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

by Linda K. Rodante

  “Get in the closet.”

  “Please. You cannot—”

  “Get in the closet!”

  Sharee hesitated.

  The woman’s hand moved, the gun pointed at Joshua. “It doesn’t matter to me. Either way, I get revenge.”

  “No! No. Stop. I...I’ll get in the closet.”

  The gun arced back her way. It indicated the closet’s direction. Sharee slid her foot back.

  “All the way.”

  Sharee glanced around and took another step back. “You can drive away or catch a plane. Whatever. Just leave the baby.”

  “Shut up.” The woman leaped forward, and Sharee flinched backward and hit the door. “Open it. Get in.”

  Sharee turned and fumbled with the knob. When she opened the door, a hand hit her back and she lurched into the closet. The door slammed. Darkness swallowed her. She stood immobile, transfixed, fighting waves of nausea. A loud scraping sound came from the room. Something slid across the floor, followed by a rocking echo and thud. A hard and heavy object landed against the door. Pitch-blackness amplified the sound.

  Sharee felt for the door and put her hands against it. “Mrs. Sheraton, please. Leave Joshua. He’s done nothing to you.”

  No reply.

  Then she heard something else slide across the floor, a bang, and an additional thump on the door. Sharee fought the cold, sticky feeling that swept over. I will not faint. I will not faint.

  “Mrs. Sheraton!”

  Nothing. Quiet.

  She waited, listening.

  Nothing.

  She called again. The silence answered.

  Leaning forward, she slid her hand over the door, feeling for the knob. When she found it, she grasped and twisted it, pushing outward. Nothing happened. She tried again, throwing her weight against it. A slight movement? Her heart jolted with hope, but the next instant, she froze.

  A scrabbling, clawing sound reached her ears. The sound seemed to come from the hall, growing louder each second, and then it filled the room. She stepped back from the door.

  “There!” Mrs. Sheraton’s voice rose in triumph. “That will keep you!”

  Sharee’s hand clutched her chest. “Mrs. Sheraton! Please, leave Joshua…”

  Ferocious barking cut off her words and filled the air.

  Chapter 34

  The outside door slammed shut. Sharee’s heartbeat accelerated, and her hand rose to her throat. She heard the beast sniffing and stepped backward. A second later, the dog hit the door, clawing at the opening near the floor. Her breath caught and her heart hammered. Whatever the woman had propped against it hadn’t kept him away.

  She began to shake. No, please, Lord, no.

  Trembling started in her legs, and she threw her hands out in the darkness. Nothing. She’d seen a shelf above her, filled with objects, and she grabbed for it. Her hands closed on something hard, but it shifted and fell. The metallic crash caused an explosion of barking. She jumped back and grabbed for the overhead shelf again. This time, her hands closed on something soft. In another instant, it toppled over and dropped on top of her. She tried to drag it from her head, stumbled into the wall and crashed to the floor.

  The dog’s barking reached a new level. He tore at the door, scratching and snarling. Sharee pushed herself backward, her prayers loud and fervent, her voice merging with the dog’s.

  The slice of light from under the door leaped at her. Shadows jumped across it as the pit bull clawed harder. Sharee’s breath came in shallow gasps.

  Think, Sharee, think. God’s with you. You can do this. She forced herself to her feet. What had she heard?

  Midge Sheraton had dragged something over and tilted it against the closure, then added a second one. But they hadn’t kept the dog away. They must have legs. The chest of drawers and the changing table. That had to be it. What else was there except the crib? Sharee took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dog’s growling. If she pushed hard enough, maybe she could rock them upright.

  But she’d have to deal with the dog to get out. Cold cloaked her for a moment then she shook herself. No. He can’t get in, Sharee. Even if the door opens a couple of inches, he won’t be able to get in.

  She moved the soft object to the right, climbed to her feet, and repeated all the scripture she could remember. When she grasped the door handle, she took a long breath. A moment later, she turned it and threw herself against the door. Immediately, the dog’s howl filled the air.

  She dropped back, pain slicing through her side.

  Had she imagined the slight give?

  With the animal’s constant noise, it was hard to think.

