Forbidden (20 page)

Roc's heart thumped heavily, pushing his blood through his veins faster and faster. He stared at the contents in the suitcase, which lay scattered on the floor of Brody's closet. Snatching one of the wallets, he flipped it open. A cold, clammy sensation started at the top of his spine and worked its way down. He recognized the face in the driver's license as Delbert Reeves—age fifty-seven, black hair, brown eyes, organ donor—because the man's obit was in Brody's folder.

A grisly puzzle formed in Roc's mind.
It
couldn't be.

He tossed the wallet back into the suitcase and grabbed another, then another. Each one he opened held the owner's license, credit cards, pictures of family or friends, and cash. Each belonged to one of the deceased gathered in the folder.

A cold, hard knot formed in Roc's belly. There was no reason why Brody would have this stuff. No logical reason. And yet, one illogical, irrational, deadly reason emerged.

He slammed the lid of the suitcase closed and jumped to his feet. His vision swerved, and he paused for half a second, gripping a shirt hanging in the closet. Before he'd steadied himself, the shirt slid off the hanger, and Roc fell forward, stumbling out of the closet and slamming into the dresser. He held onto the shirt and dresser as if they would keep him afloat in the rocky sea of his wavering vision. Something rolled around inside the wooden drawers. Once he'd steadied himself, he yanked open the top drawer, making it catch and jerk awkwardly as if it was off its track. But the drawer was empty. He tried the next and the next until he came to the bottom drawer and found his stake. Its intricately carved sides caused it to roll in a lopsided manner. Next to it, folded inside a T-shirt, was his Glock. He scooped up both and headed back to the living room.

Rachel was waiting for him, eyeing him cautiously.

“Get your stuff,” he said, out of breath and out of time. His shoulder throbbed, and the breakfast he'd eaten rebelled in his gut.

“Stuff?” she asked.

He struggled to put on the shirt he'd pulled off a hanger in Brody's closet. Rachel came to him, helped ease his arm through the sleeve. “Any clothes…anything that's yours…” His gaze dropped to her bare feet. “Shoes. Purse. Anything. Get 'em. Now.”

“I don't understand. What's going on?” She guided his shirt into place, tugging the material up over his bandaged shoulder.

“We're leaving.”

“But where…?” She looked up at him with those imploring, trusting blue eyes. “Where are we going?”

He had no real answer for her. Coming here, he'd put her life at risk. But he hadn't known. He hadn't even suspected.
What
kind
of
a
vampire
hunter
was
he?
Not recognizing what Brody had become. He'd been a fool.

He snatched up his holster, shoved the Glock into place, and then shoved his arm through the leather straps, which scraped against his wound. He sucked in a breath.

“Let me,” she offered. Carefully, as if she needed oven mitts to handle it, she took the holster from him. He bit down on a curse word as the thick, leather strap settled on his shoulder.

“That's good enough. Don't fasten it.”

A jumble of plans and questions darted through his mind.
Where
would
they
go
now? And how would they get there?
He had to get Rachel someplace safe. And New Orleans was not safe. The logical choice was Pennsylvania. She could easily get lost in Amish country. “Have you called your folks?”

“They don't have a phone.”

“Levi or Hannah, then?”

She shook her head.

Her family needed a warning they were coming. But how would he get her there? He couldn't drive. Not so far, anyway. And it would probably be better to ditch the Mustang, because Akiva and Brody knew his car. “Is there a neighbor who can get a message to them?”

“There's a Mennonite family nearby, the Detweilers.”

“Good. Where's my cell phone?”

She pulled it and his wallet out of her front pocket. When he raised a brow in question, she said, “I thought I should keep them safe. Just in case we had to leave suddenly.”

“We do.” He looked into her stunning blue eyes and recognized common sense and quick thinking. For better or worse, they were in this together, and he was learning he could rely on her.

Taking the cell phone and pocketing his wallet, he dialed the phone number she gave him then handed the phone back to her. When her family's neighbor answered, she explained she needed to get a message to Levi for him to call them on Roc's cell phone.

While Rachel finished the call, Roc sat on the sofa and grabbed Brody's laptop. Ultimately, they needed to disappear for good. But for right now, they needed out of the area and fast. Faster than his Mustang could take them.

He had to get Rachel home. That was the only answer. So he did a quick search for flights out of New Orleans. But then a thought occurred to him.

“Do you have a driver's license?” he asked Rachel.

She shook her head.

“Then flying isn't an option.”

That left two others: bus or train. But before he could make a decision, the door opened.

