Forbidden (21 page)

He'd committed the forbidden act. It branded him a traitor. An outcast. A predator. Now, they would be hunting him.

He had become what he'd been fighting. He'd killed his friend. It didn't matter if Brody was a vampire. He was also one of New Orleans's own. A cop.

Killing Brody was unthinkable. Unbelievable. Unforgivable.

But Roc couldn't stop for regret, to grieve Brody, or even to turn himself in.

Helping Rachel into the passenger seat of the Mustang, he glanced around the apartment parking lot.
Whom
had
Brody
brought
to
visit
him? Another cop? Or another vampire? Could it have been Akiva?
Whoever it had been, human or vampire, fled. Or was hiding. And Roc couldn't take the chance whoever might be lurking nearby, waiting for a chance to pounce. He had to get Rachel out of here.

Sliding into the driver's seat, Roc felt his body trembling and shaking in shock over the atrocity he'd committed. Now he would be a wanted man in New Orleans. Hell, everywhere. Chasing vampires was now the least of his worries. He would be chased by every police officer and law-enforcement agency.

What
would
he
do? Continue to run? Hide? Or turn himself in?
This was not a wrong he could right. He could never explain his reasons.
Who
would
understand
or
believe
him?
He took no pride or pleasure in the death of Brody. The only solution was turning himself in. But before he could, before he could own up to what he'd done, before he could suffer the consequences, he had to get Rachel somewhere safe.

He tossed his cell phone in her lap and stuck the knife's handle in her hand. Her startled gaze met his. “If Akiva finds us,” he said, “if he's here, we cannot hesitate. We must strike him first. If I can't, then you must. Do you understand?”

She swallowed hard then nodded.

He cranked the engine, shoved the gearshift into reverse, and avoided Rachel's gaze. He couldn't look into those blue eyes, so innocent and pure, and not see his own guilt. He'd never thought of himself as the bad guy. He'd always stood for what was right and good and tried his best even when he'd failed. But now, he detested himself.

Brody had been changed.
But
when? When had it happened? While Roc was gone to Pennsylvania? Since he'd returned?
The obits Brody had collected were probably his victims, which went back three or four months.
Had
guilt
over
what
he
had
become
made
Brody
hang
on
to
his
victims' wallets and personal possessions, and search out the obituaries? Had the same guilt kept Brody from fighting back against Roc? Had he allowed himself to be killed? Had he wanted to die? Had he planned it?

Roc understood hating what he'd become and believing death held the only answer, the only hope, the only relief from the pain. But whereas Roc had struggled to change, to battle the thirst for alcohol, Brody had not really had an option.
How
could
a
vampire
fight
what
he
was, the thirst burning inside him, a thirst that acted like acid?

“Buckle up,” he told Rachel as he swerved out of the parking space, shifting gears, and tore through the parking lot.

“Where are we going?” she asked, clutching the door.

“I don't know.”

The cell phone rang, and Rachel's eyes widened. He grabbed it, checked the number, which was not local, and punched the button. “Yeah, Roc here.”

“Roc, I am awful glad to speak to you. Is Rachel all right?”

Propping his elbow on the door frame, he leaned into his aching arm. “Yeah, Levi, she's fine.”

At least for the moment.

A whispered “Thank the good Lord,” came over the line.

“It's Levi?” Rachel asked, but Roc ignored her and kept his gaze on the road. “Is Hannah there? Can I—?”

Roc concentrated on what Levi was saying.

“And the baby?” Levi asked. “How is—?”

“Yes. They're both fine.” Maybe this was divine providence. Maybe this answered all his troubling questions. He would take Rachel home. Levi would take care of her, keep her safe. She could be with her own people once more. She could be home when her baby arrived. And he would return to New Orleans and deal with the aftermath of Brody's death.

“Thank you, Roc,” Levi said. “We cannot thank you enough.”

Rachel plucked at his sleeve. “Ask Levi to tell Mamm and Dat I am well.”

Roc nodded. “Look, Levi, we're in a fix. I need to get Rachel someplace safe. Now.” He slammed on the brakes at a red light and then swerved out of the left lane and into the right. Sitting for any length of time was not safe. He glanced at the rearview mirror but saw nothing suspicious—only cars moving along in the regular flow of traffic. But vampires didn't need cars or usual methods of transportation. Akiva could just as easily appear in front of them. Or to the side. Or even above.

