The Defenders

“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!

FOUR

John saw Samantha’s car approaching. He wouldn’t have thought much about her excessive speed if he hadn’t seen the condition of the vehicle she was driving. Its doors were flapping like the wings of a wounded duck and every time Samantha hit a bump, the trunk lid bounced erratically.

There was no way he was going to let her pass and continue to town when her car was obviously unsafe. He eased forward into the roadway and blocked her exit.

For a few moments it seemed as if she was going to ram his truck. Her tires threw up clouds of dust and gravel as she finally applied the brakes and started to skid.

John braced himself, ready for impact. It didn’t come. Instead, Samantha bailed out of her car and started to sprint away.

He stepped down from the cab of the pickup and hollered, “Hey, Sam! Hold on. It’s just me.”

In the seconds it took for her to come to her senses he saw no change in her actions. Then, as if in slow motion, she wheeled and came straight at him. Instead of slowing her pace, however, she barreled into his chest so forcefully it staggered him.

He grasped her upper arms and held her away so he could look her in the eyes when he asked, “What’s going on?”

“My—my car. Somebody ransacked it.”

“Why are the doors open?”

She was gulping air, fighting to catch her breath. “Be-because…”

“Okay. Calm down. I’ve got you,” John said, wrapping her in a tight embrace and steadying them both against the side of his truck. “Take your time.”

While both her arms encircled his waist and her cheek lay against his chest, she continued to try to explain.

“At the house. A man. Coming at me. I didn’t have time to…”

“Just now? You saw a prowler just now?”

Samantha nodded, lifting her head. “Uh-huh.”

“What did he look like?”

“It was a big shadow. I know somebody was after me.”

“Maybe you imagined it.”

As she eased away from him and looked up into his eyes, she was shaking her head. “No way. I may have a good imagination but I’ve never heard one of my daydreams curse before.”

That was enough for John. He ushered her into his truck and closed the door before using his cell to call the station with a report.

In case there was anyone leaving Sam’s he wanted to be in place to at least get an ID. If nobody came by, that would be okay, too, because it would mean that whoever had trashed her car was still up there.

Only one dirt drive led in and out. Anyone who had been present when she’d left the house had a choice of trying to flee past him or being discovered by the officers he’d summoned.

Either way, he won. And so did Sam.

* * *

Sirens broke the peaceful, Sunday morning silence. Samantha shivered, glad when John slipped his arm around her shoulders.

“Take it easy. It’s almost over.”

“Oh, yeah? Says who?”

He gave her a quick squeeze. “Says me. I’m always right, remember?”

“I remember that you thought you were,” she countered. “I’ll reserve judgment.”

“Some things never change, do they, Sam?” He chuckled. “Think about this situation. You said you saw someone up at your house. There’s only one way in and out and we’re parked in the road. Therefore, whoever was up there before is still there, the cops will catch him and your troubles will be over. Simple.”

“I hope you’re right, but…”

“But you can’t believe I can be? That’s hardly a surprise,” he said flatly as he removed his arm from her shoulders and prepared to get out of the truck to meet his fellow officers.

He hesitated only long enough to gesture in a blocking motion. “You stay put. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve briefed Glenn and Walter.”

If Samantha hadn’t been so shaky she might have argued or at least tried to follow. Unfortunately, her knocking knees didn’t feel ready to support her, let alone help her pretend she hadn’t been terrified.

This is ridiculous, she reasoned, angry with herself. Here she was, an independent, capable career woman who had handled her private life just fine until John Waltham had returned to Serenity.

Was he the real problem? She couldn’t accept that theory without reservations. Not when so many outside influences seemed to be in play. Even without John she would have been accosted in the hospital parking lot and her car would have been vandalized. Perhaps it was time she confessed everything the purse snatcher had said.

That conclusion brought a deep sigh. Yes. It was not only time, it was long past the time when she should have told the authorities the whole story. There was only so much she could do to protect the Boland boy, and she certainly didn’t want to become his enabler by letting him get away with criminal activities.

Fully decided, Samantha scooted across the seat, opened the passenger door and slid out. She paused to make sure her legs would support her well enough before trying to follow John.

The older, taller, gray-haired member of the team he’d been speaking with pointed in her direction as she approached. Since she knew both men she greeted them with a smile. “Morning, Walter. Good to see you.”

The cop who was closer to her age removed his hat, ran his palm over his blond crew cut and blushed slightly when she added, “Hi, Glenn.”

John whirled to face her, his brow furrowed and his jaw set firmly. “I thought I told you…”

“I know, I know. But there’s one more thing you should all know before you go looking for the vandal who trashed my car.”

Now that she had everyone’s undivided attention she found her mouth excessively dry and her words hard to form. “Um, it’s like this,” she began, staying focused mostly on Walter because she saw him as the least likely to chastise her. “I may know what the guy who tore up my car was after.”

John stared through narrowed eyes. “Go on.”

“That night, when that man snatched my purse, he mentioned something about a package Bobby Joe Boland was supposed to have given me. I don’t have it, of course, but apparently somebody thinks I do.”

The look on John’s face was far darker than that of his companions. While the other two officers merely nodded and Glenn made notes, John was clearly fighting to control his rising temper.

“You didn’t say a thing about this that night.”

“I—I guess I forgot.”

“You always were a lousy liar,” he countered before turning to the others. “Okay. Now this whole thing is starting to make sense. I can stay here and continue to block the road if you want. Just be careful. Boland was into drugs so this prowler is probably frantic to get his hands on whatever stash the kid was carrying before he was arrested at the hospital.”

Samantha was sorry to see the others nod, get back into their patrol unit and start for her house. That meant she was alone with John. And with his temper.

When he turned back to face her, he looked more irate than she had ever seen him. That impression was so strong it caused her to cringe when he reached toward her.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Sam,” he said, dropping his hand to his side and shaking his head soberly. “I’m not like your father, okay?”

“I know.”

“Then stop looking at me as if you expect me to start yelling and swinging.”

“Sorry. Old habits die hard.”

“That, they do.” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth but the emotion didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He offered his hand to her, waited a few heartbeats then started to pull back.

Samantha moved quickly to grasp it before he could change his mind. The feeling of safety and concern in John’s tender touch was all-encompassing and so comforting it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Holding his hand like this was dumb. Foolish. Ridiculous, given their stormy history. It was also something she was not ready to relinquish. Not yet. Not when the police were still at her house searching for her erstwhile attacker.

The phone in John’s pocket jingled and he flipped it open to answer. “Waltham.”

Samantha’s pulse was hammering in her ears so loudly she could hardly hear anything else. The expression on her companion’s face was enough to tell her the officers had not found a prowler.

“Okay,” John said into the phone. “We’ll be right up. Don’t go into the house until we get there. She’s got a watchdog the size of a pony inside.”

He ended the call and started toward his truck, still holding her hand and dragging her along so fast she had to practically jog to keep pace.

“What is it? What did they see? There has to be someone up there. I know there does.”

“Not now,” John said, sounding cynical. “They spotted tracks from an all-terrain vehicle. Looks like your prowler made his getaway on an ATV.”

“I didn’t hear anything like that, did you?”

“We probably wouldn’t have when we were both concentrating on your wild driving. Apparently, while you were going one way, your druggie friend was headed in the opposite direction. He could be miles away by now.”