Married To The Mob

“There’s no ‘you guys,’ Dan. I never knew what went on day-to-day, and I absolutely, positively had nothing to do with the funeral home, the funeral and why or for what reason they shipped off the empty casket for an Italian burial. I just knew Carlo’d died. His uncle Louie handled all the details.”

He shot her a look Carlie didn’t like. He didn’t seem to believe half of what she said, but there was nothing she could do about it. The guy was the most suspicious critter she’d ever met.

He pushed the gas pedal, and the speed shoved her back into the seat. “What are you doing?”

“Getting off the Turnpike. This rush hour traffic is not my thing.”

“But you live and work in Philly.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like the traffic there.”

Carlie studied his profile as they crossed the Delaware Memorial Bridge. So far, she hadn’t found a thing Dan liked. What really threw her was that when he’d first been assigned to protect her, J.Z. Prophet, Dan’s usual partner at the Bureau, had described her shadow as an easygoing, laid-back kind of guy.

This guy didn’t have a laid-back hair on his blond head. And she was stuck with him. At least, until the trial was over and the verdict came in. After that…well, she didn’t know what came after that, but she wasn’t about to give it much thought. She still had to live long enough to get to “after that.”

“Then allow me the pleasure to distract you from the horrors of after-work traffic,” she said with a grin. “How about you tell me where you’re taking me? I really, really want to know.”

“We’re going to a safe place just outside Bird-in-Hand.”

“Huh?”

He shot her a smile. “So you don’t know everything. Bird-in-Hand is a sleepy little town with the best Amish bakery and a huge quilting shop.”

“You know about bakeries and quilt shops?”

“I’m a multifaceted kind of guy.” He turned just enough for her to see his wink. “Actually, my mom’s crazy about quilting, so she knows every one of those stores in the eastern half of Pennsylvania.”

“So you’re from that area.”

“I grew up in a suburb of Harrisburg.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” By now he’d relaxed enough that his fingers didn’t remind her of the color of overcooked macaroni before the cheese was added anymore, a food group she now knew too much about thanks to her underground existence. “So how about you tell me where you’re taking me—exactly where you’re taking me? I mean, I have nothing against road trips, but really. This is just too weird.”

“Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Carlie.” He slowed down for a red light. “But I’ll go ahead and tell you. My mom knows a Mennonite family who’s willing to let us stay at their farm.”

“Farm, huh?”

“Yes, the Millers own a dairy farm, and I remembered them when I tried to come up with a quiet, inconspicuous place to stash you. My mom and Mrs. Miller shop for their quilting supplies at the Bird-in-Hand store. Over the years they’ve become friends.”

What was he getting them into? “The Mennonites, they’re not the ones with the buggies and no electricity, are they?”

“No, those are Old Order Amish, but Mennonites are still very, very conservative.”

She shrugged. “I’ll figure it out as I go. I can handle anything as long as I get a decent night’s sleep, a shower in the morning and a blow-dryer for my hair.”

He squirmed in his seat, looked very, very uncomfortable. “We can do the sleep, and the shower shouldn’t be a problem. But the blow-dryer might not be so easy. Because the women wear their hair twisted up in the small white kapps, I’m not sure the Millers own one, and yours is…”

Carlie’s stomach sank. “Mine’s a blob of melted plastic and a couple of blackened wires. So we need to look at this as a new life experience. Okay. I’m sure it’ll come in handy someday.”

From the way Dan’s shoulders shook, she knew he was trying to hold in his laughter. At least she was good for comic relief. They had enough grim to survive. And Mennonites were Christians, so staying with the Millers couldn’t be too bad.

They’d ditched the Pennsylvania Turnpike at around four o’clock. They pulled into the Miller farm at around six. The white farmhouse stood at the end of a long gravel drive. A huge oak tree spread its full, green branches in front of the home and shaded the wide porch. A big red barn flanked the rear of the house to the right. Various other smaller structures spread out toward the left rear. A bunch of black-and-white cows crowded each other on their way to what must have been dinner.

“Speaking of dinner,” she said, “what are we doing for food?”

“Trust me,” he answered with a smug smile.

“Oh, fine. Have it your way.”

“I’m planning an experience you’ll never forget.”

Her stomach flipped. That easy smile made Dan look more human. And a million times more attractive. She wondered what he was like when not on the job.

