Page 66 of Breaking Silence

“You were a father.”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “It seems like a lifetime ago. But I still think about it. What it was like. What happened to them. I still miss them every day.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that was.”

He shifts in the booth, and I know he’s ready to move on to another subject. Any other subject. “So how is Salome going to fare as far as the Amish? I mean being pregnant and unmarried. That’s got to be frowned upon.”

“Fornication is a pretty serious offense,” I tell him. “But the Amish won’t turn her away. That’s not to say it’ll be easy for her. Salome will have to confess her mistake while kneeling before the congregation.” I shrug. “Of course, there will be gossip. There always is. But the Amish will support her and her baby.”

“That’s something,” he says.

“Sometimes I think that’s the best we can hope for.”

CHAPTER 13

The blast of the phone yanks me from the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. Even before I’m fully awake, I’m keenly aware of Tomasetti lying next to me, his body warm and solid against mine. He doesn’t move, but I know he’s awake. We’re both light sleepers. Disoriented, I look around, shove the hair from my eyes. The face of the alarm clock tells me it’s just after 3:00 A.M. We’ve been asleep less than an hour.

I grab the phone. “Yeah,” I croak.

“Chief, sorry to wake you, but I got a ten-seventy out at the Hartzler place.”

That’s the code for a fire. I sit up. “Anyone hurt?”

“Ed Hartzler is missing.”

“Shit.” I fumble for my robe, shrug into it. “Fire department en route?”

“I called them straight away.”

“I’m ten-seven-six.”

Dropping the phone into its cradle, I rush to the closet, fling open the door, yank the light cord.

“What is it?”

I turn and see Tomasetti’s silhouette. In the dim light slanting into the room from the closet, I see him walking toward me. A small thrill races down my spine when I realize he’s still naked. We’ve been together like this a dozen times now, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing him without his clothes.

Stupidly, I avert my gaze, turn back to the closet. “Fire,” I say.

He comes up behind me and puts his hands on my shoulders. Bending, he kisses me on the neck. “Does the chief of police show up for every fire?”

I turn toward him, still intent on getting to the scene. But before I realize what I’m going to do, I lean into him, press my mouth to his. As if of their own accord, my arms go around his neck. He kisses me back, and my head begins to spin. God, I think, and pull away. “It’s an Amish farm.” Still stunned from the kiss, I blink at him. “We’ve got one missing.”

In an instant, he transforms from aroused male to cop. “Goddamn it.” He’s already rushing to the chair next to the bed where he draped his clothes.

We dress at a frantic pace, yanking on slacks and buttoning shirts, watching each other, wishing we’d had more time.

“You thinking the same thing I am?” I ask as I throw on my parka and head for the door.

“Yup.” Tomasetti grabs his trench coat on the way out. “Let’s hope we’re wrong.”

* * *

Ed Hartzler’s farm is located on Painters Creek Road. It’s one of the larger Amish farms in the area, spanning nearly a hundred acres of rolling hills, impenetrable forest, and a good part of the creek.

To keep any potential gossip to a manageable level, Tomasetti and I take separate vehicles. He follows me in his Tahoe. I drive well over the speed limit, but he doesn’t have a problem keeping up.

I see the orange glow of the fire from a mile away, and I know it’s bad. By the time I turn into the long gravel lane of the Hartzler place, I can see the flames shooting fifty feet into the air. The stink of smoke is thick, like wet ash in my mouth. Midway down the lane, three wild-eyed horses gallop past my vehicle.