Читать книгу Threat Of Darkness - Valerie Hansen - Страница 12

TWO

“We could run by Hickory Station for a cup of coffee. They’re open all night,” John suggested as they left the police station after filing the report.

“It’s one o’clock in the morning. I don’t need coffee, I need rest.” Samantha blew a noisy sigh. “I just want to take my shoes off, put my feet up and veg out.”

“Okay. Maybe some other time.” His hopes were dashed when he saw the determined expression on her face and the shake of her head.

“I don’t think so. Thanks for your help tonight, though.”

She offered her hand in parting and he shook it. Her skin was soft as ever although a bit chilly. That wasn’t surprising given the outdoor temperature and the incessant autumn wind.

He covered their clasped hands with his free one. “If you ever need anything—anything—just call me. Promise?”

“No. But it’s sweet of you to offer.” She pulled free, leaving him feeling strangely bereft.

“Do you still live out at the old Prescott place?”

“Yes. I inherited it.”

“Good night, then.” John raised his arm and waved as she slammed her car door and prepared to drive away. He was going to follow, of course, just to make sure she arrived home safely. Beyond that, there was little he could do other than pray that nothing else happened to endanger her when he didn’t happen to be close by.

He wasn’t surprised that she’d chosen to stay on at the Prescott farm. The late Elvina Prescott had provided a safe haven and Samantha had loved the elderly lady more than her own kin. When you grew up with a mother who was so emotionally unstable that she abandoned her family, and a father who spent most of his waking hours drunk, it was natural to seek solace elsewhere.

Hanging back, John kept his eyes on the taillights of Samantha’s blue compact. As she turned south on Highway 62, he found himself wishing she lived inside the small, close-knit town rather than farther out in the country.

Maybe he could talk her into… No. He was the last person Samantha would listen to no matter how much danger she might be in. That was what bothered him the most. Neither of them had recognized her assailant and he’d failed to spot a getaway car, so there was no way to figure out why Sam had been targeted.

John wished he’d thought to ask her if she’d had any other recent run-ins with criminals in the course of her nursing job or as a CASA volunteer. The way she’d described her penchant for reporting possible child abuse she could have made more than one enemy. Matter of fact, she might be the target of multiple irate citizens.

His mind considered various scenarios while he continued to shadow his old friend and marvel at her strong ethics. That was Samantha for you. She had an overblown sense of right and wrong that had gotten her into plenty of trouble as a kid—and apparently she hadn’t outgrown it. Like the time she’d stolen a puppy because she’d seen its master beating it.

The memory made him smile. That black-and-brown pup was the ugliest cur he’d ever laid eyes on and maturity hadn’t made it any prettier—just a lot bigger. It had scars on its back and a jaw that didn’t line up, undoubtedly due to its previous abuse. One eyelid hung perpetually half shut and its odd expression made it look as if it would gladly tear a guy’s arm off. With Samantha, however, the dog had remained as friendly as a puppy and as gentle as a lamb.

Wondering if old Brutus was still alive and kicking, he pictured her playing with the enormous pet while it tried to fit both ends of its gargantuan body onto her lap the way it used to when it was smaller. Sam and the dog had been a perfect match right from the beginning. Both had been unjustly punished and they’d come together to help each other heal.

John pulled to a stop at the end of her long, dirt driveway and watched her car inching up the hill and approaching the farmhouse.

Thankfully, a porch light illuminated most of the front yard. His jaw clenched when he saw her taillights disappear around back. “Come on, Sam. Why didn’t you stop in the front where there’s more light?”

But she hadn’t. And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. He had no business following her in the first place. She’d be within her rights if she reported him for stalking, although he figured he’d be able to talk himself out of trouble due to the recent attack. He could always claim he’d just been passing by and…

John squinted at the house, trying to see more. There was someone moving on the porch! He knew there was. He’d only caught a glimpse of the figure but had no doubts.

Jamming the truck into gear he floored the gas. The rear wheels spun in the dirt and gravel, then caught. He shut off his headlights, willing to take a chance that the driveway to the old farmhouse was as wide and easy to navigate as he remembered from years ago.

Sam was really going to be steamed when he showed up on her doorstep. He just hoped she’d be in good enough shape by the time he reached her to give him a proper dressing-down.

* * *

Unwilling to trust the dilapidated old barn to hold up in bad weather, Samantha had paid to have a simple carport built near her back door. It didn’t offer the same protection a garage would have, but it was cheap and its metal roof kept hail from denting her car or shattering the windows when bad storms moved through the area.

Weary beyond words she pulled beneath the shelter and parked. By the time she’d opened the car door her canine companion was snuffling at her and wagging his stubby tail.

