Page 76 of Outsider

As convincing as the argument was, Bertrand fought the quiver of fear that ran the length of his body. He knew all too well there were a hundred things that could go wrong. That there were loose ends. Too many people involved. Too many unknowns.

“You know there will be an investigation,” Mercer said.

“All we have to do is play it cool, keep our heads, and stick to the script. We’ll make it through.” Bertrand looked out the window, watched the snow whisper across the frozen surface of the road. “Even if Colorosa has talked to someone or she’s stashed some so-called evidence somewhere—a video or recording—once that bodycam footage hits, whatever credibility she ever had is gone.”

The two men stared at each other for the span of a few seconds.

“What if Burkholder doesn’t cooperate?” Mercer asked.

“Then we’ll have to convince her.”

Without elaborating, Bertrand put the Subaru in gear, but he didn’t pull forward. They sat in silence, letting all of the words that had passed between them settle.

Then Bertrand asked. “So are you in or what?”

Ken Mercer looked out the window, blew out a breath. “I’m in.”

Bertrand didn’t smile, but he felt it pull at the corners of his mouth. Without another word, he took his foot off the brake and started down the road.

CHAPTER 24

I’m dragged from sleep by the sound of pounding. I sit upright, disoriented, realize I’m on the sofa in Adam Lengacher’s living room. Crepuscular light slants in through the window coverings. I’m wearing my clothes. A headache hovers at my temples.

I’ve just swung my legs to the floor when the window on the front door rattles. Cursing Gina and her bottle of Gentleman Jack, I go to the mudroom, grab my .38 off the shelf, and slide it into the waistband of my jeans. Back in the living room, I grab my cell off the coffee table, squint at the display to see that it’s not yet six thirty A.M.

Another round of knocking, this time accompanied by a singsong male voice. “Er hot sich widder verschofe!” He overslept again, which is the Amish way of poking fun at someone who sleeps too late.

I stride to the door, glance out the window. A middle-aged Amish man, with a full beard and wire-rimmed eyeglasses over small blue eyes, startles at the sight of me. I recognize him from years past, but it takes my sleep-muddled brain a moment to remember his name. I open the door.

His smile falters. “Katie Burkholder?” he says, pressing his hand to his chest.

“Hi … Mr. Yoder.” I stammer his name, keenly aware of how my presence here this early in the morning when I’ve clearly been wakened from sleep might be perceived—and get the tongues wagging.

His barn coat and muck boots are covered with snow. He looks past me as if expecting an equally disheveled Adam to appear behind me.

Oh boy.

“I’m here to see Adam,” Yoder says. “He is home?”

“I believe he is.” I look past him, where big, wet flakes are coming down hard. “Kumma inseid.” Come inside.

“Katie.”

I turn at the sound of Adam’s voice to see him emerge from the hall. Not from upstairs where his bedroom is located, I realize, but the hall off the sewing room, where Gina has been staying. Something sinks inside me as I take in the sight of him. He’s disheveled, wearing the same clothes he had on last night, hair sticking up on one side, his hat in his hand. For the span of several heartbeats, we stare at each other, unspoken words passing between us. I see discomfort in his eyes. Regret etched into his features. Those same awkward sentiments climb over me, settle onto my shoulders, but I shove them back, keep my mind on the business at hand.

“Amos Yoder is here to see you,” I say, a little too stiffly.

Adam’s eyes flick toward the front door. He takes a moment to put on his hat, squares his shoulders. “I … overslept.”

“I think everyone except for Mr. Yoder overslept,” I say beneath my breath.

He doesn’t so much as crack a smile. Shamefaced, he strides to the front door. “Amos. Guder mariye.”

“I thought you’d be up by now.” Amos Yoder looks from Adam to me and back to Adam. One side of his mouth twitches, but he covers it with a cough.

“Overslept.” Adam clears his throat.

Yoder ducks his head, looks at me from beneath the brim of his hat. “I didn’t realize you had non-Amish visitors.”