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It was hot, and Andi was even hotter. She wore a swimsuit, two pieces, no bigger than rubber bands. It wrapped Samuel's mind and body tighter than he'd imagined possible.

She'd brought him all the way to Cincinnati to a friend of a friend's party. “Do you know whose house?” he'd asked her earlier in the day as he rode in front of her on his motorcycle.

“It doesn't matter.” Her hands splayed across his chest. “Word got out about this party. And it's cool. Anyone can come. You'll see.”

He wore the pair of jeans he'd bought months ago, letting her pick them out. She'd slipped into the dressing room at the store and slipped the jeans off his hips. She'd been working on removing the rest of his clothes when a salesperson had asked at the door, “How are those working for you?”

Andi had giggled and given his backside a squeeze. “Real nice.”

Later she'd given him a T-shirt imprinted with “Virgin Islands” above his left breast. Across the back, it read: “What happens on the Beach Stays on the Beach.” He suspected an ex-boyfriend had left it in her apartment, but to avoid the jealous haze that made his thoughts spiral into crazy thinking, he tried not to think about Andi with anyone else.

Now at the party, Samuel had never seen a house this big. Or a yard so massive with as many gadgets: swing sets, swimming pool, zip-line, Ping-Pong table, tennis court, sand volleyball, and those were just the things he recognized.

After a quick game of volleyball, where he'd given these
Englishers
a crash course in the way the Amish played volleyball, he'd dusted off his jeans and followed Andi to the pool, where she stripped out of a loose-fitting, zebra-print dress and revealed her black swim suit that would have shocked the girls back in the district and made them even more pious with jealousy.

Even though there were folks all around them, splashing, swimming, kissing in the whirlpool, Samuel paid attention only to Andi. He reached for her, his head a little muzzy from the “punch” she'd handed him in a plastic cup, and she spun out of his arms, laughing and casting him a come-and-get-me look.

He'd met her six months ago at the Lazy Cat bar. Not a story he ever wanted to tell his parents, who would be shocked out of their Amish shoes. He'd gone there last February on a dare Dan Ziller made on a Sunday night after the usual singing.

Samuel and Dan had been friends for years. Dan was two years older, like the older brother Samuel no longer had since Jacob had died and Levi still lived in Pennsylvania. Samuel wasn't allowed to speak about his brothers or say he missed them, or else his mother would weep and his father's face would harden like stone. But thinking of Levi and Jacob sent a jarring pain straight through his abdomen.

He and Dan had snuck off that long-ago night to drink a beer together in the Zillers' barn and talk about girls and booze and cars. Samuel was considering buying a car with the money he'd earned working for his father.

With the worldliness of a twenty-year-old, Dan suggested he could buy a motorcycle for less than a car. “Come on. I'll show you some I've seen at the Lazy Cat.”

Samuel's eyes went wide. “You've been there?”

“You haven't?”

“My folks would…”

“What?” Dan laughed and stood. “What are you afraid of?”

“I'm not afraid.”

“Well, then…what are you waiting for?”

“How do you get in? You're not twenty-one.”

Dan grinned. “It's not so hard. The bartender likes me.”

Together they'd driven over to the bar, not ten minutes by Dan's Corvair. Samuel had felt conspicuous walking into the establishment, which had neon signs advertising shapely girls, beer, and whiskey. Inside, a cacophony of noise hit him all at once. Rock music blared from crackling speakers. Pool balls clanked and scattered. A group of guys laughed and groaned, depending on who was cheering for whom. Someone hollered, “Hey, Danny! Where've you been?”

Dan walked right up to the bar, smiling from ear to ear. The bartender, a tall, thin brunette, with the curliest, wildest hair Samuel had ever seen, slid a drink down the bar toward another patron then greeted Dan with, “What'll it be?”

“What beer you got on tap?”

Dan might as well have been speaking a foreign language as far as Samuel was concerned, but the woman rattled off a number of beers, and Dan requested, “Big Dog. And make it two. One for my pal here.”

The bartender turned smiling brown eyes on him and grinned. She grabbed her loose hair and tied it up on top of her hair. Little curls spilled downward in tiny cascades. She had a long neck and several piercings in her ear. “Hey, there.” She leaned one arm on the bar and jutted a shoulder forward. She wore a low-cut top revealing the soft mounds of her breasts, which Samuel couldn't stop looking at. “He's young, ain't he?”

“Not so young,” Dan lied, “just right off the farm.”

