Amber Alert: Christian Contemporary Romance with Suspense (Dangerous Series Book 1)

by Linda K. Rodante

  “Roseanne dropped us off a little while ago. I always bring the car seat inside with Joshua. I need a place to sit him. Anyway, I took him out of the car seat and with me to watch the girl’s practice in the youth hall, but I left the car seat in the fellowship hall. I usually do. And then Abbey and Ryann came in. They wanted to take Joshua for a walk. When they didn’t come back, I went to look for them. And… and that’s when I saw the doll.”

  “The girls were outside? We didn’t see anyone. Of course, we just returned. I’ll call Ryann.” Sharee tugged her phone from her jeans.

  “Here they are!” Marci’s voice rose when the girls rounded the corner of the fellowship hall. “Where did you go?”

  “We just walked around the building. We weren’t gone long.”” Abbey put the baby into Marci’s outstretched arms.

  Marci cradled Joshua against her chest and stroked his face. “Someone put a horrible doll in Joshua’s car seat. I guess I was just worried.”

  “A doll?”

  “Its throat was cut and it’s eyes blacked out.”

  “That’s terrible,” Ryann said. Her gaze jumped to Abbey.

  Sharee caught Ryann’s look and frowned. “Do either of you have any idea who would do that?”

  “Of course not.” Abbey’s quick denial was accented by Joshua’s wail.

  “Shh, darling.” Marci bounced the baby up and down.

  Abbey’s scowled increased. “Look, we were bringing him back, anyway. We have to go. Come on, Ryann.” She grabbed the other girl’s arm.

  Ryann reached over and touched Joshua’s back. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Thornton.” She hurried after Abbey.

  John lifted an eyebrow in Sharee’s direction as the girls passed him.

  Marci kissed Joshua’s head. “I think I’ll call Roseanne and get her to pick me up early. This and the notes are getting to me.”

  “Did you tell Stephen yet?”

  Marci shook her head. “Not yet.” She shifted Joshua to her other shoulder. The baby sucked on her neck.

  “Marci.”

  The woman frowned. “Don’t worry about it, Sharee. I’ll take care of it.” She headed for the youth room.

  Sharee watched her go. Why hadn’t she told Stephen? Saying Stephen thought she was hormonal didn’t add up. Marci wasn’t imagining things. The notes and the doll were hard evidence.

  “What notes is she talking about?”

  Sharee frowned. “She’s been getting harassing messages. First about what could go wrong during her pregnancy and now about what could go wrong since Joshua was born.”

  “No wonder she’s upset. Look, I know it’s getting late but walk back to the truck with me.”

  “Okay.”

  The sunset sky had pearled, and the smell of the lumber on the trailer filled her nostrils. “You’ve put the wood back on the trailer.”

  “I organized it by size. George picked it up for me and didn’t think to put it on according to size.”

  “Oh.”

  “The work goes faster when we have everything we need, and it’s in order.”

  “Ah.”

  He slanted a glance at her, and she peered at the sky, struggling to keep her face straight. He was a perfectionist.

  “We might be able to do your control tower if the bleachers are affordable and not too time consuming.”

  “What? Really?” A feeling of delight surfaced. “I hope so! And I need to make a sign-up sheet and start calling people for help. We need volunteers for the construction, and the play, and the staging.” She raised an expectant face to him.

  They stopped beside his truck, and his brows drew together. “I’m helping with the sets, but don’t count on anything else. And I won’t be here the night of the program.”

  Something dropped from her chest to her stomach. “You won’t?”

  “No.”

  “But…but I thought you might do the spotlight. We have that old one, and it’s heavy. It needs somebody strong, with a steady hand.” He said nothing, and she felt a ball in her stomach. “It’s built into a stand now, and it’s almost useless that way. When I went to look at it, I knew we’d have to take it out of there. Someone needs to hold it.”

  “I’ll look at it. I might be able to build a new stand that will work, or I’ll take it out of the old one. But ask Matthew or someone else to use it the night of the program.”

