Vow of Silence Read online

  “We don’t have a choice,” Ford replied, not sounding very pleased with the new development. “It’s not like there’s a wealth of Amish detectives at our disposal.”

  “Dammit, I’m not Amish!” Joe snapped, slamming his fist on the captain’s desk. “Don’t you two get it? I’m shunned. Do you have any idea what that means?” Of course, they didn’t. “The other girls…where are they from?”

  “The first victim, Caroline Yoder, was from Manheim. The second, Katherine Johnson, was from Ephrata,” SA Riker supplied.

  All in Lancaster County… It didn’t escape Joe’s notice, the ease in which SA Riker rattled off the names and demographics of the victims. He was familiar with the case. This wasn’t just some file that happened to land on the agent’s desk.

  “He’s got a small hunting ground,” Joe supplied. “The entire county is less than fifty square miles.”

  “And most serials have a specific geographic area of operation,” Riker added. “They often conduct their killings within comfort zones that are defined by an anchor point—someplace that has meaning to them. I can’t think of a better place to hide than in Lancaster County. He can blend in—disappear. This killer is smart. That’s why I need you to help me vet him out. We’ll be working this case together, but you’ll be the face of this investigation. I need you to interview the families and friends of these young women—get them to trust you, to open up. Your cultural insight in this case will be invaluable, Detective Troyer.”

  Joe sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. “These kills aren’t random. He’s picking them for a reason. Maybe it’s simply because they’re Amish, or maybe it’s more personal.”

  “That’s what we’re counting on you to help us figure out.”

  “You can’t assume the killer is Amish. These girls were in their rumspringa and probably associating with the outside world.”

  “Their what?” SA Riker asked.

  “Never mind.” Joe wasn’t about to stand there and give these guys an in-service on Amish culture. God help him, he didn’t want to do this. Everything inside him rebelled at the thought of going back there. But what choice did he have? It was obvious the feds needed someone investigating the homicides who could bridge these two worlds. Lancaster County had a fucking serial killer in their midst, and no one had a clue if they were looking for an outsider or if the unsub was one of their own.

  Poor Hannah… Damn, he hadn’t thought of her in years. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She haunted his dreams more than he cared to admit. How was she handling the loss of her sister? She would be devastated. At least she wasn’t alone. She had her husband to comfort her. The facetious thought slithered through his mind as jealousy seeded his veins like bitter poison. And that right there was a perfect example of why he shouldn’t be going back to Churchtown.

  Joe quickly quelled the jealousy. He had no business getting caught up in petty emotions—especially now. This wasn’t about him. Three young women were dead. If he did this, did the unthinkable and returned to Lancaster County, it would be to catch a killer—nothing more. And as soon as the job was done, he would walk away, just like he had eight years ago.

  “All right. I’ll do it,” Joe committed before he gave himself the chance to change his mind. “Give me everything you’ve got on these cases.”

  Chapter Two

  “Ho-ly shit… You’re fucking with me, right?”

  Joe ignored the laughter and unplugged his laptop, setting it inside the box on his desk, along with the stack of files SAs Riker and Ford left on their way out. His new partner had a meeting back at Quantico and was planning on connecting with him in Churchtown the day after tomorrow. Twenty-four hours—that was how long Joe had to get his ass to Lancaster. Twenty-four hours before he came face-to-face with the world he swore he’d never return to again.

  He couldn’t think about it—couldn’t think about Hannah. It was bad enough he was going to have to sit down with her and her husband Jacob and talk to them about the details of Cassie’s death. And Hannah’s father… He’d hoped to never see that sonofabitch again.

  “Don’t make me regret telling you,” Joe growled, his mood darkening by the second. “You’re my partner.” He stabbed his finger at Grady. “And partners shouldn’t lie to each other. That being said, you breathe a word of this to anyone else in the department, and I’ll murder you in your sleep. You got it?”

  Grady’s laughter kicked up another decibel, drawing more curious eyes their way. “That’s not a very peace-loving thing to say.”