“Ah, sure. Well, welcome.” She set the two glasses of beer in front of the boys. “Enjoy.”

Dan picked up his beer and led Samuel to a booth. They sat there together, sipping their beers and talking about the bikes they'd seen outside. A smattering of folks sat at tables, some alone, others as couples. Then the door opened, and two girls stumbled inside. They leaned against each other, laughing and weaving as they headed straight to the bar. They ordered stronger drinks than beer, and when the short-haired one turned around, she spied Samuel and nudged her friend with her elbow. The redhead, with hair like a silk curtain down her back, swiveled around and took Samuel's breath.

He didn't remember much after that, other than Dan left with the short-haired girl, and the redhead—Andi—said she'd give Samuel a lift home. But they had detoured by her apartment instead. He learned she was nineteen and had been on her own since she was sixteen. She worked two jobs, as a fitness trainer during the day and then stocking shelves at the Acme store at night. Her one-bedroom apartment was sparse, without a television, which Samuel had hoped for. But it had a bed, where he'd surprised her with his knowledge of the birds and the bees, even though he'd technically been a virgin. Ever since, they'd been together.

Occasionally, she liked to tease him, playing like she might be interested in someone else. When she did, a thousand feelings welled up inside him, and he felt like he might explode. Tonight, her gaze slid toward a beefy guy in the pool who had a girl sitting on his shoulders as she tried to push another girl off another boy's shoulders. Their shrieks and splashing annoyed Samuel.

“So you know anyone here?” Samuel asked her as she wiggled out of his grasp again. “If not…” He could think of other things they could be doing.

“Maybe,” she said, turning toward him. She kissed him once then twice, pushing her hands against his chest. “Now, be a good boy and stay here. I'll be right back.”

Then she took a couple of running steps and dove into the pool's deep end. She swooped toward the bottom then burst through the water's surface. She swam toward the other side of the pool before pulling herself up out of the water, which sluiced down over her hard lines and sensuous curves. Her body made men's heads turn, and Samuel watched them now staring at her. He knew exactly what they were all thinking, because he was thinking the same thing. He wanted her. And he couldn't imagine ever not wanting her.

But then she walked up to a brawny older fellow who wore sunglasses, even though it was dark now. Was he blind? Or did he think he was something fancy? To Samuel, he looked stupid. But not to the other girls there. One brought him a plastic cup of punch then stood there awkwardly while the guy spoke to Andi, who also seemed to be fawning all over this guy.

A black liquid seeped out of Samuel's heart and wove its way through his body, turning him cold and then hot and drowning all rational thought. Violent notions replaced it, and his hands curled into fists. He felt numb and vibrant all at the same time.

He glared at Andi and the strange guy, who seemed interested in her, asking her questions. She would answer and then coyly glance over her shoulder at Samuel.
What
should
he
do? Stalk over there and punch the guy? Storm out of the party and leave her?
But if he did, then he might never see her again. And he couldn't not be around her. Maybe he should talk to another girl, do the same thing Andi was doing to him, see how she liked it. But he didn't want another girl. He wanted her.

The tinkling sound of her laughter carried across the pool. She once again looked over at him and then gestured for him to join her. He didn't need to be asked twice. Downing the rest of the alcoholic punch, he tossed the cup aside and walked around the pool.

“Samuel,” Andi cooed as he approached. She hooked her arm through his and pressed her damp body against him. But he didn't glance down at her. Instead, he stared straight at the intruder. Suddenly his world wobbled, as if the spiked punch had gotten to him. Up close, Samuel could see tiny lines around the man's eyes and mouth, and a few gray hairs woven through his thick hair. “This”—she indicated the man—“is Brydon.”

Samuel nodded and tried to keep his bearings.

“Brydon,” she said, “didn't believe you were Amish.”

Samuel gave his head a shake. “Is he an expert on Amish or something?”

Brydon laughed, a caustic sound. “No. I just knew someone once who was Amish.”

Brydon followed the curving trail of the Serpent Mound then headed south a few miles before perching himself at the top of a silo. He stared out across the field toward the little whitewashed house. Another building was attached to its side, and folks came and went at regular intervals. Behind the house sat a small barn.

Occasionally Brydon stretched his wings and soared over the house, perching in the barn's loft. A cat, however, slumbered in a pile of hay with her kittens and was a distraction Brydon did not need. So he often kept watch from this distance.

Akiva had told him to monitor and report back to him. When he'd told Akiva he'd met a teenager named Samuel Fisher, Akiva's gaze had narrowed sharply. Tension rolled off him.