  She stepped back, turned the handle again, and flung her whole body against the door. Pain shot through her shoulder. She collapsed backward, but two inches of yellow light brought highlights to her prison.

  The dog’s nose pushed against the gap, snarl rising. Sharee’s hand rose to her mouth. She stepped back, swallowing hard. The dog’s teeth gnashed against the door like jagged rocks. Her stomach clenched.

  If it opened more, the dog would attack. She scooted to a back corner of the closet and collapsed, sobbing.

  ~.~.~

  It took a few minutes, over her own fear, before she realized the dog had quieted. She glanced at the door. His nose was pushed against it, but he’d stopped gnawing, stopped growling. She swallowed and wiped her face.

  Lord, I’ve always wanted to do things myself, but I can’t now. Where’s John? Where is he?

  She shifted her position, and the dog snarled. She froze.

  I have to do something. I have to. I can’t stay here. Lord, you’re with me. I want John, but you’re here, and you’re enough. She shoved herself to her feet. Through the crack at the door, she saw the dog rise, too.

  A weapon. She needed a weapon. Her gaze dropped to the floor. The ribbon of light lay across the comforter. Not exactly what she what she wanted, but it did offer protection. She yanked it from the floor. For one second, the dog’s eyes were level with hers, teeth bared, deep guttural snarl emitting from its throat.

  She started to step back but stopped. “Hush,” she commanded. “Be quiet!”

  The words set him off. His barking rose to a deafening din. She shuddered, but shook herself and caught the comforter under her chin. Gripping it with both fists, she pulled it to cover her legs and feet then edged toward the door.

  Perhaps, with luck—no, with God—she could stop him. She stood for a moment, blocking out the dog’s noise and prayed.

  Swallowing, she grasped the knob and fumbled with the comforter in her hand. The dog shoved against the door, barking wildly. She tried the doorknob again. When it turned, she took a deep breath and leaped forward. A thump and a crash, and the door jolted wide. The dog leaped for her.

  Her arms shot up and out for protection even as she screamed. The pit bull hit her and sent her spiraling back into the closet. The comforter was wrenched from her hands, and the dog yelped, the tone different from anything she’d heard.

  She scrambled to her feet and stood paralyzed for a moment as he spun under the weight and blackness of the spread. The bedding twisted around him.

  She raced for the door. Yanking it open, she jumped through and slammed it behind her. Her head dropped for a moment. Yes. Yes. Yes! She tore down the hall and skidded into the living room.

  The front door stood open, and the suitcases had disappeared. Only one thing was left. Joshua sat gurgling and bubbling in his car seat. Sharee stared in amazement. She ran to the front window in time to see Mrs. Sheraton bang the van’s hood down and start back toward the house.

  Sharee backed up next to Joshua. In another moment, the woman stepped through the door. Her eyes widened.

  “How did you get out?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Sharee tried to steady her breathing. “I’m taking Joshua home.”

  The other woman’s face drew into a sneer. “You won’t get past
me.”

  They surveyed each other. The door still stood open. Freedom beckoned. Sharee’s breathing slowed, and she realized the woman held no gun. Her gaze swept the room. No purse anywhere. No gun. In the car?

  “I’m taking the baby.” Sharee’s own voice surprised her. Its depth and determination came from someone or somewhere else.

  “No.”

  “Do you think your son would want you to do this?”

  “I don’t care! He’s not here. Not…alive…any longer.”

  “Think about him. Would he want you to steal another person’s child?” And when the woman did not answer, she asked, “Would he want you in prison?”

  The woman’s mouth worked. Pain crossed her face. Sharee let the silence speak, allowed God to work. Tears formed in the woman’s eyes.

  Sharee licked her lips. “Let us go. Both of us.”

  The woman didn’t move. Sharee leaned forward and started to pick up the car seat.

  “No!” The threat in the woman’s voice rang clear.

  Sharee froze as the Mrs. Sheraton moved, blocking the doorway.

  “You have to let us go,” Sharee spoke with authority. “Your van won’t start, and if you were flying someplace, you’ve missed your plane by now or you will. All your plans have fallen apart.”

