Читать книгу Threat Of Darkness - Valerie Hansen - Страница 13

THREE

“I doubt I’ve had any CASA cases that might still be causing problems,” she said, cupping her hands around a steaming mug and watching eddies of cream spread across the surface and lighten the color.

Wishing she’d told John everything her purse snatcher had said, she knew she didn’t dare reveal those threats now. Not unless she wanted to listen to another lecture. Besides, there was no reason to assume that the man who had accosted her outside the hospital had left the semiliterate note. It didn’t really fit with his verbal warnings.

“Tell me about the cases, anyway. Are any of your CASA assignments recent?” John asked.

“Not really. One was late last year. After that I helped Jill Kirkpatrick—I mean Jill Andrews—and her new husband, Mitch, get set up to adopt the Pearson orphans. I imagine the chief and the sheriff told you all about that murder and kidnapping since it happened so recently.”

“Yes. It was my understanding that the guilty parties were incarcerated.”

“The instigator has been hospitalized for psychiatric reasons. The others all ended up in jail.” She sighed.

“What else? Was that your last case?”

“Nearly. One more concluded several months ago when the court gave the children I was helping to their maternal grandmother.”

“Are those parents still around?”

“No. The kids’ mother went to jail for unrelated crimes and nobody knows what happened to the father. He split a long time ago.”

John nodded. “Okay. So what are you working on right now?”

“Officially, nothing. I have been worried about a seven-year-old boy, Danny Southerland. I’m virtually positive he’s being abused. His father works for some kind of investment firm and he’s deeply involved in town politics, too. I guess he thinks that makes him above the law.”

“Nobody is above the law, Sam. You should know that from personal experience.” He reached toward her hand where it rested on the table and tenderly laid his over it.

Samantha’s initial urge was to pull away from him but by the time she had taken a few brief moments in which to relish his warm, gentle touch it was too late. She’d decided to leave her hand right where it was.

“You’re just giving back some of the support you got when you needed it,” John continued. “All you can do is try your best in any given situation. The results are up to God.”

“And to a judge,” she added, smiling wistfully. “As far as I know, nobody from CASA is on the Southerland case yet but I understand what you’re saying. It’s not my job to make things right. I don’t have that power.”

“Exactly.” John leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “So, tell me more about this Danny. When did you meet him?”

“It all started several months ago.” She closed her eyes and pictured the scene in the emergency room. “The last time was the worst. His father brought him to our E.R. because their regular doctor doesn’t work on weekends.”

“Okay. Go on.”

“I asked Mr. Southerland what the problem was and he told me Danny fell. That was his usual explanation.”

“What made you suspect abuse? Bruises?”

“Yeah.” She took a settling sip from her coffee mug, then continued. “Danny’s body language was textbook, too. He was perched on the edge of the exam table with his feet and legs dangling over the side. He wouldn’t look up but I could tell he’d been crying. He’d hunched over to cradle his left arm and was holding it tight against his stomach.”

“Was it broken?”

“No. I asked him what hurt and he nodded when I touched that arm. One area was showing signs of bruising so I told him the doctor would probably want an X-ray.

“That’s when he started to really cry, looked at his father and said, ‘It’s better. Honest,’ as if he was apologizing for getting hurt.”

“What did you do then?”

Amazed and filled with relief, Samantha realized that her story was finally being taken seriously. “I said, ‘Don’t be afraid, Danny. We’ll be very careful with your arm.’ Then I whispered, ‘How did you get hurt?’ That’s when his father started insisting he fell when he was running in the house. I wasn’t too upset until he said it served Danny right to get hurt because he was disobeying.”

Nodding, John gave a short chuckle. “I can just picture your reaction to that.”

“And you’d be right. If that man had been three times bigger and growling like a grizzly bear I’d still have given him a piece of my mind. I told him that no child deserves to be hurt. Ever.”

“What was his response?”

“Nothing. He shut up the minute Dr. Weiss came into the cubicle.”

“Did he ever threaten you?”

“No. When I got the doctor alone later, and suggested we report possible abuse, he laughed at me. It seems Weiss and Ben Southerland go to the same church. Not only that, the man is about to be appointed to the medical-center board. The doctor swears there’s no way an upstanding citizen like that would abuse his son.”

“What about his wife? Would she…?”

“I don’t know. I was told flat out that it was an accident and ordered to forget it.”

John’s brow furrowed. “Wait a second. If nobody reported him, why should the guy be mad at you?”

Knowing her cheeks were betraying embarrassment, Samantha forged ahead. “Because I went against the doctor’s orders and called in a report. I had to, you know, even if my bosses fired me over it.”

“Good for you.”

She huffed. “That’s not how the police responded. They acted like they thought I was crazy. Maybe I have been wrong a few times in the past, but not this time. I know an abused kid when I see one, even if I can’t prove it.”

“Did you ask that your identity be kept secret when you made your report?”

