TO PROTECT THE CHILD

As a nurse and special advocate for children, Samantha Rochard is used to danger in small town Serenity, Arkansas. But when she suspects a little boy is in jeopardy from his powerful father, the danger turns on her. Her only source of protection? The handsome police officer who broke her heart five years ago. Yet after John Waltham comes to her rescue in more ways than one, Samantha must trust in him—and the Lord—to watch over her...and save one sweet little boy.

The Defenders: Protecting children in need.

Enjoy a special 15th anniversary bonus story from Love Inspired, Small-Town Romance by Arlene James

“I’m not going to hurt you, Samantha,” John said. “I’m not like your father, okay?”

“I know.”

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, given their stormy history. It was also something she was not ready to relinquish. Not when the police were still at her house searching for her attacker.

“This whole drug-conspiracy idea might be nothing more than a big misunderstanding.”

“Even if it is, there’s still somebody out to get you, Sam. All the good intentions in the world won’t protect you from evil if you don’t use your head.”

He was right, of course. That was what she was doing when she volunteered through CASA. And that was the same thing John had been doing when he’d put himself in place to protect her.

VALERIE HANSEN

was thirty when she awoke to the presence of the Lord in her life and turned to Jesus. In the years that followed, she worked with young children, both in church and secular environments. She also raised a family of her own and played foster mother to a wide assortment of furred and feathered critters.

Married to her high school sweetheart, she now lives in an old farmhouse she and her husband renovated with their own hands. She loves to hike the wooded hills behind the house and reflect on the marvelous turn her life has taken. Not only is she privileged to reside among the loving, accepting folks in the breathtakingly beautiful Ozark mountains of Arkansas, she also gets to share her personal faith by telling the stories of her heart for all of the Love Inspired Books lines.

Life doesn’t get much better than that!

Threat of Darkness

Valerie Hansen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

In 2012 Love Inspired Books is proudly celebrating fifteen years of heartwarming inspirational romance! In honor of this special occasion, we’re spotlighting the Love Inspired Suspense series this month.

If you haven’t read a Love Inspired Suspense book before, now is a wonderful time to discover them. Love Inspired Suspense offers gripping suspense, compelling romance and an inspirational message—all within one series. These edge-of-the-seat, contemporary romantic suspense stories feature Christian characters facing challenges to their faith…and to their lives!

We’re excited about our author line-up this month. Look for Threat of Darkness by Valerie Hansen, the latest book in her exciting miniseries, The Defenders. Terri Reed delivers the dramatic finale to Love Inspired Suspense’s continuity series, Fitzgerald Bay, with The Deputy’s Duty. Rachelle McCalla’s Reclaiming the Crown miniseries continues with Prince Incognito. Susan Sleeman rounds out the month with Double Exposure, the first book in her new miniseries, The Justice Agency.And enjoy a fifteenth anniversary bonus story at the end of each book.

I hope you enjoy each and every story. Look for four new Love Inspired Suspense books every month for the perfect combination of riveting suspense and inspirational romance!

Sincerely,

Tina James

Senior Editor

This book is dedicated to all the unsung heroes who take a stand against injustice for the sake of others. Many thanks, also, to Joe and Karen for their support and work on my behalf, and to the many faithful readers and friends who keep me in their prayers.

“Do not be overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good.”

—Romans 12:21

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Dear Reader-Author

Questions for Discussion

SMALL-TOWN ROMANCE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

ONE

The keening wails echoing down the usually quiet halls of the Serenity Medical Center made the hair on the back of Samantha Rochard’s neck prickle. Every natural instinct told her to flee. Instead, her experience as a registered nurse sent her racing toward the sound of misery.

A doctor, white coat flying behind him, shoved her aside and burst through the curtain into an E.R. exam cubicle. She heard him start to speak. Then, his words were abruptly cut off.

A sixth sense brought Samantha to a skidding halt before the weighted curtain had stopped swinging behind him. Was that scuffling? Fighting? A thud?

She peeked through a slit between the panels. Dr. Weiss, the physician who had elbowed her out of his way, lay on the floor, moaning. A thin, scraggly figure she judged to be male stood with his back to her. The only thing about him that caught her attention and held it was the small, silver-colored revolver he was waving.

Samantha wheeled and flattened herself against a nearby wall. Hands trembling, she pulled out her cell phone, called 911 and cupped her hands around the instrument to muffle her speech.

“We need help at the medical center. Hurry.”

“What’s the nature of your emergency, ma’am?”