She scratched behind his ears and patted his broad head. When she asked, “Hi, Brutus. Did you miss me?” she imagined an affirmation in his soft “Wuff.”

“Yeah, I love you, too, you old coot,” she said, smiling and getting out of the car as best she could while he crowded against her, begging for more attention. “Move it, dog. Mama’s tired.”

Brutus might as well have been on a short leash because he walked the whole way to the back door with his side rubbing against Samantha’s legs, then sat politely at her feet and looked up at her while she unlocked the door.

“Yes, you can come in,” she cooed, giving his ears another ruffle. “We’ll both have a bedtime snack. How does that sound?”

Still beside her, the dog suddenly turned his head and began to growl. The rumble in his throat was accompanied by a lip-quivering snarl that exposed canine teeth nearly an inch long.

Samantha froze. Listened. Waited for her watchdog to signal what to do next. Her hand lay atop his head and she could feel his whole body trembling.

“What is it, boy? What do you see?”

The dog inched his way around so he was facing the yard and had his broad rump to the door.

As far as Samantha was concerned that made this situation a no-brainer. She quickly stepped into the kitchen and reached for the switch on the wall, then stopped herself. If she flipped those lights on she’d be silhouetted in the open doorway.

“Brutus, come,” she ordered. “Come. Now.”

Instead of taking his eyes off the yard he literally backed into the house, his nails clicking on the vinyl floor. The minute he was in the clear, she slammed and locked the door.

Although the dog still had his hackles up he seemed to be calming down. Samantha crouched next to him and put one arm around his neck. “I sure wish you could talk. What did you sense, huh? Was it a skunk or an armadillo?”

Rabbits, though plentiful, seldom interested him but he hated skunks and ’dillos. Still, it took quite a bit of incentive to get the old dog going these days. For him to show such concentration and defensiveness meant he was positive something was amiss.

“Okay, Brutus. You win. You can spend the night inside with me,” Samantha said with affection. “I don’t want to have to wash you in tomato juice because you got skunked. I don’t need anything else to make the last twenty-four hours more memorable than they already are.”

Suddenly, the dog ducked out of her hold and started to trot toward the front of the house. He barked, but only once. That reaction wouldn’t have caused her undue concern if she hadn’t just been through the growling spell with him.

He pressed his nose to the crack between the jamb and the heavy, wooden door, snuffling up and down where the door fit the frame the way he did whenever she had a pizza delivered. Only nobody delivered food at this hour of the morning, not to mention the fact that she hadn’t ordered anything.

Grasping Brutus’s collar she held tight, leaned close to the door and called, “Who’s there?”

When John Waltham answered, “It’s me,” Samantha didn’t know whether to be glad or tell him to scram. Judging by her dog’s amiable reaction, at least one of them was happy to encounter him again.

“What are you doing out there? Do you know how much you scared me?”

“If you were scared, it wasn’t my fault,” John insisted. “Open the door. We need to talk.”

Samantha’s sense of humor surfaced. Okay. If he wanted to come in she’d let him. But she wasn’t going to restrain Brutus. If John got knocked down and licked to death, it would serve him right.

She turned on the closest table lamp then reached to unlock the door.

Brutus had reacted with unbridled joy the moment John had spoken and he was still beside himself. He wedged his head into the gap as she started to open the door and shoved with his shoulders, his whole rear half wiggling like his tail.

Anyone other than John might have had trouble getting past a dog so bent on bestowing slobbering affection. Instead of giving ground, however, he simply started forward and Brutus made room.

“I think he remembers me,” John said as he shut the door behind him and bent to pet the old dog. “At least somebody is glad to see me.”

“He’s a dumb dog,” Samantha countered, struggling to keep from laughing aloud at the interaction between man and animal. “What does he know?”

“Plenty, if I remember right,” John said. “Brutus could always tell the good guys from the bad guys, even when he was a pup.” Slipping one hand under the dog’s muzzle he lifted his head and smiled affectionately. “He’s getting gray. How old is he now?”

“Probably about ten,” Samantha said. “I’ve had him since I was fifteen.”

“I remember. I thought you were going to go to jail over that episode, for sure.”

The particularly poignant memory sobered her. “I might have if you hadn’t arranged to buy him from that awful man who’d been abusing him.”

“I didn’t get you off the hook all by myself. Mrs. Prescott helped. She convinced the sheriff that you were just doing your civic duty and he had a talk with the guy for us.”

“I never knew that.”

“There was no need to tell you. Your life was already in an uproar because of your parents and since you were planning to come to live with Mrs. P, she figured it would be good for you to have a pet of your own.”

“She was right.” Samantha sighed. “So, what was it you just had to tell me?”

