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

by Linda K. Rodante

  Today, he needed to make a statement, to make sure she understood the kiss meant nothing. Avoidance had worked well with her before. It would work again.

  When she arrived along with close to twenty volunteers, he assigned everyone to the two sets of bleachers. They’d finish those today. He treated Sharee just as he treated the others. If she noticed his brusqueness, she didn’t show it. She seemed preoccupied herself, and that was good.

  When they accomplished more than expected in the first few hours, he reduced the bleacher crew to George, Sharee, and two other workers. Sharee used a saw, hammer and screwdriver comparably to most men. Someone had taught her well.

  After instructing the others what to do for four of the scenes in the program, he and Sam moved to start the “control tower.” Laughter and conversation from the workers echoed to the sounds of hammering and sawing.

  John’s shoulders began to relax. The problems he’d expected had not materialized.

  Around noon, when Sharee, George, and the other two men backed up from the bleachers and inspected them, he couldn’t help glancing their way. Sharee looked tired and disheveled, her jumble of curls in disarray; but her smile held that twist of accomplishment, even joy, that signified satisfaction. She and the men grinned at each other.

  George slipped an arm around her shoulders. “They’re done, Sharee. What do you think?”

  “I think it’s great. I can’t believe we finished so quickly.”

  John’s chest tightened. George was only a friend, but the camaraderie the two shared forced unwanted emotions through him.

  One of the other men slapped George on the back. “It’s almost one. Time for lunch.”

  “You deserve it,” Sharee said. “But they haven’t rung the bell yet.”

  “It’ll be soon.” George headed toward the fellowship hall with the other men. “I’m going to wash up.”

  Forcing his attention back to their work, John pivoted toward Sam. The man held one end of a twelve-foot four-by-four and a question in his eyes. John muttered under his breath, leaned over and grabbed the other end of the board. They headed past the bleachers.

  As they went by, Sharee waved her hand at them. “Well, what do you think?”

  Hands full, Sam nodded her way. “Great job. Things are going well all over. Have the men deserted you?”

  “They went to wash for lunch.”

  “Ahhh,” Sam nodded. “We’ll be doing that, too, in a few minutes.”

  John swallowed what he might have said. Avoidance, he reminded himself, looking away from her happy grin. He felt her eyes follow him, felt the questioning. She’d understand soon.

  ~.~.~

  At lunch, Sharee watched John fix his plate, glance around, and disappear outside to eat. He often did that, but today her shoulders dropped as the door closed behind him.

  She inhaled and straightened her shoulders again. It was best. She had kept her distance today, and he seemed to do the same. But then, he was everywhere, helping. A special talent. When George’s saw broke, John put a replacement in his hands two minutes later. When one of the girls proved ineffective with both hammer and screwdriver, John sent her to get paint cans and later brushes and rags from the work buildings, keeping her useful and busy. And he anticipated problems before they rose, asking her questions to make sure they were doing what she envisioned. Although his questions today were short and to the point, and he seemed preoccupied.

  She missed his teasing grin. Better this way, though. She groaned inside. Yeah, sure, better.

  Toward the end of the afternoon, she put her brush across a paint can, straightened and stretched her back. The scene she had chosen to paint was coming together. John had drawn some them on the boards, included a picture and suggested colors. Amazing man. How could a man have that tall, dark and handsome thing going and still have so much talent?

  She shook her head and turned her focus to the other workers. A few people walked past her, brushes and paint cans in their hands. Clean-up time. George, Sam, and John stood fifty feet to her left. They’d sunk a quartet of long four-by-fours into the ground like they were fence posts and then poured concrete around them in preparation for the platform.

  Sharee breathed deeply, straightened her shoulders, and walked in their direction. “You guys are wonderful. I can hardly believe what’s been accomplished today.”

  Sam wiped his hands down the side of his jeans. “Yes. Good work. And we’ll get the platform up for you sometime this week.”

  “I can’t say thanks enough. Are you going to build steps, too?”

  Sam indicated John. “Ask the boss.”

  John’s brows drew together. “I think with the time constraints and money issues, we’ll use a ladder.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’ll remove it each evening. We don’t want the youth climbing up there. Someone could fall off.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. Sam’s nod of agreement caught her eye, but she concentrated on John’s frown. It hadn’t changed.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, are you planning anything else we need to know about?”

  Sharee leaned back a fraction, reacting to his tone. Her mind darted back over the day. Had she added anything to his day? Any other project? Not that she remembered.

  “No, I—”

  “Good.”

  The word came clipped and final. She blinked. George’s head turned, his face mirroring her surprise.

  “I…uh.” Her words stumbled. “I’ll just wash these brushes.”

  “Don’t bother.” John’s voice still carried its edge. He put his hand out. “Go home. I’ll take care of them.”

  Sharee’s eyes met his. She had planned to stay until they’d finished everything, but now… She put the brushes into his hand thinking about his difference in attitude today. She took in the detached coldness of his eyes, felt her heart twist and, without another word, turned and walked to her car.