  ~.~.~

  Pastor Alan paused in the middle of rising to his feet. He knelt back down, bowing his head again, his heart reaching to God.

  ~.~.~

  “It’s not going to work,” Sharee said. “All your planning. Nothing will bring your son back, and you’ll ruin his memory.”

  The tears flowed in silent streams down the woman’s face, but her eyes never left Sharee.

  “Jesus can help you, though, with the pain.”

  This time, the woman’s eyes closed. A moment later, her face crumbled. She bent her head and began to sob.

  Sharee hesitated. Compassion filled her. Joshua gurgled. She leaned, unbuckled Joshua from the car seat, and gathered him into her arms. The car seat would be too heavy to carry and take too much time to strap in. She could go faster by foot. She had only to cross the road and then she’d be at the backside of the pond with the field and the church just beyond.

  Midge Sheraton’s sobs rent her heart.

  Go.

  She edged around the woman, cold insides waiting for her to make a move. But she made none. Sharee slipped out the door, and Joshua began to squirm in her arms. Nerves drew like taut fingers throughout her back; her arms shook. Behind her, the sobbing stopped. Sharee’s step quickened. Her back felt like a huge target. If Midge Sheraton got the gun…

  She started to pass the van and stopped. Shifting Joshua to her left arm, she tugged open the van door with her right hand. The purse sat in the middle of the seat. She leaned over and grabbed the purse. Its heaviness confirmed her suspicions, and she slipped it over her arm.

  Sharee turned and rushed past her SUV. On the other side of the street, she stumbled down into the dry ditch and up the other side. To her left, the cypress trees rose tall and thin, close together like a wall. Pencil straight sentinels. The pond was on her left now, and relief began to pump through her body. She concentrated on not falling and began to cross the field. A glance behind showed no one following. She stumbled and caught herself, squeezing Joshua to her chest. The baby gave a small cry.

  “Sharee?” John’s voice, thrown across the field, brought her head up.

  She saw him standing in front of the bleachers, staring her way.

  “I’ve got him, John!” Her voice rose, emotion spilling forth. “I’ve got Joshua!”

  Chapter 35

  John stared. She’d found him! He shot a glance over his shoulder. Some people stood talking by the fellowship hall. He saw Deputy Richards. “She’s found him!” He shouted and began to run across the field.

  Seconds later, he reached her and skidded to a stop. Wide-eyed joy filled her eyes. “Where? How did you—”

  “Roseanne. Roseanne had him.”

  “What? But—”

  “You found him?” Deputy Richards jerked to a stop beside them. His hand moved from the holster on his hip to touch the baby’s cheek. “This is Joshua? You’re sure?” When Sharee nodded, he reached out. “Let me have him for a moment.”

  Sharee’s brows rose. She glanced at John, and he lifted a brow, too. After a pause, she leaned toward the deputy and let him take the child from her arms. He cradled him against his chest, talking to him, soothing him, acting like a new father. John stared, knowing his mouth hung open.

  The deputy raised his head. “Got one at home the same age. Sure didn’t want anything to happen to this one.”

  Other people began arriving. Before long, a crowd made a tight knot around them, craning their heads to see Joshua. Voices grew louder each moment.

  “Let’s get back to the fellowship hall.” The deputy nodded toward Sharee. “We’ll need a statement.”

  “The baby’s parents are here!” Someone yelled.

  The mass of people parted, and Marci and Stephen pushed forward. John slipped his arm around Sharee and watched Marci grab Joshua from Richards’ arms. Stephen enfolded them both in his.

  Cameras appeared over the crowd’s heads, and reporters pushed through the crowd, shouting questions. John heard Sharee’s name mentioned and saw the swarm of reporters break and half slide in their direction. He pulled her closer.

  The Deputy stepped in front of them just as the detectives arrived. In a few minutes, the detectives led them away, and Richards kept the media at bay. They made their way back to the fellowship hall.

  “I’ve got a gun,” Sharee said in an abrupt tone.

  Michael O’Shay straightened, and the other detective’s hand slipped under his coat.

  “It’s Roseanne’s…Midge Sheraton’s. That’s her real name. It’s in this purse. She kidnapped Joshua.” Sharee slipped the purse from her arm.