“Feeling better?” Brody asked. Sunlight spilled around him and made his features dark and sinister.

“A hundred percent,” Roc lied, slowly closing the laptop.

“Good.” Brody raised his shades to the top of his head, and solid black eyes met Roc's. Those eyes answered all of Roc's questions. “I brought you a visitor.”

Levi forked the hay and pitched it into the bin for the cows. The sun bloomed, its rays spreading outward like petals, which soon began to wilt beneath the heat. He whisked off his flat-brimmed straw hat and swiped his forearm across his sweaty forehead. Bits of hay and dust stuck to his skin and itched.

It had been a long morning, and despite the warm, sunny weather, a cloud shifted across his heart. Hannah had woken early, and he'd found her praying and crying softly in their tiny kitchen. He'd tried to comfort her, but he knew firsthand no words could act as a balm to a wound in the heart.

When he'd lost his brother, Jacob, even scripture hadn't brought comfort. It shamed him to say so, but it was the honest truth. But he reminded himself: Hannah hadn't lost Rachel, not yet, anyway, and he prayed she wouldn't have to go through what he had.

But the not knowing…the wondering…the worrying…He understood that too. If something happened to Rachel, the regrets over not warning Rachel about Akiva would torment Hannah. Already, the guilt over hiding the truth about Josef's death clouded Hannah's eyes and her heart, which spilled over into every relationship.

Hannah tried to be upbeat around her mother and Katie, praying with them, sharing with them her confidence about Roc finding Rachel and bringing her home. But at night alone with Levi, her fears tumbled out, and her tears dampened his shoulder. He didn't mind the crying. It was understandable. But the helpless feeling gave Levi a restless frustration inside.

He heard the car motor and tires crunching the gravel before he actually saw the Detweilers' blue four-door stop in the drive. Ben and Linda had stopped twice in the last week to inquire about Rachel. Levi appreciated folks' interest and concern, yet as soon as the Detweilers left, Hannah's mamm would crumple into tears. Katie would join her, hugging her mamm, tears brimming in her own eyes, and Hannah would not be far behind. Daniel, Hannah's father, would head out to the barn and find some work to do. And Levi would be left without any recourse, without any answers.

With a weary sigh, Levi leaned the pitchfork against the fence railing and settled his hat in a respectable manner on his head. Ben Detweiler was a kindhearted Mennonite and a good neighbor to Daniel Schmidt. He had a small farm and worked in Lancaster at the local grocery store. His wife, Linda, stayed home with their four children.

Ben emerged from the car, and it appeared he was alone today. Levi hoped to head him off and answer his questions before any of the womenfolk saw him. But Ben must have seen Hannah's mamm, Marta, first off, for he gave a hearty wave in her direction and started toward the laundry line where Marta and Katie were stretching a sheet out to dry. Levi quickened his pace to catch up to Ben, but before he reached the laundry line, Ben was already conversing with Marta.

“Why, here comes Levi now,” Marta said.

Ben turned to face Levi. He was almost Levi's height and wore plain brown slacks and a white, short-sleeve, button-down shirt. His brown hair had been clipped short, and his green eyes were friendly. “How do, Levi.”

“Ben.” Levi shook the man's hand. “Nice to see you.”

“Mind if I have a word with you?” Ben asked, his tone serious and straight to the point.

Katie's gaze shifted back and forth rapidly.

Marta's brow collapsed beneath the weight of worry. “Is anything wrong, Ben?”

“Nah, just needed to speak to—”

“Sure.” Relief washed over Levi. This way he could answer Ben's questions and keep the women from getting upset. Or so he hoped. “Come on out to the barn. You can say hey to Daniel while you're here.”

Ben nodded to Marta and Katie. “Good to see you two. Linda says for me to tell you she's baking today and has a blackberry cobbler with your name on it.”

Katie grinned, and Marta said, “
Danke
, Ben. You tell Linda to come on any time and stay long enough to help us enjoy her fine fixings.”

“I'll do it.” He turned toward Levi, and together they started the walk toward the barn. They were several steps away from the women when Ben spoke. “I had a telephone call today.”

Levi glanced sideways, and his footsteps slowed.

Ben clapped his hand on Levi's back and angled him toward his car. “From Rachel.”

Levi stopped walking, but his heart galloped ahead. “Is she…? Well, if she called, then I guess she—”

“She was all right when I spoke to her. She wanted you to call her as soon as possible. I took down the number.”

“But”—he turned back toward Marta and Katie, who were busy hanging laundry on the line again—“shouldn't I tell—?”