  Chapter 8

  Monday had already proved a hard day at Downtown Ministries. Sharee didn’t mind. The distractions and numerous clients she dealt with kept her mind off John. But her last client might change that.

  Simone Timbler, a mother of three, had no electricity; and the meteorologists had predicted a cold front for the end of the week. A forecast in the mid-forties had brought her to the center. Two years ago, after a layoff at work, she and her children ended up living out of her car. Now, she had a good job and an apartment. What she didn’t have was money to pay car repairs and electricity at the same time. The car repairs had come first, leaving her without money for the power bill. Then both children had succumbed to strep throat, and the co-pays for medicine and the doctor had eaten into Simone’s finances again.

  Now two months had passed without payment, and the power company had turned off her electricity. Simone had used long extension cords from her neighbors’ homes to run her refrigerator and a light for their living room, but the prospect of cold weather had driven her back to the ministry for help.

  Sharee’s list of churches and nonprofits that helped Downtown Ministry’s clients was long. The ministry itself did background checks and personal inquiries to make sure the clients’ needs were real. Still, only a few ministries actually helped with finances. Pastor Alan and New Life Church topped that list.

  When she called Pastor Alan with the explanation, he told her to come pick up a check. She hadn’t doubted his willingness. He might give her difficulty over a Christmas program before agreeing, but his hand was open when it came to helping those in need.

  The power company wanted the check in their hands before they turned the woman’s electricity back on, so Sharee agreed to drive to the church, pick up the check and take it to the power company’s offices. The checks were made out to the company, anyway, not the clients. So, no problem.

  Then why had tension crept into her neck and shoulders? She moved her head back and forth, feeling the pull o
n her muscles, knowing the reason. The prospect of seeing John and finding that his attitude toward her had not changed left her heart beating overtime. She tried to convince herself he’d had a stressful day on Saturday, but that explanation didn’t feel right.

  She let out a hard breath. Don’t be idiotic. John might not even be there or anywhere near the office. She’d get the check and leave immediately.

  When she arrived, she headed straight to the church office and smiled at Daneen as she opened the door. The tension across her shoulders eased. Daneen was alone.

  “Here you go, Sharee.” The pastor’s wife held out the check.

  Sharee took it and put it in her purse. “You know how much I appreciate this.”

  Daneen returned the smile. “I’m just glad we can help. As long as God continues to furnish the funds, we’ll do what we can. You know that.”

  “I do. I’ll run this to the electric office.”

  “Okay. Be careful in the traffic. You look nice today.”

  Sharee smiled and stepped back into the sunshine. She’d dressed for their “job interview day” at work. Once a month they all dressed professionally to allow those that came to classes see how they should arrive for a job interview.

  George waved from across the parking lot. Propped against the large pine tree, a number of four-by-eight-foot boards stood.

  His smile and the plywood boards drew her. “Hey. You’re working on scenes for the program?”

  He used a paintbrush for a pointer. “Yes, we have lots to do. So, I came today to help John. I give the background two coats then he draws the scene.”

  “Oh.” She glanced around. “Well, has he left you alone?”

  “He went to get some tools and parts. When we’re finished, we’re going to connect these four together.”

  Sharee surveyed the boards, frowned then scanned them a second time.

  “What’s wrong, Sharee?”

  “These look like inside scenes for Herod’s Court. We talked Saturday about having an outside scene. I wrote that part of the drama last night.”

  George eyed the section he’d started painting. “You want me to wait?”

  She hesitated. Would she have to see John, after all? Swallowing, she put her shoulders back. Just get it done. The program’s more important than your feelings. “I think so. Let me talk to him. Do you know where he went?”

  “Sure.” He pointed with the paintbrush once more. “John went that way.”

  A few minutes later, Sharee found him in the tool building, hanging tools on the wall above a work bench.

  “John.” He straightened but didn’t turn. She cleared her throat. “John?” The look he cast over his shoulder caused her stomach to clench.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to talk with you a minute.”

  He shifted to face her, and his gaze dropped, his face mirroring surprise just before it shut down. Her gaze dropped, too. The business attire. He’d asked about her dressing in jeans every day, and here she showed up in a suit.

  She stared at his frown. What had become of the man that helped her these last two weeks? He had kissed her one day and appeared to loathe her the next. She shoved aside the hurt and lifted her chin.

  “Herod’s court is wrong.” Her words sounded abrupt and pointed. Not what she intended. His mouth drew into a thin line. She tried to recover a softer tone. “Didn’t we talk about an outside scene?”

  “We decided on an inside scene.”

  “No, an outside scene. I guess it wasn’t clear.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  “I’m sorry. I accept the blame, but will it take much to change?”

  “Yes.”

  “It will?” She fought with the idea of rewriting the part of the drama she’d written last night.

  “You want me to draw four new scenes?”

  He had offered to do the drawings the first time. How could she ask him to do it again? She exhaled the hurt curling inside.

  “No. It’s fine. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Sorry.”