To Levi, he said, “I'm trying to figure out the best way to get her home.” A long pause gave Roc time to give Rachel more instructions. “Keep an eye out for Akiva. Understand?”

She gave a quick nod, her hand clasping the knife more firmly, and she twisted her head to peer out the rear window then shifted again to peer out the side windows.

Then Roc recognized Levi's long pause as hesitation. Or maybe the phone had gone dead. “Levi? You there?”

“Yes, Roc, I am.”

Something was wrong, then. “What is it?”

The Amish man cleared his throat as if paving the way for something difficult. “I'm not sure it's wise, your bringing Rachel here. Not if you're being followed. Or concerned you could be. If Akiva were to come back here…how would I keep my wife, Hannah, safe? And Rachel too? You know Akiva will come here, Roc, searching for her. It will not be safe.”

Levi's questions punched Roc in the gut. Of course. He couldn't risk Hannah, either. But where could they go? “I understand, Levi. You're right. Rachel's my concern now.” As he said the words, Roc felt the conviction forging in his chest. He wasn't sure why he was willing to take on the responsibility for a pregnant Amish woman. Maybe it was because she'd taken care of him. Maybe it was simply the right thing to do. It certainly wasn't the smartest or safest.

He shoved his hand through his hair then gripped the steering wheel again. “I'll leave a trail leading somewhere else. Don't worry about that, Levi. But always keep a watch. Okay? Call me on this number if you see anything suspicious…if you hear anything…”

“The Lord is good to us. May He protect us all.”

Roc stared at the road, saw a red light up ahead, and cut in front of an oncoming car to turn left and avoid it.

“You will let us know you and Rachel are safe, will you not?”

“Yeah. Of course. Sorry I wasn't thinking earlier. I thought it would be easier to disappear in Amish country,” he explained to Levi, thinking more out loud than anything else. And now New Orleans wasn't safe, either. Roc had no more allies here. If he stayed, he'd be arrested, and then he couldn't protect Rachel.

Struggling beneath the pain of his shoulder and watching the traffic, he tried to formulate some sort of a plan. Maybe Roberto could get them to South America.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Roc. You are a good man, a gift from the Lord to help us.”

“Don't tell anyone you spoke to me, Levi. It will be better if you know nothing. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I understand.” Levi paused then said, “You realize, Roc, that Promise is not the only Amish community.”

Levi's statement made Roc bolt to attention. “Of course. Why didn't I think of that? Do you have a suggestion?”

“My folks live in Ohio. They moved there after Jacob…well, after everything started. You could take Rachel there and stay with them.”

Roc glanced at Rachel. “You know where Levi's parents live in Ohio?”

“I know the name of it,
ja
.”

“Okay,” Roc said to Levi.

“Good,” Levi said. “I will let them know you are coming. My father—” Levi paused again. “He knows about Jacob…and he can help you.”

“Tell your father no one can know why we are coming. No one. It isn't safe.”

“He won't tell a soul.”

I'll follow thee

Like an avenging spirit I'll follow thee

Even unto death.

A sacrificial lamb was what he needed.

Akiva fixated on the first “lamb” he could locate without regard to who it was or how difficult it would be to get her alone. A mental stopwatch ticked off the seconds, and he took a running start.

Using the oldest trick in the book, if there had been such a manual as “How to Sabotage a Stranger” or “Abduction 101” or “How to Lure Someone into Your Trap,” he drew on his vast experience and whistled shrilly as he came around the corner of Brydon's building, hollering, “Here, Buddy! Where are you, Buddy?”

He looked everywhere but at the one person who was there, lying on her stomach on one of the slatted, poolside lounge chairs. One glance had told him all he needed to know: she had a deep tan the color of honey and long, wavy blond hair. A flowery tattoo sprouted just above the white bikini line on her left hip. He also knew what she was thinking…something about a missing clue, police tape, and murder weapon.

As Akiva rounded the corner, she closed the paperback novel and sat upright, swinging her legs to the side of the chair. “Looking for something?”

