Colton Destiny Page 15

  She was no graphologist, but she’d had some training and knew what generalities might apply here.

  Cunning. Moody. Confused.

  Not a good combination.

  But also not the Monster.

  She was steady now, her mind firing rapidly, no longer distracted by the possibilities and focusing on what was actually in front of her.

  At her first glance, distracted as she was by the reappearance in her life of a note scrawled in crayon, the numbers had seemed to be a random string up and down each side of the note, in spots overlapping the lines of verse. Now she turned the paper sideways to look at them in their normal orientation. And realized it wasn’t a continuous string; there was a gap. Two numbers, a gap, then five numbers.

  On one edge, it seemed there was a small dot in that gap. A period? She looked at the other line of numbers, found nothing. But the tail of one of the letters intruded into that space; if there was a period, it could easily be hidden, written over. And was that a minus sign in front of one string?

  It hit her then, suddenly, breath-stealingly.

  GPS coordinates. Latitude, longitude.

  She had a lead.

  Chapter 21

  The Poconos.

  Emma stared at the map program on her phone.

  She wasn’t sure what it meant. Or, after the first leap of her pulse, even if it really was a lead. Someone had obviously left it for her, but why? Was it truly a lead or something intended to send her chasing off to some dead end?

  Her gut said no. If that were the intention, they would have made it a bit more clear-cut, more obvious. This was cryptic and, except for the numbers, vague. If this was to throw her off, unless the person who scrawled this note was more clever than his writing indicated, it would have been more definite.

  She studied the paper, her mind analyzing in the way she’d been unable to do when the first glimpse of it had blasted her composure into tiny shreds.

  The numbers, concrete.

  The verse, fractured, confused and...personal?

  She couldn’t pin down why she felt that way, but she couldn’t deny her gut was saying the verse was more about the writer than the crime.

  I must.

  The repeated phrase echoed in her mind. And in her mind, she added the unwritten words that her gut told her fit.

  I must. I don’t want to, but I must.

  Was this a cry for help? A plea to be stopped?

  She could spend all night speculating on that and still be no closer to the truth, so she tried to focus on the facts of the matter. If she’d been given a specific location, as seemed clear, why? Was it truly a clue to the girls’ location, or was it a trap?

  It didn’t really matter if it was meant as a trap. She had no choice but to follow the lead. She had nothing else after nearly a week of treading the same ground, pushing, prodding, asking.

  The locals had done what they could, the officers assigned often covering the same ground she had, unfortunately with the same results. They’d taken to looking at her like some kind of miracle worker, expecting her to turn something up where they’d come up dry.

  Or else they were glad to have a fed to blame, she’d thought wryly more than once.

  The Poconos.

  For hiding, it seemed both a logical and a dangerous choice. Logical because the mountains could offer concealment, yet dangerous because they were frequented by many thousands of visitors every year. While it was late in the year for fall color, cold for the lakes yet too early for the ski season, she supposed some people might like the brisk approach to winter in the mountains. Maybe gathering at family cabins for Thanksgiving in just a couple of weeks. That alone could markedly increase the population and the possibility of being discovered.

  “You truly believe this is a clue?”

  Caleb’s quiet voice came from behind her.

  “I believe it’s as close to a possible clue as we’ve got,” she answered. “It may be nothing, a prank, a coincidence...”

  “Someone trying to frighten you?”

  “There’s the real coincidence,” Emma said. “It just happened to be similar to the notes in the other case.”

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “The more I look at it, yes. The...Monster’s notes were always in black crayon, on artist’s paper and written in script that was almost calligraphy. We found out later he’d used crayon in case the note got wet, it wouldn’t run. He was very...organized, precise. This—” she gestured with the bag “—has a very different feel.”

  “It looks as if a child had written it.”

  She gave him the best smile she could manage. “Exactly. This writing is completely different, childish, the paper torn out of a simple spiral notebook. It seems...hurried.”

  “Hurried?”

  “As if he only had limited time. Or did it on impulse, before he could change his mind.”

  “You got all this from that scrap of paper?”

  “You learn, after a while, to trust your instincts. You have them,” she added, “because you recognized the childish appearance of it yourself. It’s only a matter of training and experience to pick up the rest.”

  She saw a flash of something in his face before he lowered his gaze. On anything other than his work, she’d noticed he evidenced the typical Amish humbleness. Compliments did not hold the value they did in her world, not here where modesty was a hallmark. But she dared to hope he was also hiding that he was pleased at her words and that they had come from her.

  “What happens now?” he asked, and she saw he was looking at the map on the glowing screen of her phone.

  “This needs to be checked out,” she said.

  “You will call the police there?”

  She’d thought of that, but now shook her head. “I’ll call them, of course, but only for any information on the location. It’s mostly rural, and this isn’t something I’d want to send a small-town cop or county sheriff into cold. I’ll call the Scranton FBI Resident agency. I think they’re closest. Nothing against them, but this is already, as the saying goes, a federal case.”