“What was he doing?”

“What most teens do.”

The remark won him a darker scowl.

“Follow him.”

“I already did.”

“And?”

Brydon had described the home, workshop, and barn.

Akiva turned slightly away, pretending that he wasn't affected. But Brydon had detected a tremor in the other vamp's hand. “Anyone else there?”

“What looked like the teen's old man.”

“Did you overhear any conversations?”

“Didn't bother.” Actually he had, but he kept whatever information he gleaned to himself. It might give him an advantage at some point. “I knew who they were.”

“How?”

“They were as you'd described them. You know them?”

Akiva jerked his chin. “Vaguely.”

Akiva had raced out of Promise like a bat out of hell, feeling as if he was being chased by someone or something. Yet he knew that wasn't the case. Still, his encounter with Levi troubled him. Did Levi really not know where Rachel was? Or had he sent them somewhere he thought Akiva would never look…or want to look?

While he had traveled with Brydon, Akiva had described to him who he was now looking for, who Rachel might be staying with in Ohio. But he'd kept his connection to this family quiet, how he knew them, what they meant to him. Still, detectives weren't born but developed, and they didn't die easily. Obviously Brydon had done his homework. And he now knew this was Akiva's family. “And the woman…the teen's mother? Did you see her?”

Brydon sensed Akiva's keen interest, but he shrugged in response. “No. But she must be around.”

“How do you know?”

“Dresses on the clothesline outside. Unless the teen is cross-dressing.”

That bought him another black scowl.

Along their journey, Akiva had fed him hatred like treats. Before hooking up with Akiva, Brydon had hated himself, hated what he'd become. He'd welcomed Roc killing him, ending his torment and guilt. But Akiva explained it wasn't his fault he'd been changed. It wasn't his fault he had to feed on blood. Lions didn't feel guilty for eating an antelope. Polar bears didn't feel guilty for ripping into a seal. And Brydon shouldn't feel guilty, either. It was the law of nature: predators feed on prey.

Roc should understand these things, have sympathy for his ex-partner and respect for that relationship. Instead, Roc had not even hesitated before pulling the trigger, before tying Brydon down and slashing his throat. Roc was the killer. He had done the forbidden, killing a police officer and his own partner. Or at least he had tried to do so.

Akiva had saved Brydon, who should be grateful. He'd been given another chance. How many folks got so many chances?

Eventually, Akiva's arguments won over. Brydon became actually grateful for Akiva's quick action and decided he would pay back that debt by helping trap Roc and the pregnant woman, Rachel.

The secluded homestead, where Levi thought Akiva would never want to go, would actually work perfectly for Akiva and Brydon. Its isolation would make it easier to target Rachel and Roc…and anyone else who got in their way.

Now, he would watch and bide his time. And when the moment was right, they would strike.

Rachel sat alone at the kitchen table mid-morning the next day with the quiet of the house wrapping around her. Sally was picking vegetables in her little garden and had told Rachel to stay inside, as it was already too hot for her to be out. So Rachel took the few minutes alone to pull out the stationery. Now the point of her pen hovered over the paper as words flitted in and out of her brain.

After a few moments, pen touched paper.

Dear Hannah,

Thank you for your letter. I am well, as is Roc. The baby kicks me almost constantly. I believe he is eager to be born, and I hope it will not be much longer.

Sally and Jonas have been kind to us. Please tell Levi his mother has asked much about him and is happy he is married.

Her pen faltered as did her words.
What
was
she
to
say?
She told about the weather, the crops, the woodworking shop, but she couldn't manage to write she had forgiven Hannah. Her sister had done what she had thought was best, just as Rachel had done when she decided not to tell Hannah of her time with Jacob in New Orleans. It had been an effort to protect…but protect whom? Hannah? Or had Rachel simply been protecting herself?

Maybe if Rachel had been straightforward about their time together, then Hannah would have stopped grieving for Jacob sooner. But Rachel had not been able to confess her sins. Even now, they choked her.

And what of Hannah? Why hadn't she been truthful? About Josef…about Akiva? In many ways, Hannah's reluctance had spared Rachel more pain. And yet…if Hannah had warned her, maybe her life and her baby's wouldn't be in jeopardy.

So she simply finished the letter with:

It would be wonderful if you could be here, but you must not come. Please, Hannah, you must not even think of coming here. It is not safe.

Slowly, Rachel folded the stationery, sealed the envelope, and addressed it to Mrs. Hannah Fisher.