“I don’t know.” Samantha wanted to shout instead of whispering. “I heard a scream and…”

When the dispatcher interrupted to ask, “Is that you again, Ms. Rochard?” she figured her report wasn’t going to be taken seriously. So what else was new?

“Look,” Samantha said, “we’ve got a guy in our E.R. with a gun. Isn’t that enough?”

“Okay. Stay where you are and let us handle it.” There was a rumble of conversation and beeping noises in the background before the dispatcher returned. “We have units on the way. Stay on the line with me.”

Samantha was about to reply when someone grabbed a fistful of her shoulder-length, dark hair and jerked her off her feet. The cell phone hit the floor with a splintering crack. She was being dragged backward into the exam area where Dr. Weiss lay!

Her scalp felt as though it was on fire. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t reason. All she could do was keep screaming “No! No!” and try to regain her balance enough to fight back.

The attacker flung her aside like a sack of dirty laundry. She landed hard. The instant she looked up she knew who had manhandled her. It was one of the teenage Boland boys. What’s his first name? Why can’t I remember? Marty, Jimmy, Bobby? It was Bobby. Bobby Joe. At least that sounded right.

Shying away while her thoughts whirled, Samantha stared at the young man in the tattered jeans and T-shirt. His eyes were wide and darting, their pupils dilated. He was under the influence for sure, which made him even more unpredictable. His demeanor reminded her of an animal caught in the jaws of a steel trap and willing to chew its own leg off to escape.

She licked her lips and found her voice. “Hey, it’s me. Samantha Rochard. You’re—you’re Bobby Joe, right? I used to go to school with your big sisters. Remember?”

His eyes flickered. His body was shaking so uncontrollably his hand kept jerking. The hand with the gun in it. “I—I know,” he stammered. “I came to see you ’cause you’re a nurse.”

“Okay. I’m here,” Samantha said with forced calm. “I’m going to get up now, Bobby. Will you let me do that?”

His nod was quick, twitchy. “Yeah.”

Using the edge of the exam table to steady herself she kept her concentration on the teen’s face, waiting for him to do something else irrational thanks to his drug-induced paranoia. The biggest plus of the whole situation was the fact that she knew all of the Boland kids had been raised with strong morals and lots of love, even if they hadn’t had much else.

Samantha took a deep, settling breath and squared her shoulders. “I’m listening,” she told the skinny, long-haired teen. “Why did you want to see me?”

He stepped aside so Samantha could view the occupant of the narrow gurney for the first time. A homemade quilt wrapped a frail, blond child about two years old. The little body lay quiet. Too quiet.

Whipping her stethoscope from around her neck she pushed the teen aside, threw back the edges of the quilt and began to check the child’s vital signs. There was a heartbeat! Thank You, God.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“I don’t know. I was just watchin’ him for a friend and…”

“How long? How long has he been like this?”

Instead of answering, the gunman stepped back and began to weep as if his heart was breaking.

Samantha was no longer concerned about anything except the ill child. “Talk to me, Bobby Joe. Tell me everything.”

Sobbing was all she heard so she doubled her efforts. “Listen. Time matters. If you think he swallowed something I need to know what and when. Talk to me. Help me save him.” She was searching for injuries on the little body as she spoke and finding none.

The young man sank to the floor near Dr. Weiss’s feet. Samantha heard him mumble something about a stash and the little boy being too curious. That was enough to get started. She threw aside the curtain surrounding one end of the exam area and found herself staring at a trio of quaking coworkers.

“Narcan,” Samantha shouted. “And find me a doctor who’s conscious enough to give the order to administer.”

“I can do it,” Weiss said, rolling onto his hands and knees and pausing before pulling himself erect. He cast a wary glance at the assailant who was still babbling incoherently, then nodded at a middle-aged nurse who stood outside the immediate area. “You. Alice. You heard her. Meds. Stat. And somebody order a chopper. We’ll transport to Children’s in Little Rock as soon as we stabilize.”

“Respirations are slow, pulse rapid and weak,” Samantha told him.

“That figures.” Weiss blew a sigh. “I’ll start an IV while you give him half the dose IM. If the problem isn’t opiate-induced, Narcan won’t hurt him.”

“Right.” She administered the injection while other nurses and the doctor worked on the opposite side of the gurney.

The sound of approaching sirens caught her attention. Tensing, she eyed Bobby Joe. He apparently hadn’t noticed that the police were almost there.

“Vitals are improving. Somebody take my place for a second,” Samantha said before leaving the patient in other capable hands and going to crouch beside the distraught teen.

