“I’m on Schrock’s property,” I whisper. “The old barn a mile northwest of my trailer. Yoder and Smucker and a third unidentified male are assaulting a woman. I need backup.”

“I’ll get that deputy over there now. I’m heading out there, too. How far are you from the Schrock house?”

“Not sure. A mile maybe.”

“Give me ten minutes.”

The woman doesn’t have ten minutes. I watch as Smucker and the unidentified male drag her through the snow and into the barn. “Expedite,” I tell him. “Dan, I’m going to have to intervene—”

“Do what you gotta do. Be careful. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

I drop the phone into my pocket, pull back the hammer on the .22. I hold my position until all of them have gone inside. Every sense on high alert, I leave the cover of the trees and approach the barn. I listen for voices, but the only thing I can hear is the music.

I reach the barn, sidle to the open door, and peer inside. The interior is large and well lit. A hard-packed dirt floor leads to a raised wooden floor at the rear. At its base, an aisle tees left and right. Wood steps lead to the loft. There’s no one in sight.

A few feet away from me, a horse-drawn disc harrow is shoved against the wall. I strain to hear anything that will tell me their location, but the music drowns out all other sound.

This is no ordinary barn. There are no farm animals. No feedbags or hay. It’s Amish owned and yet there’s electricity. It’s heated. The interior is clean and well used—no dust or cobwebs. The windows are intact—not a single broken pane. What is this place, and what’s it being used for?

Stepping inside, I walk toward the back and reach the place where the aisle tees left and right. I pause to listen, frustrated because I can’t hear shit. The aisle to my left is dark. I can just make out the fronts of old horse stalls. The aisle to my right is dimly lit. I see an open door and, beyond, three additional doors, all of which are closed. Shiny new padlocks hang from old-fashioned hinge hasps. All locks are engaged. At the end of the hall, a fifth door stands ajar. Bright light slants into the aisle. For the first time I hear voices and laughter over the music.

Moving quickly, I dash to the first door. It’s actually a narrow stairway that leads to an upper floor. I go to the second door and peer through the small diamond-shaped window. I see a cot. A water bottle atop a small table. A toilet and sink. Clothes scattered on the wood plank floor. It looks like a jail cell …