He met her gaze, then. “My dog. You seen him? A big, goofy lab. Ran out the door and—” He gestured with his hand as if helpless. “Now I can't find him anywhere.” Walking past her, he pretended to look behind bushes. He rounded the corner of another building then jogged back to the pool decking.

One more innocuous statement should do it. He bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, as if spent and out of options. “Haley…my girlfriend…is gonna kill me.”

The woman smiled and placed her book on the ground beside a sweating plastic cup. “I'll help you. What's the dog's name?”

“Buddy.” And then he hollered and whistled again.

When she stood and slid her feet into flip-flops, her legs looked even longer. “Buddy!” She walked around the pool. “Buddy!”

“Oh, great,” he muttered not quite to himself.

“What's wrong?”

“I left the leash in my apartment.”

“Want me to get it?”

He hesitated. “Would you mind? Buddy might not come to you.”

“Sure. No problem. Where's your apartment?”

“Second floor. Two sixty-six.” He nodded toward the building where Brydon lived, where he lay on the precipice of death. The timer in his head ticked away.

He glanced back at the clueless, helpless woman. “The leash is just inside the door.”

She offered a smile meant to comfort. “I'll be right back.” With an easy gait, she climbed the stairs. But a moment later, from the door to Brydon's apartment, she called down to Akiva, “The door's locked.”

He tapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Sorry, forgot that.” He jogged up the stairs. “Losing Buddy has me more upset than I would have thought.”

“Of course. No problem.” She waited for him, her gaze searching the pool area for a wayward dog.

“Was that a black tail?” Akiva asked suddenly, “between those two buildings?”

“Where?”

Behind her back, Akiva turned the knob in his powerful grip, and the door swung open. Brydon lay in a pool of his own blood, and Akiva gave a quick glance around to make sure no one else saw what he was about to do.

As the woman turned, her baby blues went wide at the sight of Brydon, and her glossed, picture-perfect mouth opened. But Akiva moved fast. He gave her a hard right punch to her belly, and the air went right out of her. Bent double, she gagged and sputtered. He hurled her into the apartment where she tripped over Brydon's outstretched legs and collided with the coffee table. She slumped onto the floor as Akiva stepped inside the apartment, confident no one could stop him.

“Oh, yes…‘all the devils are here.'”

The train took off just before midnight and chugged through the darkness. Rachel wished it would move at a faster clip to put more distance between her and the memory of what had happened.

Roc motioned for her to crawl into the smaller of the two beds in their sleeping compartment.

She hesitated. “I should see to your shoulder.”

“It'll keep.” His skin looked pasty beneath the stubble on his jaw, and dark patches circled his eyes, making them shadowy and haggard. His hair had long since fallen out of the rubber band he used to hold it back. To others, he must look unkempt and uncivilized, but to her, he was valiant. Because he had saved her life. Once again.

Reluctantly, she removed her prayer
kapp
, slipped off her tennis shoes, and climbed carefully into bed. Her ankles were swollen, and her lower back ached. But what did she have to complain about? Roc had a serious injury to his shoulder. He had been forced to kill his friend. And it was all her fault.

“You must be exhausted,” she said.

He grunted in agreement before flopping onto the bed beside her and mumbling, “I won't hurt you.”

“I didn't think you would.”

His eyes were already closed. She laid her head on the soft pillow and listened to the rumbling of the train and felt its rolling gait. He'd told her they were taking a train north to Philadelphia, but then they would switch and head west. Pittsburgh would get them closer. From there, they'd make their way to the Amish community where Levi's folks lived—Harmony Hollow.

Exhaustion seeped into her limbs. She imagined fields of green, corn stalks growing, and fruit ripening. Her eyes shuttered closed, and her thoughts went blank.

When something jarred her, she abruptly awoke, blinked against a pale light and saw Roc leaning one arm against the sink.

She struggled to sit upright, the baby pressing on her bladder. “Are you all right?”

He grunted.

She shifted to the other side of the bed and set her feet on the floor. The compartment on the train was the size of a barn stall. Roc stood only a couple of feet away. His shirt was untucked and open in the front. She caught a glimpse in the mirror of his solid chest muscles and flat abdomen. She pressed a hand against his forehead. His skin felt cool to the touch, but a fever burned in his eyes.

