Threat of Darkness

by Valerie Hansen

  “You don’t sound happy to see me.”

  “Happy? Happy is getting the gun away from Bobby Joe Boland and saving that little boy’s life. There was no joy in going through the struggles I faced after you left me. I won’t do it again. Not for anything.”

  Floored, he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and tried to look unconcerned. He’d thought he’d made Samantha understand his desire to better himself, to advance his career. Surely she must have had some empathy because she’d insisted she wanted to do the same thing in regard to nursing. They had both succeeded. He’d just had to move away in order to accomplish his goals and she’d been able to do it right there in Serenity.

  “I kind of hoped you’d be glad to see me, Sam. It’s nice that you’re doing so well.” He gestured toward the area where the doctor and nurse were smiling at the formerly unconscious boy. “Looks like a good save.”

  “This time. I wish I could rescue them all.”

  “Kids, you mean?”

  “Yeah.” Another sigh. “There are so many like…”

  “Like you used to be?” he offered. When her eyes narrowed and she glared at him he was afraid he’d reminded her too much of her own childhood.

  “I managed. And I’m still managing,” Samantha said, closing and tagging the bag of belongings that would go in the medevac chopper that was going to transport the child to a bigger hospital. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you in church Sunday?”

  You could have knocked him over with a feather when she said, “Not a chance. I don’t go to church anymore.”

  “Why not?” The way John remembered their youth, Sam’s faith had seemed stronger than his. What in the world would make her stop attending worship services?

  At first he didn’t think she was going to answer. When she lifted her chin higher and said, “Because I got tired of everybody asking me about you,” he wished she hadn’t told him the truth.

  * * *

  The swing shift sped by for Samantha. Weary and eager to get home and relax, she clocked out at midnight, grabbed her purse and headed for her compact, blue sedan.

  Overhead lights cast a yellowish glow across the medical-center parking lot. Fall breezes were scattering dry leaves and either piling them against the tires of the few remaining vehicles, or tumbling them down the hill into the farmers’ mowed fields beyond.

  Samantha turned up the collar of her fleece jacket and clasped her arms across her chest to help ward off the chill. She knew she hadn’t been the same since she’d seen John again and she didn’t like the feelings of loss—and of buried anger—that kept washing over her.

  Logic insisted that it was foolish to relive an unhappy past. The problem was, most of her time with John Waltham had been blissful. Elating. Filled with the promise of a perfect future.

  That was the real problem. She was once again coming face-to-face with a shattered dream and seeing how irrational it had been in the first place. Childhood attachments were fine for kids. A person had to grow up eventually. In a way, John had done them both a favor when he’d left town and forced her to stand on her own two feet. Intellectually, she believed that. All she had to do was convince her emotions.

  Because of hospital rules, Samantha’s car was parked in a distant section of the lot designated for employees. There were some lights back there, too, but the farther she got from the buildings the more forbidding the encroaching darkness seemed.

  One hand was inside her shoulder bag, reaching for her keys, when a large, black-clad form stepped out of the shadows. She sensed him before she actually saw him and her fingers began probing the deepest reaches of her purse. Instead of her keys, she gripped a small can of pepper spray.

  Shaking on the inside, she continued walking boldly toward her car. When the silent figure blocked her way she simply said, “Excuse me?”

  His resulting laugh was far from humorous. Widening his stance he said, “Lady, there is no excuse for the likes of you. Now give it to me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Move. I need to get to my car.” She sidestepped to keep out of reach and raised the spray can, ready to put it to use.

  “You think that scares me?” the man said. “I can take that away from you before you know what hit you.”

  “Why me?” she asked, fighting to remain calm enough to defend herself. “I don’t know you.”

  “No, and you won’t try to ID me if you know what’s good for you. Let’s just say we have a mutual friend whose life won’t be worth a bucketful of manure if you rat us out.” His raspy tone was almost as frightening as the outright threat.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get out of my way and I’ll leave. I won’t say a word about this. I promise.”

  This time his laugh was even more sinister. “You bet you won’t. The only way you’re getting away from me is if you give me the package.”

  “What package?” She could hear the fear in her voice and rued the lack of self-control.

  “The one the Boland kid gave you.”

  So that was the supposed mutual friend he was threatening to harm. “Bobby didn’t give me anything. I hardly know him.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then why did he point to you when they were hauling him off to jail?”

  “Me? I didn’t even see him leave. He couldn’t have pointed to me.”

  Suddenly, the man lunged.

  Samantha directed the pepper spray at his face and heard him curse as it hit its target but he didn’t slow his attack. In the blink of an eye he’d disarmed her and wrenched her purse from her grasp, as well.