“I think you should talk to Rachel first.”

His heart took an uneven rhythm. “Did she say where she was? Did she say anything about…?” He couldn't hold on to all the questions popping up in his brain like weeds. “Did she mention Roc?”

Ben shook his head. “She didn't say much of nothing other than for you to call her and to keep it quiet.”

Levi frowned. He wasn't much on keeping secrets anymore, but until he understood what was going on, a few more would do no harm.

“Wanna hop in my car, and I'll drive you over to my place?” Ben asked.

It began to sink in that Rachel had actually called. She was alive. She was okay. “You really talked to her?”

A smile creased Ben's face.

A reflection of his smile spread across Levi's own face. “This is good. Thank the Lord. This is very good news indeed.”

The whispers assaulted Rachel as if they were a storm creeping over the horizon of her mind and darkening her thoughts.

Roc's friend, Brody, stood in the doorway, and she recognized those intense black eyes. The same as Akiva and Acacia. Brody locked gazes with her, and her world tilted precariously, as if she'd lost her footing and grip on reality.

What
had
Brody
meant
when
he
said
he'd brought a visitor?
Just as the thought flashed, another rumbled, and then another and another, until she was struck by a downpour of fear.

Rachel.

Was
Akiva's voice in her head?
More whispers whipped about her.

Then
BAM!
A sound exploded in the room. The concussion shook her eardrums. Rachel flinched and covered her ears instinctively, but it was a half second too late. Suddenly, her ears sounded muffled as if they'd been stuffed with cotton.

She glanced sideways at Roc. He pointed his gun toward Brody and said something, but she could see only his mouth move. Before she could scream for him to put the gun away, another
BAM
ricocheted around the room. This time, she wanted to cover her eyes. Bright red stain bloomed in the middle of Brody's chest. His expression fell from confidence to shock.

Then everything happened at once, like a tornado ripping through the apartment—crashing thunder, flashing lightning. Roc burst off the sofa, dumping the portable computer onto the floor, and lunged across the room. Brody slumped against the doorframe. Roc moved as though he had not been near death last night, like a lethal animal on attack. Jerking the leather contraption off his shoulder, he secured it around Brody, tugging him inside the apartment and slamming the door closed. The BANG of wood pulsed in her ears. Then he shoved the deadbolt lock into place.

Brody toppled over and crashed onto the floor. As if in slow motion, he rolled over, his arms splayed outward. In the meantime, Roc secured another part of the leather strap to the leg of a chair. But Brody didn't fight, not the way Acacia had. He blinked as if dazed and watched Roc.

“I'm sorry, Roc.” His voice was raspy.

“Shut up.” Roc pushed to his feet and stood over his friend, staring down at him, his chest heaving with each breath, his wounded arm hanging lax by his side.

“I won't fight you.”

Roc turned away and went to the kitchen. “Rachel, get your stuff. We're leaving.”

But she couldn't move. She was shaking so hard she thought she might fall to the floor.

Roc came back to the living area, a knife in hand. His face looked pale, his demeanor no-nonsense, his gaze shielded. But Rachel saw the tremor in his fingers. Before she could ask what he was doing, he bent toward Brody and jerked the gleaming blade across Brody's throat. The skin opened a gaping wound, and blood poured out. Rachel gasped, and her own heart faltered. Brody's eyelids fluttered before they closed.

Roc didn't speak to his friend, didn't comfort him, didn't wait. He stumbled to his feet, crossed toward Rachel, and grabbed her arm roughly. “Let's go.”

“But…”

He still held the knife. “Now!”

And he whisked her toward the door. Her limbs stiffened and jerked crazily. Her stomach heaved. Suddenly, she was bent over, with Roc holding her forehead. She wasn't sure if she was ill from all the blood or from fear that Akiva might be outside the door.

Swiping a hand across her mouth, she glanced at Roc. “Where's the knife?”

“You okay?” he asked.

“The knife!” Her voice shook. Her chest constricted.

He pulled it out of his back pocket. Blood smeared the blade. She focused on it before drawing a breath and reaching for the door lock. With one more look at Roc, she asked, “You ready?”

“As much as I'll ever be.” He gave a nod for her to open the door.

He stepped outside first, keeping her behind him. His muscles were tense, poised for fight or flight. When there was no threat, no one standing outside waiting for them, just the surrounding buildings and swimming pool below, he turned back.

And she saw in his features what the last few minutes had cost him. Roc shuddered violently as he stared at his friend on the floor, blood pooling around the too-still body. Rachel placed a hand on his and helped him close the door.