  “I just thought…” She broke off, seeing the set of his jaw. Her stomach tightened. Sharee fought the feelings surging through her. He wouldn’t be here. “I’m sorry. I just assumed…”

  “You wear jeans to work?”

  “What?”

  “You’ve had a pair of jeans on every time you’ve been here—except Sunday.”

  She stared at him. He changed subjects with the ease of a traffic light changing colors. “Uh…yes, we all do. We decided a long time ago not to look too… well…”

  “You don’t want to look better than your clients?”

  “We don’t want anyone to feel intimidated or feel we can’t relate.”

  “And can you?” He reached in through the window of his truck and pulled out a sheet of paper.

  “Most of us can. To a degree. We might not be homeless—although some have been—but we’ve all had tough times, financially or otherwise.”

  “You enjoy what you do?”

  “Yes.” She raised her chin and met his eyes. The evening light accented their darkness and his dark hair. The scruffy beard was back. She swallowed, feeling his closeness and stepped away.

  What was happening? She wasn’t interested in him any more than he was in her. He didn’t know the Lord, wasn’t a Christian. She was not interested. Period.

  “I’d like you to read this.” John’s voice halted her internal discussion. The sky behind him had paled to a dusky gray. “Let’s walk to your car. You can read it once you get in.”

  The SUV’s interior light popped on as she slid into the driver’s seat.

  “I find quite a bit of stuff around here. Talk about notes. Lots of notes from the youth. I found this today. Most of the time, I toss them; but this…well, see what you think.”

  She felt his hesitation and wondered about it. The small, scratchy writing on the paper could reflect either a boy or girl’s hand.

  Ryann, thanks for your friendship and listening to me. I’ve never talked with anyone else about the baby. My parents made us place him for adoption. My parents! Can you believe that? It still hurts. The counselor said it would get better, but who knows? A child of my own—gone. Just like that. So, yeah, I resent the new baby on the way. She gets to have babies and keep them! What if one of hers disappeared? How would she feel then?

  Sharee looked up at him. “It’s not signed.”

  “No.”

  “It could be Abbey. She’s so miserable and angry. You saw her a little while ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “If she did write this, it’s no surprise she’s taken to Ryann. They’ve both lost children—just in different ways.”

  He took the note, folded it and turned back to her.

  Sharee’s heart ached. “Kids go through so much these days. And that… that,” she pointed at the paper, “has happened more than people realize. Children in sexual relationships they’re not prepared to handle. Placing their babies for adoption or aborting them and having to live with that.” She clenched her hands together. “Why can’t we just do it God’s way? Can’t we see He knows best?”

  John said nothing. She swallowed and bit her lip.

  “I’m on my soapbox, but …at fourteen, fifteen, sixteen having to deal with all the ramifications of sex—whether physical, emotional or spiritual. They’re too young. And there’s too much abuse.” She gave a long sigh. “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “Because…” She didn’t know how to finish. She took a long breath.

  “Because you’re passionate about what you believ
e?”

  “I…yes. I am.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  She stared at him a minute then dropped her gaze. “Abbey should be getting counseling. Placing a child for adoption is a blessing to the families that can’t have children. Hard for the mother, though.” She put her head down a moment. “I hope someone’s told her that the pregnancy centers in the area have adoption classes. Some classes you take after the baby is placed. Just to help you through it.”

  He put an arm on the car’s door and leaned closer. “Adoption classes?”

  “Yes. It helps the girls realize what a gift they’ve given to someone else and to their child, because so often the mom, if she’s young, can’t raise him or her—either financially or emotionally.” Sharee cleared her throat. “Will you show the note to Pastor Alan?”

  “Probably. About the dolls...” He hesitated.

  “Was that the same doll?”

  “As the one Cooper found? No, that’s still in the tool building. I put this second one there just now.”

  “I wonder if Abbey did it? But if she did, how would she get the doll into the car seat without being seen?”

  He shrugged.