“Come on,” he said.

Carlie blinked. Saved by the bell…or something like that. She really couldn’t afford to find her keeper appealing. So she’d better think about these people whose quiet life they were about to invade.

The woman who opened the door looked like a storybook grandma. This one, though, wore an unusual gray dress with sleeves that poufed a little on the shoulders then snugged down to just above the elbows. The dress made Carlie think of something one might have seen decades ago, if not way more than that. The plain top had a flat-over thingy that ended at the waistline. A skirt generous enough for the woman to do just about any kind of farm chore came down to the shin, where legs covered with dark cotton stockings led to old-fashioned black lace-up shoes.

Mrs. Miller shook her head when Dan told her a gas problem had left Carlie temporarily homeless. “So sorry to hear,” she said, her voice spiced with a slight accent. “But please, make yourself welcome.”

Carlie was charmed, but she felt like an impostor, lower than a slug. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Miller. I do appreciate your hospitality.”

Their hostess smiled and gestured for them to follow her. “Come, come. Supper is served.”

“Pay attention,” Dan whispered close to her ear.

On their way to the kitchen, Carlie asked Mrs. Miller about the farm. She learned all kinds of details the woman gladly shared. And when they entered the enormous kitchen, Carlie understood what Dan had meant. A huge oak table filled the center of the room. Spread out over its surface was a feast, a banquet, a smorgasbord of sights and smells. Carlie’s stomach growled.

Dan chuckled. “Told you.”

“No, Mr. Close-mouthed Secret Agent, you did not. All you said was another of your enigmatic ‘trust mes.’ That didn’t even give me a hint.”

“You can’t fault a guy for wanting to surprise a girl.”

“You surprised me, all right.”

“This is Richard.” Mrs. Miller indicated the oldest boy. “Beside him is Jonas, then Ruth. On the other side, Rachel and Stephen…”

In minutes, Carlie asked and learned the children’s ages, where they went to school and their usual chores around the farm.

Finally, they joined the Millers, all seven of them, for the meal. Mr. Miller said grace in what sounded kind of like German, and after resounding amens, everyone dug in.

Evidently, Mrs. Maddox had let her friend know she’d soon have guests, and Mrs. Miller had put on what she called “a little more” into the pots and pans. To Carlie, it looked like she’d gone a whole lot further than that. A gentle prod with her fork broke the pot roast into tender morsels. Parsley and butter coated the potatoes, a colorful variety of homegrown veggies filled another third of her gargantuan plate, home-baked bread melted in her mouth, and cinnamon-dusted applesauce tasted more refreshing than Carlie remembered from her childhood.

“What do you think?” Dan asked.

“Wow! Nothing but wow.”

Just when Carlie was sure she couldn’t possibly swallow another mouthful, Mrs. Miller brought out two different pies. One was apple, and the other the well-known Pennsylvania Dutch shoofly pie.

“Which one?” their hostess asked.

“Oh, I’m going to try the shoofly,” Carlie answered. “I’ve always wondered what it was like.”

With her first bite, she fell in love, as she told her hostess, and thanked the kind woman for the best meal she’d eaten in years. Afterward, she insisted on helping Mrs. Miller and the girls in the kitchen, and when the last plate was put away, Carlie found herself more tired than she’d ever thought she could be. She yawned, and Dan caught her.

“Time to hit the hay,” he said with a wink and a grin. “Say good night to our hosts, Carlie.”

“Good night,” she said like a dutiful child. But instead of heading upstairs, where she figured the bedrooms would be, Dan led her to the back door. “Where are we going?”

“I told you. You’re going to hit the hay.”

The glee in his face told Carlie more than she wanted to know. “You mean that literally, don’t you?”

“Yup.”

“How can you do that to me? I’ve been shot at, bombed—more than once, I might add—burned out of my apartment, and now you want me to sleep with the cows? You never told me about the perks of this deal, Danny Boy.”

“Give me a chance to explain. Mrs. Miller didn’t understand why I wanted you in one of the older outbuildings either. But think about it. If your family’s pals follow us out here, and I’m not saying they will, but you never know, do you want to put the Millers at risk?”

“I never thought of that, and I should have.” She sent a silent prayer heavenward. “Thanks, Dan. I’m so glad you did think it through.”