“You okay? You don't look so good.”

“Go back to bed, Rachel.”

“Let me help you.”

“There's nothing you can do.”

Her heart ached for him. She had glimpsed the pain in his eyes when he'd glanced one last time at his friend. She could see the same pain now. “You're upset over your friend,
ja
?”

“Ya think?”

His sarcastic tone stung her, but she ignored it. “It's not your fault, Roc. You had to do it. You could see he was changed. He was different. Like Akiva. Like Acacia.”

Roc faced her then, the tension in his face making his skin taut. “He didn't even fight back. He
wanted
me to kill him.”

“You can't know that, Roc. Maybe you surprised him.”

“He didn't fight back.
They
always fight back.” He pointed toward his wounded shoulder. “Remember this?”

“Maybe,” she said, “maybe Brody realized he was evil and didn't want to live that way.”

Roc pushed away from the sink and stumbled back toward the bed. He sat on the edge and braced his elbows against his knees. His hands sought sanctuary in his hair. “It doesn't matter if he did or didn't. The fact is: I killed him. Maybe it's worse knowing he believed I would.”

She came over to him, stood in front of him, wanting to reach out to him to offer comfort in some way, and yet knowing she should keep her distance. “Roc, I know there is nothing I can say, but—”

“You're right. There's nothing you can say. Go to bed. We'll be changing trains soon.”

***

At the station, they left the train and made their way through a scant crowd to the next one, which departed an hour later. They picked up hot dogs and snacks to fill their hungry bellies and settled into the lounge, where they had upright seats. They hardly spoke a word.
What
was
there
to
say
anyway?
But there were many questions Rachel wished to ask.
How
long
would
they
be
in
Ohio? Would she ever be able to go home again?
But Roc was in too much pain—both physically and emotionally—to bother with her questions. So she remained silent, following his lead and letting her thoughts race forward to what would be her future.

Levi's father, Jonas Fisher, had always seemed stern and didn't speak much. But his mother, Sally, although quiet, was pleasant and a good cook. Rachel hoped she could be a help to Sally while she was staying in the woman's house. Levi had another brother, a younger one named Samuel. He would be about eighteen by now.

She wanted to ask Roc if she could call Mamm or even Hannah. It would feel so good to hear their voices. But Roc didn't want anyone to know their whereabouts, not only for their safety but for others, as well. She trusted him.
How
could
she
not?
After all, he'd risked his life numerous times for her.

Out the big window, the landscape skidded past, blurring the colors and warping the shapes of trees and telephone poles. Occasionally, she glanced at Roc, who sat beside her, his hands folded across his stomach, his eyes closed.
Was
he
sleeping
or
simply
shutting
her
out?

Of course, he was still recovering from Acacia's attack. His shoulder injury must ache. She had patched it as best she could, but she suspected it might become infected. It would definitely leave an impressive scar. When they arrived at the Fisher home, she would ask Sally for some salve.

But the thought sent a streak of uncertainty through her.
Would
Roc
stay
with
them
in
Harmony
Hollow? Or would he leave her?
Suddenly, the idea of being alone caused a cold knot of fear to form just under her left rib cage. The Fishers, of course, would be there.
But
what
could
they
do
to
help
her?
She needed…wanted…Roc nearby. He would protect her
. Oh, Lord, help me not to feel afraid. Help me to be brave for whatever may come.

“What's wrong?” His voice gave her a start, and the baby kicked in response.

“Nothing.” She glanced at the other seats around them; some were empty, but a few held passengers who were reading books, fiddling with their cell phones, or flipping through newspapers. Morning sunlight poured through the wide windows. Some of the passengers had pulled the shades and slumped in their seats.

A young man slouched low in his seat. He had earphones over his head, and even from a few feet away, she could hear a steady beat. He somehow looked familiar, and she wasn't sure why until he glanced up and his crystal-blue gaze met hers. He had old eyes—not wrinkled with crow's feet, but ancient, steady, wise. And she'd seen him before, standing outside Brody's apartment. He was guarding her and Roc. The good Lord, she figured, must have sent him.

“You're about to twist that tie to your
kapp
into a knot.” Roc placed his hand over hers. “You scared of”—his voice dipped lower—“you-know-who?”