  Sharee her hand under the mat and took out her key. John frowned and shook his head. She turned the key in the ignition, and the CR-V coughed once, twice, then caught.

  “Sharee.” The roughness of his voice cut through the engine noise.

  She turned the SUV’s lights on and gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m going to get a battery. I promise.”

  “Just do it. You’ve had plenty of time.”

  She rolled her eyes but turned serious at the look on his face. “I will. I promise.”

  ~.~.~

  Her plans for Wednesday evening concerned a trip to Walmart and a few teenage girls. Now she sat in her CR-V as the girls arrived for drama practice. Last week, the younger girls had practiced in the fellowship hall. This week, the high school and college-age girls had their turn. In a couple of Sundays, the youth group would take over the entire service for a day. Sharee looked forward to it.

  She waited until she knew the drama practice was well underway, and then she slipped inside the fellowship hall and made her way to the youth room. Someone had propped the door open. Listening from the passageway, she heard what must be the rehearsal for a skit. She hefted the giant water pistol she’d bought and stepped into the room. Three or four of the girls turned. Sharee jerked the gun up and pulled hard on the trigger. Huge sprays of water hit them. Screams followed. Hands rose to protect their faces. More screams rose as she leveraged the gun sideways. Bodies spun away from her. Grinning now, she soaked their backs, whirled and raced back down the hall.

  Entering the dining hall, she sprinted through the room and flung open the door. The huge water pistol jolted against her side. She tore around the corner of the garden shed, yanked the door open, and jumped inside.

  Next to a wheelbarrow, John straightened, hefting a bag of fertilizer onto his shoulder. He looked her way, brows rising.

  “Hide me!” She waved the water pistol at him. “Please, hide me!”

  Outside, coming in their direction, were high, shrill voices and the slap of racing feet. John reached for her, pulled her over behind the wheelbarrow, and shoved her down. A second later, a blue tarp fell over her and the wheelbarrow. It rocked as he dropped something heavy into it. Just in time.

  The door rattled. Excited voices filled the room. Sharee caught her breath and tried to hear over her pounding heart. Laughter threatened to choke her.

  “Have you seen Ms. J?” Ryann’s voice reached her, breathless and animated.

  “You’re looking for her?” John asked. “Why?”

  “Because she soaked us! She had the biggest water pistol you’ve ever seen! Really! Look at us!”

  Sharee could imagine Ryann spreading her arms, showing her drenched clothing.

  “And we were working on our drama!” Another voice rose in fire-alarm pitch.

  John chuckled. “Well, no wonder you want to find her.”

  “Come on.” Ryann’s voice again. “Let’s check the office. She’s got to be somewhere.” Feet brushed the ground, crowding against each other.

  Sharee waited until their footsteps and voices diminished before she pushed the tarp back. John lifted it off her.

  “Thank you.” She stood, breathless and grinning, holding the water pistol. “Really. Thank you. Wow. That was great.” She started toward the door.

  He caught her arm. “I’d give it a minute, Ms. J. They’ll probably come back this way when they don’t find you.”

  “Oh, you’re right.” Laughter surfaced. She couldn’t help it. “You should have seen their faces. But they got me first, you know.”

  “You did say you’d get even.”

  “Oh, yeah. They drenched me and my car last Wednesday. They deserved it.”

  She stood close, her head tilted up at him. He grinned. They stood that way for a minute, and then his arm caught her waist and pulled her against him. His head came down, and his mouth sought hers. The hard strength of his body spurred quick emotion in her. When he drew his head back, his eyes, warm and dancing, met hers.

  The water pistol dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor. A whole set of emotions flooded her. She could do nothing but stare.

  “Sorry,” he said into her look. “It just seemed…appropriate.”

  “Oh.” The word hung in the air for a moment. Nothing else came to mind. In fact, that part of her body didn’t seem to work at all. Forcing her legs to move, she edged backward out of his embrace. “I…better go.”

  “Sharee.”

  Her heart flipped at the way he said her name. She moved again, opened the door, and stepped through it. One long breath later, she ducked around the corner of the building and fled.