Unless she was much mistaken, a hint of a blush warmed up the tan over his chiseled cheekbones. To her amazement, he looked embarrassed. By a simple thank-you. Go figure.

To defuse the awkward moment, she said, “Lead on, fearless leader. Where do you want me? Roosting with the chickens?”

He pointed toward the left field. “There.”

Oh, yeah. It was the one she’d feared he would choose. “Tell me why you decided we needed to occupy the frumpiest, dumpiest, most dilapidated pile of boards here?”

“Because the Millers are about to tear it down plus a couple of the other outbuildings, now that they put up the big red barn. If something happens while we’re here, I don’t want them to suffer any major loss.”

Again his thoughtfulness surprised her—for the Millers, that is. “Let’s go, then.” She began to sing “Away in a Manger.”

“You are just too much.”

She snickered. “Too much what? Too much trouble? Too much fun? Too much of a good thing? Or maybe too much effort?”

“No way. That’s the problem with you women. You lay traps for us guys to trip into. I’m not touching that one even if I’m drowning and it’s the only thing that floats.”

In a good mood, they reached the old structure. Dan held the wide, warped door open for Carlie. “Rich, the Millers’ oldest son, brought out some pillows and bedding,” he said. “You should be pretty comfortable.”

She frowned. “What about you?”

“I’m keeping an eye out for trouble. Naps in the car aren’t so bad.”

“Great. Another guilt trip. I’m kinda tired of all the extra travel you’re taking me on.”

“Forget it. It’s my job. I’m used to stakeouts.”

She tilted her head and gave him a long look. “One of these days you’re going to have to tell me all about being an FBI guy. It’s not your everyday kind of job.”

“Neither is being married to the mob. So once you tell me, I’ll tell you.”

Carlie held out her hand. “You got yourself a deal, Mr. Secret Agent Man.”

He gave it a brief shake then let go as if burned. “Well. Ah…good night, Carlie.”

“You, too.”

She went inside, and on a pile of fresh-smelling hay against the rear wall Rich Miller had spread out the bedding. At one end, a pair of fluffy pillows were piled one on top of the other. All of a sudden, the strain of the recent upheavals overcame her.

Exhaustion claimed Carlie. She plopped down onto her makeshift bed, pulled the lightweight quilt over her shoulders, and dropped off faster than she thought possible.

A while later, she woke up. She had no idea what roused her, but she opened her eyes, her heart beating a frantic, furious pulse. Instead of her cozy quarters, she found herself in Dante’s vision of Hades.

Tongues of flames licked toward the roof, the walls, her nest of hay. Smoke made it hard to see—worse, to breathe. The billows swirled before, beside, behind the flames.

“Oh, Father…dear God. Your will be done.”

As she finished her scrap of prayer, she heard Dan’s yell.

“Hang on, Carlie! I’m coming for you.”

Everything went black.

THREE

Bit by bit, sound penetrated the thick, heavy darkness around Carlie. People jabbered, but she didn’t understand a word. A rushing noise whooshed behind the chatter, and the smell of a barbecue gone bad stung her nose.

Then she remembered the fire. She remembered the meal, the Millers, the bombed apartment. Did Tony’s slimy buddies get the farm, too?

She groaned. Everywhere she went, disaster and devastation followed.

A man called her name. He demanded that she breathe deeply. He commanded her to wake up. He ordered her not to die. “Come on, come on, come on!”

Carlie fought her heavy eyelids and tried to sit up.

No dice.

She needed someone to help her. The elephant who sat all over her body had to find a new seat, and the pins that held her eyes shut had to go.

But help didn’t come. At least, not the kind she wanted. Instead, she was lifted upward, through the air, a frightening experience eased somewhat by the firm support at her back. A woman spoke, but Carlie still couldn’t make out the words. Then she was poked, prodded, jostled, lifted, lowered, and then—finally—breathing wasn’t quite so hard anymore.

A weird wail started up, and Carlie fought against the weight of her eyelids. After a superhuman effort, she got them pried apart and wished she hadn’t. What she saw stunned her. Faces hovered just above her, weird gadgets hung beyond the faces, lights blinked, things clinked, and everything jerked and jolted to the tune of the ongoing wail.

“Carlie? Can you hear me, Carlie?”

She tried to answer, but her throat wouldn’t work. She tried to nod, but her head wouldn’t move—that scared her, so she tried to talk one more time.