“Are you joking? In Serenity? Around here, the only difference between normal conversation and deep, dark secrets is how long it takes the news to travel. Besides, considering my reputation and the fact that I was working E.R. that day, there wouldn’t be much doubt where the complaint originated.”

“I suppose you’re right.” John got to his feet, carried his mug to the sink and rinsed it out. “I’d better hit the road. Are you going to be okay if I go?”

“Sure. All I have to do is figure out who wanted me to butt out of their business. Piece of cake.”

He turned and leaned against the edge of the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I just had a thought.”

“If it means I’ll have to quit defending kids and keep my mouth shut when I see a problem, forget it.”

“Nothing of the kind. I was just thinking about maybe keeping an eye on Danny and his family—in a casual way, of course.”

“How do you propose to do that? You don’t even know what they look like.”

“No, but you do. What church does Dr. Weiss go to these days? Seems to me I used to see him at Serenity Chapel when I still lived around here.”

It was Samantha’s turn to scowl. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not going to coerce me into going to church again. I told you I gave that up.”

“You won’t reconsider? Not even for Danny’s sake?”

“That’s cheating, Waltham. You know I’d do just about anything to protect kids.”

“Sure do. So, is it a date or do you have to work this coming weekend?”

Disgusted at the way she’d walked right into his verbal trap, Samantha made a face. “No date. But I will consider going since I’m not on duty. For Danny’s sake.”

“Of course.”

Judging by the way John was beaming he was more than satisfied. Well, let him gloat. Even if she did give in and attend a Sunday service or two, that wouldn’t change anything between them.

It wouldn’t change anything between her and God, either, Samantha told herself. She had prayed and prayed for the Lord to intervene and keep John from abandoning her and what had happened? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. John had packed up and headed for Texas as if her feelings, her tears, hadn’t mattered to him one little bit.

Was she giving the obstinate man too much of a place in her current affairs? She did need an ally. And he was the only person who seemed to believe her. Therefore, she could not, in good conscience, dismiss his offer of assistance. What she could do, would do, was keep her emotional distance from him. Beginning now.

“If I do decide to go back to church—and I’m not saying I will—it’ll be by myself. The last thing I want is for people to think of us as a couple again. It’s taken me years to get them to stop asking how you are. As if I knew.”

“I did email and send you updates after I left,” he countered.

“For a few months.”

“You never answered me. Not once. What did you expect me to do?”

She wasn’t about to tell him that every time she’d gotten a message from him, it had sent her formerly upbeat mood sinking into a bottomless pit of despair and self-pity. In a way, it had been a relief when he’d stopped trying to communicate.

“I didn’t expect anything,” Samantha said. “You made yourself perfectly clear when you decided to leave.” Although she knew her words had an argumentative edge she didn’t seem to be able to control herself. It was as if John brought out both the best and the worst in her.

It was a definite relief when he smiled again instead of joining the quarrel and said, “Speaking of leaving…”

Samantha was instantly contrite. “Thank you for looking out for me tonight. I guess I didn’t sound grateful just now but I am. Really.”

“I know.” He paused and bent to pet Brutus who promptly plopped down and rolled over to beg for a tummy rub.

“Apparently, so is my dog,” she quipped. “I’m surprised he remembered you after such a long time.”

“Hey, we were good buddies,” John said, straightening and pulling his jacket on before reaching into his pocket and handing her a generic police department card. “My private cell number is on the back. If you have any more problems, call me.”

“I keep telling you I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

“Yes, but you didn’t have a prowler leaving threatening notes on your door or a purse snatcher grabbing you.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t see any connection, do you, Sam?”

“Of course not.” Loath to admit she might actually need help someday, she nevertheless accepted the card.

“Do you have a cell phone?” he asked.

“I did, until this afternoon when Bobby Joe made me drop it. I’ll get another one ASAP.”

“When you do, I want that number.”

Facing him, hands on her hips, she shook her head slowly. “You’re really getting bossy. You of all people ought to know that approach doesn’t work with me.”

“I’d apologize if I thought I was in the wrong,” he countered, still grinning and giving the dog’s head a parting pat as he headed for the front door. “Since we both know I’m not, I’ll just leave before you can think of some other reason to throw me out.”

“Good plan.” A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth until she gave in and released it. “Good night, Officer Waltham.”

He tipped an imaginary cap and bowed. “Good night, Ms. Rochard. Lock this door after me.”

“Bossy.”

“But right,” he countered, sobering. “And you know it.” The door slammed, punctuating his parting comment.

As Samantha turned first the lock, then the dead bolt, she realized there had been another possible meaning to his words. Had the strange look on his face at the instant he’d shut the door meant he’d realized it, too, or had he simply been needling her the way he always used to?

Years ago, when her life had seemed perfect and complete, John had often insisted how right they were for each other. That memory was so crisp, so poignant, it brought a catch to her breath and tied her stomach in a knot until she managed to calm herself with common sense.