  Joe flipped him off as he continued packing up his desk, grabbing everything he could possibly need for the next few weeks. “You gonna be all right handling the West Seventh case on your own? Want me to talk to the captain about getting you a temporary partner?”

  “Nah, I got it. It’s a straight-up homicide. Wrong place at the right time…”

  Joe paused his packing to study Grady. “Is it? The coroner called, said that the bullet pierced the victim’s left ventricle. Charles Hazzard was dead before he hit the ground. Either that was a hit, or he was the unluckiest bastard on the face of the earth. Care to make another wager? By the way, you owe me fifty-bucks.”

  “Shit… When were you planning on telling me the coroner called?”

  Joe shrugged and went back to packing the box. “I just did.”

  “You’re such as asshole, Troyer.” Grady shook his head. “But in all seriousness, are you going to be all right going out there by yourself?”

  Joe placed the lid on the box, avoiding his partner’s probing stare. He couldn’t look the man in the face and lie. “What other choice do I have? Besides, I’m not alone. I got Dex.” At the mention of his name, the dog let out a woof of agreement.

  “Sometimes I think that damn dog understands everything we say. It’s creepy, man… I think you love that dog more than you do me.”

  “You know, you’re not the first person to say that.”

  “I’m sure I’m not,” Grady laughed.

  Standing, he held out his hand, pulling Joe in for a back-slapping hug. “If you need me, just say the word and I’m there.”

  “Thanks, man.” Joe grabbed the box and turned to leave. He was two steps from the door when Grady called out, “Hey, don’t forget to bring me back one of those flat-rim straw hats.”

  “Fuck you, Grady…” Joe didn’t break stride as his partner’s laughter followed him out.

  …

  “Help! Help me!”

  The girl’s screams carried through the floorboards. His pulse quickened at the sound of her desperate plea. He set his chicken pot pie aside, his appetite caving to anticipation as a new hunger took root inside him. Ah…she was finally awake. And she was a vocal one. Not like the others who cried and meekly whimpered in the corner. No, this one had fight in her. His gaze strayed to the deep, bloody scratch on his forearm. That would scar. She’d permanently marked him. Then again, it was only fair, he supposed, considering he would soon be marking her. He would enjoy breaking her. And they all broke—eventually.

  He pushed away from the table and walked into the living room. Rolling back the braided rug in front of the couch, he took a moment to lovingly brush his hand over the myriad of colors—blonde, brunette, auburn… So beautiful and vibrant. It had taken him a long time to make that rug. The weaving and braiding and binding… And he still wasn’t finished. There were a few more colors left to add to his collection. It was his pride and joy. His greatest work. He’d done a few smaller pieces over the years, but none of them came close to this masterpiece.

  Another shout for help pulled him from his admiration, and he lifted the trap door, descending the steps to the hidden cellar. The pungent scent of stale earth grew stronger as he neared the bottom. Old boards creaked and wobbled beneath his weight. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs to light the gas lamp hanging on a rusted nail. The flickering incandescence cast the small room in a warm, ethereal glow.

  There she was�
�� His little dove.

  Her metal cuffs clanked sharply as they reached the end of their tether, anchored into the concrete block just above her head. As he approached, she skittered back, burrowing into the corner of the wall. Disappointment pinched his chest. Maybe he was wrong about her after all, and she would be just like the others—timid and weak. But as he got closer and those vibrant blue eyes locked on his, hope resurfaced. Oh, there was fear, but beneath it there was so much more—surprise, anger…

  He didn’t bother covering his face. He wanted her to see him, to know his secret just as he knew hers. Discovery wasn’t a concern. She wouldn’t live long enough to tell anyone.

  “Why?”

  One single word… It was a simple enough question, but one he could not easily answer. Why did the lion hunt? To feed? No, it was more than that. To chase, to kill…the instinct was programmed in their DNA, a part of who they were. They were born for this, predators created to hunt and kill—just like him. The beast inside of them couldn’t be stopped any more than the animal inside of him could be contained. It was unnatural to even try. For a little while, he’d endeavored, but he’d ultimately failed.