  Blinding headlights suddenly came out of nowhere and illuminated the darkened corner of the lot. Her head whipped around. A large vehicle, probably a pickup truck, was speeding toward her so fast it looked as though it might actually hit her car or run her over.

  Tires screeched on the asphalt. The truck rocked as it slid to a stop. A man in a denim jacket jumped out and raced past Samantha in a blur, hot on the trail of her fleeing attacker.

  The whole incident happened so quickly she needed a moment to process the details. What in the world could that guy have meant? Bobby Joe hadn’t given her any packages. He hadn’t given her anything but a headache. But it was clear the stupid kid was involved with criminals and was in way over his head. Perhaps lethally so.

  It quickly dawned on her that the driver of the pickup had looked familiar. Peering after him she saw John Waltham returning with a broad grin and her purse in hand.

  Well, now what? she asked herself, trying to still her trembling enough to present a calm facade, even though she’d been scared out of her wits just now. John had saved her from theft and goodness knows what else. She could hardly snub him.

  Instead, she merely smiled and said, “Thanks,” as she accepted her handbag from him and slung the wide strap over her shoulder.

  “You’re welcome. Sorry he got away.” John eyed the bag. “Aren’t you going to check and see if he stole anything?”

  “I doubt he had it long enough for that.” Samantha nevertheless pawed through the contents. Her wallet and cracked cell phone were still there. To her surprise, so was the pepper spray.

  Looking back at her rescuer she raised an eyebrow. “Wait a minute. It’s after midnight. What were you doing out here?”

  “Waiting for you to get off work so I could try to talk to you again,” John said.

  “How did you know my hours?”

  “I asked at the information desk. That’s what they’re for. Information, right?”

  “They’re not supposed to give strangers my personal schedule,” Samantha countered.

  “Ah, but they could tell I was one of the good guys because I was still in unif
orm when I asked.”

  She shivered. “Yeah, well, apparently you weren’t the only one waiting for me.”

  “No kidding. I think I’d better escort you to the station to make a report.”

  “For a purse snatching? I’d really rather not.” Especially since I don’t intend to involve Bobby Joe until I’ve made sure he won’t be hurt worse because of my statement, she added to herself, considering that decision totally rational under these circumstances.

  “Why not?” John was scowling.

  “Hey, don’t look at me like I’m some kind of criminal. I just don’t relish visiting Sheriff Allgood or Chief Kelso, okay? We don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

  John still didn’t touch her but he did hover closer, making Samantha feel safer and more secure than she had in a long, long time. “Explain.”

  She leaned against the side of her car because she was still unsteady on her feet and didn’t want him to suspect. “It’s not complicated. I see it as my duty to report suspicions of child abuse and the authorities don’t often take me seriously. It was bad enough before I became a CASA volunteer but it’s even worse now. You know what that is, right?”

  “Court Appointed Special Advocates for children? Sure. What’s the problem? The people you report are guilty, aren’t they?”

  “Sometimes. Like Bobby Joe was today.”

  “And sometimes not?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s okay, Sam. I understand. You’re smart enough to catch clues that others miss.”

  “Do you really believe that or are you just trying to get back into my good graces?”

  “Maybe both. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said earlier. It pains me to hear you dropped out of church because of me. Is that actually true?”

  “In a manner of speaking. People were so used to seeing us as a couple and expecting us to get…married…that they kept nagging me about it long after you’d left. I finally decided it was easier to stay home than to go through interrogation every Sunday.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  Samantha knew she’d already revealed too much for her own good so she changed the subject. “If you want me to make a police report I suppose it would be better to get it over with now, while your office is quiet.”

  She jingled her keys. “I’ll take my car. You can follow if you want.”

  When he smiled tenderly and said, “You couldn’t get rid of me tonight if you tried,” she was so touched by his evident concern she had to turn away to hide her emotions.

  Don’t do it, Samantha, she warned herself. Don’t soften. Don’t start imagining that you can go back and pick up where you left off. It’s far too late for that. The romance is over. Period.

  A basic truth struck her as she was climbing into her car. She and John had had more than a romance. They had shared a special friendship for years. And that, more than anything, was what she missed. What she grieved for.

  Looking into the side mirror she watched him striding to his truck. There was a time when she’d believed that he was everything she’d ever wanted; that he completed her in a way no one else could.

  The lump in her throat and rapid, thrumming pulse told her that she’d never changed her mind. But John had changed his. He had chosen his career over a life with her and the only way she could hope to protect herself from a repeat of the same pain was to guard her heart—no matter what.

  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.