Page 97 of Fallen

I smile at Tomasetti. “Took you long enough to get here.”

He stares back. “Can’t leave you alone for more than a few hours, can I?”

“Once again you underestimate my ability to get myself into trouble.”

“Apparently, you are correct.”

He crosses the distance between us in two strides, his eyes intense and steady on mine. Upon reaching me, he leans close and presses a kiss to my temple. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispers.

I close my eyes, overcome by his presence, his closeness, the sight and smell of him, the feel of his lips against my skin. “Not the first time,” I whisper.

“Probably not the last.”

His arms go around me. He pulls me tight against him. I feel the warmth of his face against mine. His hand against the back of my head. “I heard you had a close call.”

“Too close,” I say. “If it wasn’t for Pickles and Skid…”

He shushes me with a kiss, then pulls away, runs his knuckles down the side of my face. “I heard about Pickles,” he said. “Not bad for an old guy.”

“You old guys are so underappreciated.” My smile feels tremulous on my lips. “Any news on Fannie Bontrager?”

He grimaces and I’m reminded this man I love was the father of two girls who were about Fannie’s age when they were killed. “Children Services picked her up. Foster parents will probably keep her for a day or two, until they can figure out the family situation.”

I think about Rhoda and Dan Schwartz. Already mourning the loss of a daughter. A granddaughter they didn’t know existed about to enter their lives. “The Amish believe children are a gift from God,” I tell him.

“Most of us believe that,” he tells me.

I nod. “If there’s any good news to come out of this, it is that Fannie has family here in Painters Mill.”

“Do you think they’ll—”

“Yes,” I say. “They will. They’re Amish.”

“I guess that just about says it all,” he murmurs.

I motion toward my clothes on the shelf. “What do you say we get out of here before the nurse comes back and tries to cart me out in a wheelchair?”

He grins. “I think that’s the best idea I’ve heard all week.”

CHAPTER 42

Life is a river that never stops flowing. You can dam it, you can harness its power, you can poison it, but you can’t stop it. A river never ends. It changes course and cuts through the land. It floods and damages and kills. It can be weakened by drought. But it never stops. It is the fundamental giver of life.

It’s been two weeks since Loretta and Ben Bontrager tried to murder me in the field where the old Amish schoolhouse used to stand. My cuts and bruises are healed for the most part. The nightmares have dwindled. Tomasetti and I don’t talk about it, but he always lets me know he’s there for me if I need to.

This afternoon, I’m on duty and covering for Glock, who had an appointment with his wife, LaShonda. He hasn’t made the announcement yet, but I’m pretty sure they’re expecting their fourth child. That river of life, I think. It’s a beautiful thing that fills me with hope for the future.

I’m idling down Folkerth Road, watching a team of horses pull a plow through river-bottom soil, when Lois’s voice snaps over my radio.

“Chief, ten-twenty-nine.”

A 10-29 is a general code my department uses for any type of juvenile situation and usually entails the Tuscarawas Bridge and a can of spray paint. “What’s the twenty on that?”

“I just took a call from Rhoda Schwartz,” she tells me. “Seems their granddaughter is missing.”

A thread of worry whispers through me at the mention of Fannie. I’m not surprised. “Any idea how long she’s been gone?”

“She thinks maybe a couple of hours. She called from the phone shack. She and her husband are out in the buggy looking.”