Hide in Plain Sight: 9781426830631

She had to get to the hospital. Andrea Hampton's fingers tightened on the steering wheel as that call fromthe Pennsylvania State Police replayed in her mind inan endless loop. Her sister had been struck by a hit-andrun driver while walking along a dark country road--like this one. They didn't know how badly she wasinjured. Repeated calls to the hospital had netted heronly a bland voice saying that Rachel Hampton wasundergoing treatment.
Please. Please. She wasn't even sure she believed anylonger, but the prayer seemed to come automatically.Please, ifYou're there, if You're listening, keep Rachel safe.
Darkness pressed against the windows, unrelievedexcept for the reflection of her headlights on the darkmacadam and the blur of white pasture fence posts.Amish country, and, once you were off the main routes,there were no lights at night except for the occasionalfaded yellow of oil lamps from a distant farmhouse.
If she let herself picture Rachel's slight figure,turning, seeing a car barreling toward her... A coldhand closed around her heart.
After all those years she had protected her twoyounger sisters, Rachel and Caroline were independentnow. That was only right. Still, some irrational part ofher mind seemed to be saying: You should have beenhere.
A black-and-yellow sign announced a crossroads,and she tapped the brakes lightly as she approached acurve. She glanced at the dashboard clock. Nearlymidnight.
She looked up, and a cry tore from her throat. A darkshape ahead of her on the road, an orange reflectivetriangle gleaming on the back of it... Her mind recognizing an Amish buggy, she slammed on the brakes,wrenching the wheel with all her strength. Please,please, don't let me hit it--
The car skidded, fishtailing, and she fought for control.Too late--the rear wheels left the road and plunged downinto a ditch, tipping crazily, headlight beams spearingtoward the heavens. The air bag deployed, slamming intoher. For an instant she couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
As her head began to clear she fought the mufflingfabric of the air bag, the seat belt harness digging intoher flesh. Panic seared along her nerves, and shestruggled to contain it. She wasn't a child, she wasn'ttrapped--
A door slammed. Voices, running feet, and someoneyanked at the passenger door.
"Are you hurt? Can you talk?"
"Yes." She managed to get her face free of the entangling folds. "I think I'm all right, but I can't reachthe seat belt.""Hold on. We'll get you out." A murmured consultation--more than one person, then. The scrape of metalon metal, and the door shrieked in protest as it was lifted.
"The buggy." Her voice came out in a hoarsewhisper. "I didn't hit it, did I?"
"No," came a curt male voice, and then a flashlight'sbeam struck her face, making her blink. "You didn't."
Hands fumbled for the seat belt, tugging. The belttightened across her chest, she couldn't breathe--andthen it released and air flowed into her protesting lungs.
"Take a moment before we try to move you." He wasjust a dark shadow behind the light. In control. "Be surenothing's broken."
She wanted to shout at him to pull her free, to gether out of the trap her car had become, but he madesense. She wiggled fingers, toes, ran her hands along
"Just tender. Please, get me out." She would not letpanic show in her voice, even though the sense of confinement in a small, dark space scraped her nerves rawwith the claustrophobia she always hoped she'dovercome. "Please."
Hands gripped her arms, and she clung instinctivelyto the soft cotton of the man's shirt. Muscles bunchedunder the fabric. He pulled, she wiggled, pushing heragainst the tip-tilted car.
"Easy." Strong hands supported her.
"Are you sure she is all right, Calvin Burke?" Thisvoice sounded young, a little frightened. "Should wetake her to the hospital?""The hospital." She grasped the words. "I'm all right,but I have to get to the hospital. My sister is there. I haveto go there."
She was repeating herself, she thought, her mindstill a little fuzzy. She couldn't seem to help it. Shefocused on the three people who stood around her. AnAmish couple, their young faces white and strained inthe glow of the flashlight.
And the man, the one with the gruff, impatient voiceand the strong, gentle hands. He held the light, so shecouldn't see him well--just an impression of height,breadth, the pale cloth of his shirt.
"Your sister." His voice had sharpened. "Would yoube Rachel Hampton's sister?"
"Yes." She grabbed his hand. "You know her? Doyou know how she is? I keep calling, but they won't tellme anything."
"I know her. Was on my way, in fact, to see if yourgrandmother needed any help."
"Grams is all right, isn't she?" Her fear edged up anotch.
"Just upset over Rachel." He turned toward theyoung couple. "I'll take her to the hospital. You twobetter get along home."
"Ja, we will," the boy said. "We pray that your sisterwill be well." They both nodded and then movedquickly toward the waiting buggy, their clothingmelting into the darkness.