  The detective took it, opened it, and checked the gun.

  Detective O’Shay frowned. “We need a statement. How did you…”

  A chill radiated through John. Roseanne had a gun? How did Sharee get the gun and the baby?

  The men spewed questions at her. At the end of her brief story, both detectives threw him wide-eyed looks. She’d gone alone to confront Roseanne, and Roseanne had threatened her with the gun, locked her in a closet, and put the dog to guard her. Another chill went through him.

  The detectives scrambled for their cars, and they watched them whirl out of the parking lot. Other law enforcement followed them, and the reporters raced for theirs. Deputy Richards walked their way.

  So many emotions rocketed through John that he didn’t know which one to go with. Relief, disbelief, thankfulness, anger.

  Anger won. “What in the world were you thinking? Why didn’t you come for one of the detectives? Or me? Anyone?”

  Sharee didn’t answer but turned to watch Marci, Stephen, and Joshua.

  “You went over there alone.” He stared at her averted head, wanting to pull her back around, wanting to shake her and hold her all at the same time “Why? Why didn’t you wait? Didn’t you think—”

  Sharee raised her head a moment but turned back toward the others again.

  His anger deflated like a flattened football. “She locked you in the room with the dog?”

  Sharee shuddered, and he reached for her, pulling her into his arms.

  “Yes.” Her voice was low. “I don’t know how she knew.”

  “I’m sure she didn’t, but she could bet that dog would scare anyone.”

  “I knew I had to get Joshua. I couldn’t let the dog stop me.”

  “If you had called…”

  “I did. I mean, I texted; but I knew God would help me.”

  He stared over her head, willing himself to calm down, to keep his mouth shut. She’d never cared for her own safety. Never took precautions. The girl needed someone to take care of her.
She needed protection—from herself.

  “John? They won’t hurt her, will they?”

  “Hurt her?” He paused. “Roseanne? Not if she doesn’t resist.”

  “I feel for her, John.”

  “You feel for her?” She’d surprised him before, but not quite this way.

  “She lost her son.”

  “But was taking someone else’s.”

  “I know, and I know it’s wrong, but she has no one else. He was all she had. I can’t help feeling sorry for her.”

  “Okay.”

  The compassion that came from her shouldn’t surprise him, but it did. Given so quickly, so easily. They both stared as the crowd a few yards away began to break up. People headed for the parking lot, for home. The reporters that didn’t follow the detectives still surrounded Marci and Stephen, but even they were beginning to leave.

  Sharee pulled away. “I want to see Marci.”

  John kept hold of her arm. “We can see Marci, but we also need to talk. Before the police get back with a hundred other questions.”

  Deputy Richards cleared his throat. “The police—make that the Sheriff’s office—is already here. Waiting. And I do have some questions. Not quite a hundred.”

  “You didn’t go with the others?”

  His face showed the wisp of a smile. “One woman, one dog. A dozen law enforcement officers.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll be missed.”

  “She’ll be okay?”

  He nodded. “Should be. The dog on the other hand… But we have a dog lover on the force. He’s there. Should be okay, too.”

  Sharee breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

  The deputy’s face showed surprise. “You’re worried about them both?”

  “Mrs. Sheraton, really. She lost her son, and I have a hunch she cares for the dog.”

  John’s hand tightened on Sharee’s arm. “You never know what she would have done.”

  The deputy vaulted a look between them. “That’s right. You never know what people are capable of—good or bad.” He paused. “What made you think Roseanne Sawyer was the kidnapper?”

  “Well, I remembered she had a car seat. John and I saw it one evening when she brought Marci back from the store. She had Joshua in a car seat. And Matthew took him out of it and put him in his own. I didn’t think about it until later. She always complained about being short of money, so why buy a car seat for Joshua when Marci had one? And I remembered what John said about the dog bites on the first doll. He didn’t think Cooper did it, so what dog did? Who had a dog? That kind of narrowed it down. Also, she dropped Marci and the girls off at the church the evening Marci found the doll in her car seat. It would have been easy for her to circle around, jump out of the van, leave it, and then drive home. And she had a key to the nursery.”