  “Good.” He turned back to the work bench.

  She hesitated a moment, wanting to reach out and ask what was wrong. Instead, she spun to leave, almost hitting George. Heat filled her face. Had he heard John’s obvious impatience with her? She nodded and moved past him.

  What is John’s problem, Lord? Does he regret that kiss as much as I do?

  Except she didn’t regret it. In fact, it took all her determination not to relive it. Work kept her mind busy, but at home, at night…

  He doesn’t know the Lord. A relationship is impossible—even if he wanted one—and obviously he doesn’t. She sucked in deep breaths and blinked her eyes in rapid motion. Don’t cry for some guy who can be Mr. Happy one day and Mr. Grumpy the next. Besides, how dare he show such irritation. He’s the one who kissed you, not the other way around!

  Her eyes dried. She reached her car, yanked the door open, climbed in, and slammed it shut. The warm rise of anger pushed the hurt aside. In the future, if she needed to say anything to him, she’d use go-betweens. George or Sam would do fine. That should make him happy. Yeah, Mr. Happy again.

  ~.~.~

  An hour later, after sending George on an errand, John scrutinized the four boards. He clenched his fists. How had he missed what she wanted? She’d accepted the blame, but it was his. Instead of listening to what she said last Saturday, he’d concentrated on making each contact with her short and curt. And he’d snapped at her today even though the blame was his.

  George had caught his incredulous stare when she drove into the parking lot. He hadn’t sent for her. Why was she here? Didn’t she have work today? When she disappeared into the office, he’d left George working and headed for the tool building.

  That should have worked, but she tracked him down. In a business suit that hugged her curves like insulation wrap hugged a hot water tank, with pink lace peeking from the jacket. And high heels. He closed his eyes, and the image was still there. He ground his teeth together.

  She hadn’t backed down from his anger either—not as skittish as he thought. So, he still needed to make things clear to her.

  Saturday would do.

  His mind raced ahead. That scenario had one big problem, and that centered on his gut reaction when he saw the hurt he’d caused. She tried to cover it Saturday and again today but hadn’t succeeded. Maybe there was another way to do this. Maybe he should tell her…tell her what? About Janice? That would lead to a whole explanation. One he wasn’t ready for.

  He ran a hand through his hair, picturing the hurt in her eyes. Her method of coping was to retreat. Well, not entirely. She stood firm when it came to her work or her faith. He had evidence on both those scores. But she withdrew when it felt personal. He hefted the four boards and headed toward the tool building. Why the lack of confidence when it came to personal issues?

  His mind went back to the first day he’d seen her. Sitting by the pond, sobbing with a depth of pain that mirrored his own. He hadn’t cared about the cause that day. He’d only cared about the bottle clutched in her hand. He stood the boards against the wall and opened the shop’s door. What had happened that day that sent her running to the church and out onto the grounds to cry by herself?

  A man, most likely. He pushed the door inward and stopped. None of that was any of his concern. His only concern centered on finishing this project without the complications she now presented.

  Chapter 9

  As she climbed from the car on Saturday, Sharee grabbed a stretchy band and pulled her hair back, securing it at the back of her head. The degree of success of today’s work party rested squarely with the weather and John’s attitude. The meteorologists had predicted the low forties last night and that meant cool temps today, and if her personal radar gave an accurate reading, John’s attitude mirrored that. His glance her way when she drove into the parking lot had not held warmth.

  George approached
her. “Come, I have something to show you.”

  “Okay, but could you do a favor for me?”

  “You ask. George does.”

  She laughed. “You better watch out. Giving a girl rein like that could land you in trouble. But seriously… Would you let John know that in the center area, where we’re planning a replica of Bethlehem, that I would like some side walls at the rear of the mock-up? Everyone from the drama will have to fit into that area while waiting for the final song. I don’t want the audience to see everyone standing there.”

  “You do not want to discuss this with John?”

  “No. I…I think it will be better coming from you.”

  He shot her a glance but then stepped next to some plywood boards set against the large pine. “He reworked the sketches from the other day.”

  Her hand went to her mouth as she stared at the boards.

  “He did right this time?”

  “I…ah…yes.” He’d redone the boards? Guilt washed through her. “It must have taken him a long time. I…”

  George waved his hand. “John likes to stay busy. If he did not want to do this, Sharee, it wouldn’t be done. I will bring you some paints. He has me doing other things today, and he said if you wanted them so much, you could paint them.”

  “Oh, he did, did he? Well, I guess that’s only fair.”

  “Good.” He smiled and turned away.

  “George?” When he turned back, she gave a weak smile. “Tell him there will be no lunch today, either. Lynn and most of the other women will be at a wedding shower. It’s at 1:00, so they’re deserting us for the day.”

  George grumbled under his breath. “Then most of the workers who come will desert us, too, at lunch time.”

  “I know. It’s cold, and they’ll definitely want to eat, so...” She shrugged and gave a sigh. What could she do?

  “Don’t worry, Sharee, we will get this done.”