  Caleb’s brow furrowed. Sometimes she forgot that things—and sayings—that were commonplace in her world had no place in his. And right now, she didn’t want to take the time to explain.

  “I’ll go myself.”

  “Now? It is a long way. And dark.”

  “Probably at least a two-hour drive, according to this,” she said, gesturing with the phone, still showing the map. “Maybe more at night, on some mountain roads. But it’s the only thing that’s turned up, and if it really is a clue to where the girls might be...”

  Her voice trailed off, because anything else she might say didn’t sound right. She couldn’t admit she felt the need to redeem herself after her panicked reaction, after the way she’d run to Caleb for comfort, she who was supposedly the tough professional.

  “You believe they might be here? At this place marked with those numbers?”

  “Might,” she stressed. “Those coordinates have to be there for a reason. I need to check it out.”

  “If the girls are there—”

  “I’ll bring Hannah home, Caleb. I promise.”

  She was all too aware that she hadn’t said she’d bring her home safe or even alive. Then she saw in his face that she didn’t have to. Caleb might be apart from the world she lived in, but he was not a fool. He knew perfectly well that the more time that passed, the less chance there was of Hannah returning home unharmed.

  “I will go with you.”

  Startled, she gaped at him. That was the last thing she had expected to hear.

  “What?” she asked, her voice sounding as wobbly as she suddenly felt at all that time alone with him and away from his restrictive life.

  “Hannah and the others, if they are there, will not trust you. They would be wary anyway, but now, after what they’ve been through, they will be terrified of any English.”

  The way her heart leaped at having a v
alid reason to say yes was a warning she knew she should heed. Taking this trip alone with him could lead to nothing but trouble for her.

  “You can’t. You have the girls.”

  “Mrs. Yoder will look after them. I will go next door and ask her.”

  He turned as if to go this instant.

  “Wait,” she said, her tone sounding more urgent than she liked, although what she was about to say was grim enough to warrant it. “Caleb, if they are there, it may not be...

  pleasant. They might even—”

  “Be dead? Do you think I am not aware of that?”

  It was as close to anger as she’d ever heard from him. It was echoed in his lean body, every line tight with it.

  “I think that you’ve thought of little else for three weeks,” she said softly, taking the tension down a notch.

  The anger seemed to drain from him. “Yes. And that is another reason I must come. I must know.”

  She made herself think logically. And logically, he had a point. If the girls were alive, they’d be frightened. If they’d been hurt, it would compound it. A familiar face would smooth the way greatly. She would just have to do her best to shield him from the worst, if that’s what they found.

  And she would have to keep herself in line, quash the silly way her mind went haywire and her body came to life merely in his presence. For the good of the case, for the good of Hannah Troyer and her friends, she was just going to have to compartmentalize, more strongly than she ever had before. She’d succeeded at most things she truly put her mind to, and she would succeed at this.

  “Gather what you need,” she instructed briskly. “I’ll make some calls. It’ll be late when we get there, so I’ll have to find a place we can stay.”

  She purposely made her voice as businesslike as possible, betraying no hint of what had gone through her mind at her own words about a place for them to stay and all those “we’s” that had peppered her statement.

  Caleb merely nodded. Within an hour Mrs. Yoder was settled in with sewing in her lap, sweetly helpful, and Caleb was coming downstairs with a small leather case that looked like a larger version of Derek’s doctor’s bag, not much bigger than her own go-bag. Obviously he was more than able to travel light. Or he was assuming they would be coming right back.

  Or he simply didn’t have the possessions that took up room. No electronics, obviously, not even an electric shaver—

  Something struck her then. She knew the elders, particularly Deacon Stoltzfus, were distressed about Caleb’s lack of beard. It went against their tradition that he’d shaved it, even in mourning. But they had indulged him, resisted anything more stern than warnings, had stopped short of any real punishment, such as shunning. It spoke of both his backbone and the respect and esteem in which he was held in his community.

  Or of the love they all still held for the virtuous, perfect, departed Annie.

  She felt a spark of bitterness shoot through her but had the grace to immediately chide herself for it. Being envious of a dead woman was a fool’s path, and while she’d been doing—and thinking—a lot of foolish things lately, she wasn’t that far gone.

  Yet.

  It was only then, when she again reminded herself she succeeded at most things she put her mind to, that she realized she was missing a crucial part of that success.

  Those other times, she’d wanted to succeed.

  Chapter 22

  Caleb had to admit, if you had to travel, this electronic GPS system that talked to them as Emma drove was a convenience he could see the reason for.

  But traveling, at least on a regular basis, any farther than it took to get to your work or visit family was exactly what their beliefs warned against. Too-easy travel led to more of it and thus put a strain on the bonds of the community. Not to mention it meant more time spent in the outside world. A certain amount was necessary and accepted, but it was not encouraged.

  He realized, much too belatedly since they had already left both Paradise Ridge and Eden Falls miles behind them, that he probably should have informed one of the elders that he was going. Then he smiled inwardly. Mrs. Yoder would see to it that they had every detail she’d been able to glean first thing in the morning.