“Don’t,” the female voice said. “Just blink if you can hear me. You have an oxygen mask over your nose and mouth, and that’ll make speech difficult.”

Oxygen mask! She blinked up a storm, but couldn’t ask the million and one questions that buzzed in her head. What had happened between Dante’s Inferno in a Mennonite barn and…where was she now? A hospital?

“Good,” the woman said. “You can hear me. Let me explain a few things for you.”

In a clear, soft voice, the woman told Carlie how Dan had axed a hole in the old, brittle wood walls of the small barn then dragged her out before the entire structure went up in flames. She’d passed out while in the burning building, and the Millers had called for the ambulance, which was now on its way to Lancaster General Hospital. The EMT wound up her explanation by insisting that Carlie was lucky to be alive.

But Carlie didn’t call it luck. She called it another of God’s many mercies. She couldn’t quite see a family like hers as any kind of luck, other than maybe the worst.

But where was Dan? Did he get hurt?

Carlie couldn’t stand the thought of her shadow being harmed because of her. But she couldn’t ask, and her head weighed about a ton. Her eyelids drooped again, and she slipped off for a nap.

Green and purple cows and orange and blue nails danced through her dreams.

“How much longer is she going to sleep?” Dan asked, frustrated.

Dr. Wong retained his calm. “We don’t know, Agent Maddox. It depends on how she reacts to pain meds, plus a number of other variables.”

“I have to get her out of here.” Dan began to pace. “They nearly got her this time.”

“This time?”

“That’s why she’s in the Witness Protection Program.” When they’d first brought Carlie into the hospital, Dan had no alternative but to reveal his identity and their situation. It was the only way he could get adequate protection for his charge.

“Then I’d better not ask you more questions.”

Relief felt good. “I appreciate that. And I appreciate the care you’re taking with her.”

“It’s all in a day’s work,” the young doctor said with a grin. “I’ll alert the rest of the staff. I’m sure they’re dying to know about Carlie’s vast and professionally serious extended family.”

“Thanks.” Dan hadn’t known how he was going to disguise the crew his boss, Eliza, had sent. The doctor’s understanding would go a long way in keeping things under some kind of control.

“But, Mr. Maddox?” the doctor said. “You yourself need to rest. You took in a big wallop of smoke, almost as much as Carlie did. And those burns of yours can get infected very easily.”

Dan shrugged. “It’s all in a day’s work.”

“Tripped up by my own words.” Dr. Wong punctuated his words with a wry grin. He tapped his forehead in a salute, then turned and left the room.

Dan returned to his sentry post on the nasty green pleather chair next to Carlie’s bed. But his patience wasn’t much to write home about, and before too long, he paced again from the foot of the bed to the large window that looked out on congested traffic.

“Noooooooo!”

The ear-splitting scream shocked him still for a moment. Then he spun, ran to Carlie’s side, and found her scooted up hard against the headboard, her legs bent at the knee, her medicine tree tipped partway over the bed.

Horror contorted her beautiful features, and the slight smudge of soot under her right eye, one the nurses missed when they’d cleaned her, added to the atypical, weirdly tough-girl look she now wore.

“Get out of here!” she yelled. With her non-IVed hand, she scrabbled through the pile of sheets and blanket at her side. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she wanted to find, who she wanted to summon.

“It’s okay, Carlie. It’s me, Dan Maddox. You’re fine. The hospital and I are taking good care of you.”

A bulldog expression replaced the horror on her face. “I don’t know what your game is, bub, but you’re not Dan Maddox. He has gorgeous blond hair. You don’t have any.”

Something in Dan leaped when she admired his hair. But it soon settled down thanks to reality. “Carlie, it is me. They shaved my head because so much of my hair got singed when I went after you in the barn.”

She wrinkled her nose, and drew close. “You sound like Dan, but you look a little alien, kind of like that weird guy on the bottle, that Mr. Clean on TV commercials.”

“Gee, thanks. I’ve always wanted to make a beautiful woman think of floor cleaner.”

“Now I know you’re not Dan Maddox. He’d never tell me I’m beautiful. He’d call me trouble, a pain, crazy and who knows how many other snotty names.”

What could he tell her? That he had to force himself to think of her along those “snotty” lines to keep him from thinking of her as the drop-dead gorgeous woman she really was? That he didn’t want to admit her quirky sense of humor made it tough for him to keep from laughing? That he was scared to death he might fall for her over the duration of his assignment?