  He sat on the bed beside her, the springs protesting the additional weight. He knew from experience the bed would hold up—it had endured more vigorous strain than this. Just the thought of putting the old rusted metal to the test made his cock ache with eagerness.

  In their struggle, her kapp had slipped off her head, exposing all that beautiful hair, reminding him of an angel. Slowly, so as not to startle his little dove, he reached out and gently pulled the pins from her bun. Reams of pale silk spilled down her back. Ooo… He didn’t have this color yet. And it was longer than he’d thought.

  Oh, she was a prize to be sure…

  Heat pooled in his groin, and he grew hard. Pulling the heavy mass over her shoulder, he lifted the ends, unable to resist burying his face in the decadent softness. He inhaled deeply, savoring her light floral scent. Would she smell like that everywhere? He couldn’t wait to find out.

  “Why…?” He met her stare, slowly knotting the length around and around his fist. He mocked her with the question, annoyed she’d even ask. Wasn’t it obvious?

  He jerked his arm, dragging her closer to him. A startled yelp tore from her throat. She didn’t understand. None of them did. “Because, Abby, you’ve been bad. Because you must repent, and I will be your absolution. Because…” A smile tugged the corners of his mouth, and he grinned. “I can. And no one can stop me.”

  Chapter Three

  Hannah wasn’t sure which was worse, the middle of the night when darkness seemed to pervade and it was just her and her ghosts, or the pre-dawn hours when she became acutely aware she’d survived another day and it was about to start all over again. Every moment she lived beneath this blanket of grief was like trying to breathe under water.

  She was stuck in a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

  Hannah was no stranger to loss. In her twenty-six years, she’d experienced more than her share of it, and the scars ran deep. So, did the hurt and anger… Emotions that could poison her soul if she let them. She fought the good fight of faith and forgiveness—she truly did. Though, she wondered if it was a battle she was slowly losing. How long could she continue to force herself into this box of conformity before something finally broke.

  The Lord had allowed Cassie to be taken from her. Although her parents would never admit it, they blamed her. How could they not? She blamed herself. Cassie was her responsibility, and she’d failed to keep her safe. Her sister had come to live with Hannah and her five-year-old son Eli after Jacob’s death.

  Deacon Schrock often said, “The Good Lord never gives us more than we can bear.” Hannah wasn’t so sure she believed that anymore. In fact, there wasn’t a lot she believed in these days. She glanced at the solar alarm clock on the nightstand and exhaled a sigh, trying to rally the motivation to get out of bed. She reminded herself she needed to be strong, if not for herself, then for her son. Eli needed her. She wasn’t the only one hurting. He had been devastated by his father’s death, and now losing Cassie…

  He wasn’t handling it well. It had sparked an irrational fear in him that she would leave him next. The poor boy would hardly let her out of his sight anymore. She wanted to help him, but she didn’t know how. It was just one more thing she was failing at.

  As if her thoughts had conjured the little one from sleep, footsteps pattered down the hall, stopping in her doorway. It was a sound she’d grown accustomed to hearing. Every night he’d come down to her room and check to make sure she was still there. Hannah couldn’t remember the last time either one of them had slept through the night.

  “Ma…?”

  “Good mornin’, Eli. What are ya doing up so early? Mr. Fritz hasn’t even crowed yet.”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  He bounded across the room and climbed into bed beside her, burrowing beneath the warm covers. Jacob had always had strict rules about such things, but he wasn’t here anymore, was he? A twinge of resentment flickered in her veins. It was wrong to blame him for dying, to be angry at him for leaving her—leaving them—but grief wasn’t rational.

  “Me neither.” She pulled him into her arms and snuggled him, burying her nose in his soft, downy hair.

  “I miss Cassie,” he confessed softly.

  “So, do I, sweetheart.”

  “Now that she’s gone, are ya gonna have to marry Uncle Abel?”

  Hannah tensed, surprised by his question. A shiver of dread needled up her spine. “Who told ya that?”