  Chapter 7

  Standing in the half-light of the shed, John’s feelings matched Sharee’s open-eyed stare. And the difference of how she felt in his arms startled him. She weighed next to nothing, and he’d leaned pretty far down to kiss her.

  Janice, on the other hand, had been tall, solid, muscled. He had liked that about Janice—liked that her stride was almost the same as his, liked the way she looked and laughed and loved. For the last three years, he hadn’t thought about another woman. Hadn’t wanted to. He’d only focused on getting through each day.

  Unexpected pain assaulted him, stronger than he’d felt for a while. He had learned to accept the pain and let it have its way. He stood now, doing that, closing his eyes while it ballooned in his chest. When he opened his eyes, he stared straight ahead. In the dim quietness, he identified the other emotion that rose with the pain. Guilt—a new kind of guilt.

  He digested it, his body tightening at the implication. He felt guilty for having kissed someone, as if he’d betrayed the vows he’d taken. And, in a sense he had. Hadn’t he? No, that was ridiculous.

  Yet, his mouth and arms still held Sharee’s imprint. She’d tasted of peppermint. So different…

  His chest squeezed. A minute later, he leaned over, grabbed the fertilizer, and threw it onto his shoulder. He’d had enough guilt. Enough pain and guilt. With his free hand, he tore the tarp off the wheel barrel and dumped it in the corner.

  Why had she come in here, anyway?

  He stepped to the door, yanked it open, and went out. She’d invaded his thoughts these last two weeks. Her indignation, her skittishness amused him. But that would stop. He’d make sure it stopped because he wanted no involvement of that kind—no involvement with her or her God.

  ~.~.~

  Sharee climbed into her CR-V, slammed the car into reverse, backed out of the parking space and sped home.

  I’m fleeing, but that’s what God’s Word says to do. Flee temptation.

  Her response to John’s kiss, to his arms around her, shook her. Although lighthearted on his part, on hers…no, lighthearted wouldn’t describe tha
t.

  Dear Lord, what am I going to do? Her hands tightened on the wheel. What will I do Saturday? It’s the first work party for the program. What am I going to do?

  ~.~.~

  Saturday morning, John arrived at the church an hour before the others. He stared at the framework of the two bleachers he and the other men had worked on. George Costas and Sam Byrd often gave a helping hand when he needed it. Today, the other volunteers would finish what they’d started, while he, George, and Sam began work on the “control tower.” And if everything went as planned, they might have time to start painting the scenes he’d drawn on four-by-eight-foot sheets of plywood.

  A memory twisted his heart. Janice returning from the store with some his sketches matted and framed. She’d displayed them above their sofa, encouraging what he classified a hobby. But like many other things in his life, he’d quit sketching. He no longer drew, no longer flew, no longer worshiped.

  He dragged his thoughts back. Concentrate on the day. Today would have its own troubles. Sharee would be here.

  Moving the tools from the work buildings to the field, he organized the projects in his head. Directing the work would be up to him, and he knew from experience which volunteers were skilled and at what. After a break for lunch, some volunteers would leave. Only the core workers would finish the day.

  The definition of core worker fit Sharee like his Otterbox case fit his iPhone. She’d be around until the last person left. His jaw tightened. Most of the time, he admired that kind of dedication. Today, though….

  Why had he kissed her?

  Stupid, ridiculous impulse. He’d let down his guard from the beginning—talking about the project, seeing her enthusiasm, hearing her excitement. And he’d watched her—the way the wind tossed her hair, the way she moved and laughed. His mind went to the dress she’d worn that Sunday, the breeze tugging at her skirt, the material hugging her curves. Don’t go there.

  He chewed his lip. His response to her warmth and enthusiasm was no surprise. Three long, lonely years had made him vulnerable. And perhaps, if he’d met her somewhere else, if her commitment to God was a plaything, maybe then. But he hadn’t, and it wasn’t. Alan and Daneen had sung her praises in that area for the two years he’d worked here.