LITMIR.BIZ

      Dear Reader,

      Thank you for deciding to read this second book in my Amish suspense series. As a lifelong resident of rural Pennsylvania, I have always lived near the Plain People. My own family heritage is Pennsylvania Dutch, so it has been a pleasure and a challenge to draw on those experiences in my books.

      It can be difficult for outsiders to understand the tight bonds of the Amish community, so that it is sometimes seen as secretive or unkind in its efforts to avoid conforming to the world. For many people, the extent of their knowledge about the Amish is derived from the movie Witness, but there is far more to be understood about a unique people trying to live as they believe God wishes.

      In this story, Marisa Angelo is the outsider whose personal needs require that she penetrate Amish society to learn about her mother’s disappearance. She comes in with a great many preconceptions, most of which are put to the test as she tries to uncover the truth about her mother’s background and the events that led up to her disappearance. I’ve tried to present Amish belief and practices as honestly and respectfully as I can, and any errors are my own.

      I hope you’ll let me know how you like my book, and I’d love to send you a signed bookmark and my free brochure of Pennsylvania Dutch recipes. You can email me at [email protected], visit me on the web at www.martaperry.com or on Facebook at Marta Perry Books, or write to me at HQN Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

      Blessings,

      Marta Perry

      This story is dedicated to my husband, Brian, who always believes I can find another story to tell.

      Acknowledgments

      I’d like to express my thanks to all those whose expertise helped me in writing this book: to Erik Wesner, whose Amish America blog is enormously helpful; to Donald Kraybill and John Hostetler, whose books are the definitive resources on Amish life and beliefs; to the Plain People I have known and respected; and to my family, for giving me such a rich heritage on which to draw.

      The righteousness of the blameless makes a straight way for them, but the wicked are brought down by their own wickedness.

      —Proverbs 11:5

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER TWELVE

      CHAPTER THIRTEEN

      CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      CHAPTER SIXTEEN

      CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      EPILOGUE

      CHAPTER ONE

      LINK MORGAN NARROWED his focus to the heavy sledgehammer and the satisfying thwack it made when it broke into the old paneling.

      The paneling shattered beneath Link’s sledgehammer, its shoddiness a contrast to the solid double-plank construction of the rest of the old farmhouse. Setting the sledgehammer down, he pulled fragments loose with gloved hands, tossing them into a pile in front of the fireplace. The last bit of the section came free, revealing what lay behind it.

      He stared, methodically wiping the sweat from his forehead. Shaking off the foreboding that gripped him, he reached into the wall and pulled out the object that lay there. A suitcase. Not empty, by the feel of it.

      Carrying it to the makeshift worktable, he set down his find. An inexpensive suitcase, its fabric sides coated in dust and marred by stains. How long had it lain there, inside the wall of Uncle Allen’s house? More important, why was it there?

      He snapped open the latch and swung back the lid. Women’s clothes, by the look of it—slacks, a skirt, several blouses. Beneath them something black. He picked it up, shook it out and recognized it. An Amish woman’s black apron. His stomach twisted, rebelling the way it had in Afghanistan when they were coming upon a perfect place for an ambush.

      Taking out the apron revealed what lay under it: a white Amish prayer kapp. At the very bottom was a framed photograph. He picked up the picture, bad feelings growing. A woman and a young girl, looking at each other, faces lit with laughter and love. Mother and daughter, he’d guess from the similarities in the faces. The child looked to be about four or five.

      He set the picture down gently and took a step away from the table. Something was wrong

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