living. In fact, thanks to the internet she’d been able to shop for handmade clothes and blankets from self-employed seamstresses, handmade soaps from home-based artisans and order everything imaginable—from fresh vegetables grown on farms outside the city to homemade soups to cheeses, breads and even pies. Before someone working for Dexter had emptied her bank account and wrecked her credit, she’d been saving up for years to buy an actual house of her own, somewhere outside the city, where grass and trees would fill her view from the window beside her desk instead of buildings and buses. She’d lost all of that; she was trapped. She pressed her hands to her eyes to keep sudden tears at bay.

       Lord, I know I should trust You have a plan in all this. I’ve trusted You to guide me this far. I need to believe You won’t abandon me now.

      Then she heard Jonathan’s voice again, deep, comforting and as solid as steel.

      “Celeste? A US marshal has been shot and killed. His name was Rod Cormac. He was a good man. My guess is he was shot at a distance and tried to make it to the safe