Straightening, he returned her steady gaze. “I followed you home and…”

“What has gotten into you? I do not need a babysitter.”

“If you’ll stop interrupting, I’ll explain.”

“Okay, okay.”

Reluctant to invite him to make himself comfortable, she nevertheless fell back on her Southern upbringing and gestured toward the tweed-covered sofa. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m not staying. I didn’t intend to even let you know what I was doing until I thought I saw a shadow moving around on your porch.”

“My porch?”

“Yeah.” Perching on the edge of the couch he continued to pet the dog. “But since Brutus isn’t upset, I guess it’s nothing.”

“But he was! Just before he heard you out front he’d been growling at the back door.”

John leaped up so fast he nearly knocked the dog off its feet. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“You didn’t ask. Besides, I figured he’d just heard your truck coming up the drive. Relax. That’s probably all it was.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Are you sure enough about it to tell me you don’t want me to investigate?”

“I didn’t say that.” Although Samantha was making a silly face at him, there was plenty of fear hiding behind the mock humor. “Go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

“Okay. Stay there.” Although John was clad in jeans and a denim jacket instead of his uniform, he pulled a small gun from a hidden holster and started toward the kitchen.

Samantha crouched beside her dog and watched her old friend walk away. At least he’d been in the house often enough to know his way around so she didn’t need to direct him. The trouble was, she very much wanted to stick closer, and not for his sake.

* * *

John relied on the living-room lamp for illumination as he edged into the kitchen. His boots clomped hollowly on the floor. He lightened his steps as much as possible but the old house squeaked and groaned like a dilapidated garden gate swinging on rusty hinges.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness he was able to see well enough to get by. Gun in hand he approached the back door, laid his ear to it and listened. There was nothing to hear. Not even the songs of the usual crickets and night-calling birds. That was a bad sign.

He was about to unlatch the door when he sensed that he was no longer alone. Samantha was creeping up on him quietly enough but Brutus’s noisy panting and the click of his nails on the hard floor announced their approach.

“Stay back,” John said.

“What did you find? Anything?”

“Not yet. Was this where he was when he growled?”

“Close. We were out on the porch.”

“Terrific.”

“Hey, don’t blame me. I had to get to the house somehow.”

“You could have parked in front, under the bright lights.”

“That’s not where my carport is.”

This argumentative exchange was getting them nowhere. It didn’t matter what he said, Sam would have a rebuttal ready. She was not making this easier. Then again, she never had been simple to understand, at least not for him. Just when he was certain they saw eye to eye, she’d shock him by proving otherwise or by setting up a no-win situation.

“Look, since you’re here, how about unlocking the door and easing it open for me. Just do that and then get out of the way. Can you manage that?”

“Of course.”

“Well?” He knew his tone was too harsh but he’d seen her in danger at least twice in the past few hours and that was two times too many to suit him.

He watched her approach in a crouch, hand on the knob, the other on the dog’s collar. At least she was thinking clearly enough to keep Brutus out of trouble. Too bad she wasn’t that cautious with herself.

“Ready?” Samantha asked, nearly whispering.

John braced himself. “Ready.”

She jerked open the door.

Something moved on the other side of the screen.

Startled, John tightened his finger on the trigger for an instant before he realized what he was seeing. A large piece of paper was fluttering against the mesh.

He reached around the screen door frame, grabbed the paper and jerked it loose.

Samantha’s voice trembled. “What is it?”

“Looks like a note. Close the door and lock it, then turn on the lights.”

His eyes were barely adjusted to the brightness when she rejoined him but he’d already seen plenty. For a brief moment he thought about hiding the details from her, then reconsidered. If Sam was in danger she needed to know everything about the threat.

John holstered his gun, then laid the note on the kitchen counter so they could both study it.

“But out if U know whats good for U” was printed in block letters with broad strokes of a black marking pen.

“Well, they can’t spell or punctuate but I get the idea,” Samantha said with a short, nervous laugh. “Think I should post the corrected version?”

More than a little worried, John rolled his eyes at her. “No. And we don’t want to handle it any more than we have to in case there are fingerprints. What I do think you should do is make a pot of coffee, sit down at the table and tell me who you’ve made mad lately.”

“You act like you think it’s a long list.”

“Is it?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay. I’ll go check the rest of the house while you make coffee. Brutus isn’t the least bit upset so I assume your prowler is gone but there’s no sense taking chances.”

He paused at the doorway to the hall and glanced back at her. The dog sat at her feet, leaning his shoulder against her knee, his tongue lolling. “Keep him with you.”

Hearing that, Samantha gave a wry chuckle. “Mister, you couldn’t separate me from this dog with dynamite.”

“No,” John said, smiling, “but a slice of baloney might do the trick.”