  “I heard ya and Aunt Cassie talkin’. Ya said if it wasn’t for her, ya might have to marry Uncle Abel. But she’s gone now. Just like Papa.”

  That was the thing with little ears—they were always listening. Shortly after Jacob died—too shortly—his older brother, Abel, had offered for her. He told her she couldn’t run the farm alone, that she needed help raising Eli and maintaining the homestead. Maybe he had been right, because the rent coming in from the fields wasn’t enough to live on. To make ends meet, she’d had to take a job cleaning at the Churchtown Inn.

  Despite her efforts to make it on her own, the house was still in dire need of repairs. And then there was Eli to consider… Was she doing him a disservice raising him in a house without a father? Others in the community certainly thought so but she was done letting the opinion of others dictate her life.

  She’d already married one man she didn’t love. She wasn’t sure she could bring herself to do it again. Sure, in time, affection had grown between her and Jacob. But it was never the romantic kind of love girls dreamt of—even Amish girls…

  She’d only ever loved one man like that, and he’d broken her heart. The damage done had been irreparable. Even after all these years, she couldn’t hear his name without sharp pain knifing inside her chest. And she was thankful it was a name rarely uttered, for they were forbidden to speak of the shunned. He was dead to her, too…

  “Ya shouldn’t be worryin’ yer head about such things,” she lovingly admonished. “Since ye’re up before the chickens, how about you go get dressed and help me feed them? We’ve got lots to get done before Uncle Abel comes by to pick us up and take me to town.”

  “Okay, Mama…”

  Eli pressed a quick kiss to her cheek and scooted off the bed. A small smile tugged the corners of her mouth at the pitter-patter of his feet scurrying back to his room. That little boy was the only thing she had left in this world. He was what kept her going when she wanted to give up. She owed it to her son to give him the best life possible. She didn’t have the luxury of fanciful notions like love.

  Perhaps she should consider speaking with Abel about his proposal. Tabling the unwelcomed thought, Hannah climbed out of bed and quickly dressed. She was tying her apron at her back when a rapid little knock sounded on the door.

  “Ready, Mama…”

  “Go get yer shoes on. I’ll meet ya downstairs in a minu
te.” Hannah quickly dragged a brush through her hair and knotted it in a bun at her nape. She used to love letting her hair down and brushing it out. Now she rushed through the task, bile burning her throat as she fastened her kapp in place with bobby pins. She couldn’t touch her hair without thinking of Cassie. What monster would do something so horrid? It was bad enough he’d stolen her life. Why had he taken her hair, too?

  Tears pricked her eyes, and she swallowed down the emotion building in her throat. She couldn’t start crying. If she did, she’d never stop. Hannah tied the tails of her kapp beneath her chin as she descended the stairs. She still wore the sacred white identifying her as a married woman. Though nearly a year had passed, she was still unable to bring herself to exchange it for the maidenly black. Suitors were the least of her concerns right now. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Eli was waiting for her on the bench beside the door.

  “All set?”

  “Ready,” he answered, hopping to his feet. He looped the basket they used to collect the eggs over his arm and took her hand as they headed out the door.

  …

  Joe’s cell started ringing, and he turned off the radio before accepting the call. “Troyer.”

  “This is Riker. You in Lancaster yet?”

  “No, I’m still an hour away.” He’d been driving all night and was tired and cranky. It didn’t help that he was heading to the one place he’d sworn to God he’d never return—Churchtown, Pennsylvania.

  “What’s up, Riker? You miss the soothing sound of my voice, or what?”

  His sarcastic grunt echoed through the line. “Nobody likes a smartass, Troyer. Lancaster County Sheriff just called. They got another one—”

  “Shit… Tell them not to touch anything and to secure the scene. I’m on my way. Have the sheriff text me the address.”

  “Will do. I’ll be getting there no later than tomorrow night. I’ve already spoken with the sheriff. They know you’re their go-to on this investigation. You’ll have their full cooperation and they’re clearing out an office for you to work from.”