“I know what he can do.
Ja?
But I'm not afraid anymore.”

“What took away your fear?”

She pointed in the direction of the young man. “Him.”

Roc arched an eyebrow and glanced in the direction she pointed. “Who?”

But the young man with the blue eyes was gone. His seat was empty. It should have startled her, but it didn't. And the young man's absence didn't alter her feeling of peace. She somehow knew he would be back if they needed him.

“Rachel,” Roc said, “I'm here.”

“Yes.” He was. And she was grateful. She gave him an appreciative smile. “
Danke
for that…for all you've done for me, Roc. I am most grateful for your presence.”

He remained silent, not responding to her thanks. He simply watched her, studied her like a farmer looking over his crops. “What then? Is it the baby? You feeling all right?”

She smoothed out the tie of her
kapp
and rested her hand against her swollen belly. She hoped she would be home in time to give birth with her mamm beside her, helping her.
But
what
about
Roc; would he wait with her?

“What will happen when we reach Ohio?” she asked. “Will you stay? You're not well,” she rushed on to say. “You need some rest.”

“I will stay until I know the fear of any threat is over.”

“When will that be?”

“After your baby arrives safely.”

Disappointment mingled with relief. At least Roc would stay. But regret tightened her throat. “So we will be in Ohio till then?”

“Unless something else happens, yes.”

She released the disappointment, and it slipped from her fingers. The important thing was for the baby to arrive safely. Then she would go home.

But a thought occurred to her: if they were going to stay in Ohio and hide out among the Amish, then Roc was going to have to change. He glanced at his worn jeans, cowboy boots, and wrinkled shirt, which was left untucked to hide the gun along the base of his spine. He wouldn't exactly blend in with the community. And questions would soon be asked.

“Then we're going to have to do something about your outfit.”

His eyes widened, and he glanced at the green shirt he'd taken from Brody's closet. “What's wrong with how I'm dressed?”

“You don't look Amish.”

“And you do?”

Her face burned as she glanced down at the maternity top Akiva had bought for her, and the slacks with the elastic waistband. “I will have to buy something suitable too. Or Sally may have something I can borrow.”

His gaze shifted toward the window. After a moment, he spoke. “We should arrive to fit our story. Just in case anyone sees us. We don't want any questions asked.”

She nodded her agreement. “And what is our story?”

“I've been working on that.” His voice remained low, secretive, and gave her a slight tingle along her spine. “You're right. We need to look and act Amish…well, I do…You already are. You'll have to help me, as this is all new to me.”

Again, she nodded. She didn't like lying. But these lies weren't simply to protect her baby or herself or even Roc. If questions were asked, if the vines of rumors grew unchecked, then it could be dangerous for the Fishers and the community at large. She didn't want to endanger anyone else. “I will do what I can.”

“Good. And I've been thinking about this. We're going to have to say we're married.” When her eyes widened, he rushed on. “Because that's the only way I'm going to be able to stay near you in order to protect you. It's not something I want, Rachel. But I have to be near you to keep watch. I'm too tired from this”—he tilted his head toward his wounded shoulder—“to hide in bushes or creep around the house in the dark right now. I'm sorry about that. I don't want to offend you or anything but—”

“Roc.” She raised her fingers to stop his rush of rationalizations. She'd never heard him so talkative. “It's all right. I have no reason to question you or doubt your intentions. I understand…and I agree. It makes sense. I do not like to lie—”

“But—,” he said for her.

“But,” she said firmly, “I must think of it as we are protecting the Fisher family too. This is the best solution.”

He waggled a finger at her. “You're smart.”

The heat on her cheeks ratcheted up a notch. “I don't want to endanger others.”

“We'll make sure they stay safe.” His gaze locked with hers, and the certainty of his words, his commitment and promise sank deep within her.

“But—” He leaned close, his breath on her ear sending a rippling sensation down her spine. “You should take off your
kapp
…just for a while. So we don't draw attention
here
, either. I don't want us attracting
any
attention. If someone is trying to follow us, there can't be any trace, no memory lodged in someone's mind. And a woman wearing one of these”—he hooked a finger under her
kapp
's tie—“catches folks' eyes and becomes memorable.”