  The girls would be surprised, but when she told them he’d gone to help find their aunt, he knew they would accept. Their own fear that they would never see the aunt who so adored them, and whom they adored in turn, had been growing every day, until even the voluble Ruthie had become quiet.

  Except with Emma. In Emma’s presence, all his girls, even shy, quiet Katie, seemed to blossom. Little Grace chattered endlessly at Emma, although her English was broken, made up of what she’d gleaned from her sisters since her own schooling, where English was taught, hadn’t yet begun.

  To her credit, Emma had begun to pick up the Pennsylvania Dutch language. She still slipped into German frequently, but she was learning quickly. When Katie had asked, she told them that she also spoke French and Spanish, and a smattering of Russian. Ruthie, being Ruthie, had demanded to know why, and Emma had explained that she had traveled a great deal with her parents, and her mother had made them all spend the long flights studying the country they were about to visit.

  And that, Caleb thought, gave him what he needed. Nothing could have pounded home the great chasm between them more than that. His world, by its belief structure, was small and confined to itself. Hers literally was the globe, which she’d obviously traveled extensively. He would remember this, and it would be his shield against the crazy, unwanted thoughts he’d been having. It would allow him to sit in a

  vehicle with this woman who stirred him in ways he’d never known and keep his head about him.

  At least, he’d thought it would. So far, he wasn’t having much success.

  He found himself watching her drive with a little too much interest. She did it with a casual ease, relaxed yet alert, showing no fear at striking off into the night. But why should she be afraid at something that would have terrified Annie and made he himself a little uneasy? She was, after all, of this world. And a trained law-enforcement professional on top of that. She could—and probably had—gone almost anywhere without fear.

  Yet, she had been afraid tonight. She had been shaken to her very core; he was as certain of that as he was of his own name. It had been that fear that had driven him to do the unthinkable, to hold her, comfort her, draw her so close he could feel every line of her body, feel every shuddering breath she drew.

  Now he suppressed a shudder at the memory of his own, unwelcome response to her. He didn’t know which was worse, that he’d responded so to a woman who was clearly shattered at that moment or that he’d responded so to a woman who was not Annie.

  But she was a woman who had sacrificed herself, subjected herself to horrors he could only begin to imagine but that she had known with grim clarity, for the sake of a stranger, a girl she didn’t even know. Because it was her job?

  He knew that wasn’t the sole truth. He knew that it was because that was who she was. The kind of woman she was. And that told him more than he had even been able to process yet. The only word he’d been able to come up with was heroic.

  And now here he was, rocketing through the darkness in a small, enclosed space with that very woman. Who not only was not Annie, but who was not like Annie in any way that he could see. She was brisk, businesslike, confident, almost sharp, not quiet, unassuming and shy like Annie.

  Yet, she had been gentle and understanding with the girls, and they had come to like her so much so quickly it had startled him into studying her much more intently than he might have otherwise.

  That, he thought more than a little ruefully, had been his downfall.

  She was, however, very quiet now. She seemed content simply to drive, not needing to talk. He thought he might rather she chatter, preferably about nothing much. And then he laughed at himself; it was hardly fair to think how unlike his quiet Annie she was and then turn around and complain because she was
being quiet.

  “Something funny?” she asked out of the darkness.

  Either the laugh he’d thought was inward had slipped out, or she was that sensitive. He didn’t think the former was true, and he couldn’t discount the latter possibility; she was sensitive, to mood, to emotions, to things not said. He supposed it was necessary to her work, but it could be uncomfortable to someone who thought they were successfully hiding their own inner turmoil.

  “My own stupidity,” he muttered.

  There was a moment of silence, and he stole a glance at her. Her face was faintly illuminated by the lights from the dashboard of the truck, and he was struck anew at how lovely she was.

  “You are many things, Caleb Troyer,” she said softly. “Stupid isn’t anywhere on the list.”

  Something in her voice hit him hard, some undertone, a note that sounded impossibly like...longing?

  “Emma,” he breathed, forgetting in an instant the cultural gulf that spread between them, aware only that their physical distance was less than a yard.

  “Is it just me, Caleb?” she asked, and this time he knew he hadn’t mistaken the slight tremor in her voice. Nor could he find it in himself to deny what she was so clearly asking. Somehow pretending to misunderstand was not an option.

  “No,” he said, and even as he let out the admission, the impossibility of it flooded back.

  “Thank you,” she said, sounding relieved.

  What he felt was anything but relief. Because now that he’d admitted it to her, he had to admit it to himself. He had never wanted this, had thought himself long past such feelings, had assumed they had died when Annie had slipped away from him.

  Perhaps those feelings had, because what he was feeling for Emma was nothing like the quiet, steady love he’d had for Annie. That had been solid, reliable, unquestioned. Emma was fire and intensity, not at all quiet. But still, somehow he knew if she loved, it would be with the same kind of unshakable steadiness that had kept him and Annie together since childhood.

  She had come when her brother had called, on her own time, at her own expense, simply because he was her brother. She’d never given up, treading the same ground over and over, hunting, searching, for the one thing that might give her a clue.