River of Mercy by BJ Hoff Page A

likely that Rachel’s intruder or intruders would come back yet tonight. Even so, he intended to stay put.
    Who was the intruder? Or who were they ?
    It occurred to him that he’d seldom been inclined to think in terms of “they.” His mind had latched onto the likelihood that one person was behind the harassment of the Amish, and he couldn’t seem to shake loose of his original conviction. Yet wasn’t it likely that more than one was responsible, especially when it came to the death of Phoebe Esch? Could one person have managed to terrorize the poor woman into a heart attack? That was what Doc was convinced had happened.
    Well, he supposed anything was possible. But likely?
    He shook his head to clear it and rubbed a hand down his neck. In spite of being strung tight by Rachel’s bad business earlier, he was tired. He didn’t want to doze off.
    Somewhere on the mountain behind him a cat screeched again. Closer this time. Strange. It almost sounded like his cat—the bobcat.
    He was tired. Bobcats might be nocturnal, but he seriously doubted one would travel so far out in this kind of weather. Still, they did like to wander…
    After a moment, he caught himself nodding off. He jolted awake, straightened, eased his shoulders, and yawned.
    The cat screamed again, and a chill crept down his spine.
    Sure, and it sounded like his cat.
    Suddenly he caught a faint glimmer of light. Off to the side of Rachel’s house, toward the back of her property, it flickered and then disappeared.
    He watched, his eyes trained on the spot where he’d seen it.
    Nothing.
    The stand of oaks near her house could barely be seen. The night was one vast sheet of veiled darkness, a barren land braced for the first cold grip of winter.
    His hand covering the gun on the seat beside him, Gant continued to keep watch as best he could through the pelting rain, but whatever he’d seen never reappeared.
    He drew a deep breath and suppressed a cough, clearing his throat against the cold dampness.
    It was going to be a long night.

11
A N EW S TRATEGY
    â€œGood-bye,” I said to my conscience—
“Good-bye for aye and aye,”
And I put her hands off harshly,
And turned my face away.
    P AUL L AURENCE D UNBAR
    T he watcher doused his lantern, peering from beneath his hat into the woods across from Rachel Brenneman’s house, but what with the darkness and the rain splashing off his hat, he could see nothing.
    Had Gant seen him? Of course not. Not with the rain. And it was too dark. But what about the light from the lantern?
    The minute he saw Gant pull into the woods, he cursed his own lack of foresight. He hadn’t expected the man to return after taking Rachel to her mother’s house. Instead he’d thought to have the rest of the night to complete what he’d begun.
    Twice in the same night now, the outsider had thrown a halt into his plans. He had barely had time to get out of the house and run for cover when Gant and Rachel pulled up front. Another minute or two and they would have caught him. And now, instead of going back to town after setting Rachel off, here Gant was again, this time by himself.
    Fine pot of stew this was.
    Might have known. Even if nothing much was said about it, everybody knew Gant was still sweet on Rachel. If the man caught anyone poking around her house, much less making a mess of things, there was no telling what he’d do. He was a big, strong type, and even though he apparently had Rachel and a few others fooled into thinking he was a good enough sort, he had a look about him that bespoke a mean streak if he should be riled.
    Well, he hadn’t been caught, and that was all that mattered. Not that it had ever been that much of a possibility. A big fellow like Gant wouldn’t be fast enough on his feet to run him down. Besides, this wasn’t about any face-to-face dealings with Gant, but about showing the People that the outsider had brought