Not in this lifetime.

“I’m sorry you think I’m snotty, but you are a handful,” is what he went with. “And you don’t make my job—keeping you alive—any easier.”

“Oh.” She seemed to melt into her pillow. “You are Dan after all. Well, I guess that’s good. You really look scary, though. Wouldn’t want to bump into you in a dark alley.”

“Maybe that’ll help us. Just think. Maybe I’ll scare your brother’s buddies away.”

She snorted. “That’s not even funny. They’re pretty determined.” She settled down under her blanket again. “So what’s our next move?”

“It’s not all sewn up yet, but one thing’s for sure. We’re leaving the mid-Atlantic area ASAP. They got your apartment, and they followed us to the Millers’ place.”

Before Carlie had a chance to comment, a knock at the door drew their attention. Dan slipped his hand inside his jacket then nodded for her to answer.

He never would have guessed the identity of her visitor. Fourteen-year-old Jonas Miller walked in, his steps hesitant, his face flushed, his old-fashioned button-down shirt and dark navy pants an odd contrast to his youth.

“Jonas!” she exclaimed. “How are you? Do your parents know you’re here?”

Pure misery filled his adolescent face. “Ja. They know. They made me come. They even brought me.”

She blinked. “I see. And why would that be?”

The boy looked down at his feet and mumbled something Dan didn’t catch. Obviously, neither did Carlie, since she asked him to repeat himself.

“I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Carlie looked more puzzled than ever, but her voice came out soft, gentle, caring. “What are you sorry about, Jonas? What is the ‘this’ that happened?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t mean for the old barn to burn.”

“And that means…?”

“That it was all my fault.” Jonas looked ready to cry. “I—I know it was wrong, but the guys are always mocking me, so I figured I’d better practice for the next time after school.”

Dan knew what was up, but Jonas had to do this on his own.

“What were you practicing?” Carlie asked.

Jonas shifted his weight from foot to foot. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Then he seemed to come to a decision, squared his shoulders and stared straight at Carlie.

“I don’t want to choke when I smoke again!”

Carlie’s reaction was a quick blink. Dan had to fight the laugh on its way out. Then his mob widow surprised him—again.

“That’s the easiest thing,” she told Jonas. “All you have to do is not smoke. You’ll never choke that way. And those ‘friends’ will be the ones to worry about lung cancer and emphysema while you’re still healthy as a horse. You’ll have the last word.”

“But these guys already tease me because…well, I…I…”

The poor kid’s face turned redder than pizza sauce.

He shrugged. “I get good grades. It’s not so hard. I just go to class, do the homework, and that’s it. But they think I’m some kind of sissy.”

“Jonas, my man,” Carlie said, a smile on her lips. “Come on over here. Have a seat in Dr. Carlie’s office. You and I need to have us a chat.”

Dan’s admiration grew as each one of the next fifteen minutes went by. With her sense of humor and brilliant smiles, Carlie soon had the teen laughing with her. By the time she was done, Dan knew Jonas Miller would never pick up another cigarette. And he genuinely regretted the fire he’d caused. Then Carlie threw him for a loop.

She held her hand out to Jonas and invited him to join her in prayer. For some strange reason, their earnest expressions did something to him. He didn’t back off as he normally would have, but instead he stayed and watched them, their heads close, their hands clasped, their voices low and intense.

An odd pang hit him, a sudden loneliness, nothing he’d experienced before, something he hoped never hit him again. It was a restless sensation, an urge for some unknown something, a sense of need.

After they said amen, Jonas headed for the door. “Bye, Miss Carlie.”

“Now you just wait one cotton pickin’ minute there, Jonas Miller.” Carlie’s fake scolding dripped with her trademark humor. “You don’t think you can leave here without giving me a hug, do you?”

Dan watched the boy, one whose background inspired reserve, bend down to Carlie and give her the hug she’d asked for. It was an awkward, stiff hug, but a hug is a hug is a hug.

Amazing.

A nurse came into the room as Jonas left and she shooed Dan away. She insisted he had to go so she could take Carlie’s vital signs. He left, went to the snack shop downstairs, and bought himself a bucket of coffee and a gooey sticky bun. Of course, as soon as he bit into the pastry, his cell phone rang.