Of course he hadn’t meant anything personal. Why would he? Their romance was ancient history. If he thought she’d waited five whole years pining away for him, he had another think coming. She was over her crush on that disgusting man.

Period. End of story.

* * *

Samantha had spent Friday and Saturday nights jumping at every creak of the old house and obsessing over whether or not to attend church. When she’d finally grown weary enough to quit imagining some crazed criminal bursting into the bedroom and attacking her, she’d dozed fitfully, trusting her dog to keep watch.

By Sunday morning, she was ready to accept John’s challenge. For Danny’s sake, of course.

She chose a slim, black skirt and a silky blouse with warm fall colors that she’d bought after John had left town. The last thing she wanted to do was dredge up old memories by wearing something he had once admired.

Brutus had begged to be let out the front door first thing that morning and had returned promptly to resume his usual napping, so she decided to leave him dozing peacefully next to her favorite chair, knowing she wouldn’t be gone for very long.

Unduly nervous and not sure why, Samantha finally quit fidgeting, grabbed her Bible and her purse and headed for her car.

Securing the kitchen door behind her, she fisted her key ring and turned around. That’s when she saw it.

“My car!”

Her jaw dropped. Her heart began to race. All four doors gaped open. Stuffing and small pieces of fabric lay scattered in the dirt. She didn’t have to look closely at the opposite side to figure it was the same. Someone had ripped the seats to shreds!

Suddenly aware that she was standing there totally exposed and unprotected, she laid her Bible on the porch railing and instinctively reached for her cell phone. The smashed one. The useless piece of plastic that she had failed to replace in a timely manner.

Hopeful, she flipped it open just the same. It was dead. Worthless. “Now what?”

Thinking of how vehemently she’d insisted that she didn’t need watching, she wished she’d been a little less self-assured. It was one thing to tell John that she could take care of herself when she had transportation and communication. It was quite another to be standing there staring at her gutted blue compact and belatedly remembering that her phone didn’t work, either.

The most natural thing to do was return to the house and lock herself in but that would mean giving up. Letting the bad guys win. Plus, she’d be a virtual prisoner.

Knees weak, body trembling, Samantha scanned the yard and tried to assure herself she’d be okay. Nothing was moving. There were no hulking figures dressed in black and no monsters peeking from behind the old barn doors.

Brutus hadn’t made a sound when she’d let him out that morning, either. Therefore, whoever had ravaged her car must be long gone. She hoped.

Did somebody think something was hidden in the car, like maybe the mysterious package her assailant had insisted she’d had?

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she muttered, slowly descending the stairs and creeping closer to the car, purse slung over her shoulder, Bible in the crook of her arm, pepper spray at the ready in her other hand.

Up close the upholstery was a worse mess than she’d thought, except for the driver’s seat. There were several slashes in it as well, but all the stuffing hadn’t been pulled out.

That was good enough for Samantha. The house was secure and her watchdog was on duty. The smartest thing for her to do was get into the car and leave, as planned, so she could report the vandalism from a working phone.

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted, trying to convince herself she meant it.

The rear doors of the car and the trunk lid stood open, as did the front passenger door. Samantha would have shut them all before leaving, but something told her it was smarter to try to start the engine first. If it, too, had been tampered with she wanted to stay as close to the house as possible.

Brushing aside bits of stuffing and tossing her purse, Bible and the pepper spray in ahead of her, she slid behind the wheel. Fit the key into the ignition. Turned it.

The motor had always started easily. Not this time. It coughed as if it were choking.

Samantha’s heart lodged in her throat. Had they disabled her car so she couldn’t flee? Was she their real target? Were they out there, hiding, waiting for her to show herself before they pounced?

Something near the barn caught her attention out of the corner of her eye but when she swiveled to look, there was nothing unusual to see. Had there been? Or was she imagining threats simply because she was already so frightened she could barely think, barely breathe?

One more try. She’d give the car one more chance to start, then bolt for the house and try to get the door open before anyone had time to catch her.

She turned the key and pumped the accelerator. The car coughed. It started!

There was the shadow again. Only this time it was passing her rearview mirror! She shifted into gear. Saw an arm reaching for the open door. Floored the gas and hoped it would be enough.

The engine sputtered again before starting to race.

“Come on, come on,” Samantha shouted, as if the car could hear and obey.

Wonder of wonders, it began to pull away.

She heard a guttural shout behind her that morphed into a chain of curses.

This was no time to stop and close the car doors or the trunk. Not if she intended to make good her escape.

Hands fisted on the wheel, car careening down the dirt road with the trunk lid flapping and the unlatched doors opening and closing erratically, Samantha could hardly believe that she’d gotten away.

Or had she? A dark-colored pickup truck was stopped by the bank of rural mailboxes that served her immediate area.

As she drew nearer, it pulled out. One threat lay behind her and another now completely blocked the narrow road ahead.

She was trapped!