“We’ve given the boy an antidote and he’s starting to respond. It’s going to be okay.” Reaching for his weapon and closing her hand around it, she made sure it was pointing in a safe direction, then exerted steady pressure. “You can let go. Give me the gun, Bobby Joe. Everything’s under control.”

Relieved beyond words when he did as she asked, Samantha stood, holding out the small, silver pistol, butt first and muzzle direction safely diverted, just the way she’d taken it from its owner.

Several police officers were already approaching warily when she turned to face them. Their guns were drawn, their expressions deadly serious so she announced, “You can relax, fellas. Everything’s under control. I got his gun away from him for you.”

One deputy sidled past her to cuff the addict while another stepped up and took the pistol from her hand.

If Samantha hadn’t already been so keyed up that she could barely think straight, she might have shrieked when she saw that cop’s face. Her jaw did drop and she was pretty sure her gasp was audible. His light brown hair and eyes and his broad shoulders were all too familiar. It couldn’t be him, of course. It simply couldn’t be. She hadn’t had one of these déjà vu moments for months. Maybe years.

Her pulse leaped as reality replaced imagination. She couldn’t catch her breath. This was not another bad dream. John Waltham, the man who’d broken her heart so badly she’d wondered if she’d ever recover, was standing right in front of her, big as life.

Before she could decide how to greet him, he set the mood of their reunion. His “What did you think you were doing?” was delivered with such force it was practically a growl.

That attitude stiffened her spine and made it easy to answer, “My job.”

“You’re a nurse, not a cop.”

“Oh, so I’m supposed to just stand there while you and your buddies waltz in here and start shooting?”

“If necessary, yes.”

“Don’t be silly. I knew Bobby Joe wasn’t going to hurt me,” she insisted, wishing she fully believed her own assertion. When an addict was under the influence there was no way to predict what he or she might do.

Handling the pistol expertly, John unloaded it and passed it to one of his fellow officers to bag as evidence before turning back to Samantha.

She noticed that his expression had softened some but it was too little too late. She was already bristling. “What are you doing back in town?” She eyed him from head to toe. “And why are you dressed like a member of our police force?”

“Because that’s what I am. I’ve come home,” he said flatly.

Samantha couldn’t believe her ears. After all he’d put her through, all the tears she’d shed after he’d left her high and dry, he had the unmitigated gall to return and go back to work as if nothing had changed. How dare he!

* * *

Seeing Samantha again had been disquieting to begin with. Seeing her with the perp’s loaded gun in her hand had dealt him such a staggering blow he’d almost been rendered speechless.

Although Sam was prettier than ever, she now exhibited an element of authority and expertise that floored him. The last time they’d been together Sam had clung to him, crying and begging him to stay in Serenity. She’d acted as if she couldn’t bear to see him go and was positive she couldn’t live without him.

Now, however, she was behaving with such self-assurance he was stunned. His high school sweetheart had grown up in his absence. Boy, had she!

Waiting until the addict had been escorted to a patrol car and stuffed into the backseat, John approached her for the second time.

She looked up from her task of packaging the quilt and the child’s clothing. She didn’t speak, didn’t smile.

John cleared his throat. “I think we got off on the wrong foot just now. It’s good to see you again, Sam.”

All she did was nod.

“Nice job calming the suspect. Just don’t try anything like that again.”

He’d thought she might reply because her jaw dropped slightly but she snapped it shut and kept mum. “I told you I was sorry a hundred times,” he said quietly so others wouldn’t overhear. “What happened between us in the past was for the best, Sam. You and I both know that.”

With a noisy sigh and shake of her head she regarded him for long seconds before she finally spoke. “I’d adjusted fine to you being a detective in Dallas, John. What the… What are you doing back in Serenity?”

“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 uniform 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.

“What is it, boy? What do you see?”

The dog inched his way around so he was facing the yard and had his broad rump to the door.

As far as Samantha was concerned that made this situation a no-brainer. She quickly stepped into the kitchen and reached for the switch on the wall, then stopped herself. If she flipped those lights on she’d be silhouetted in the open doorway.

“Brutus, come,” she ordered. “Come. Now.”

Instead of taking his eyes off the yard he literally backed into the house, his nails clicking on the vinyl floor. The minute he was in the clear, she slammed and locked the door.

Although the dog still had his hackles up he seemed to be calming down. Samantha crouched next to him and put one arm around his neck. “I sure wish you could talk. What did you sense, huh? Was it a skunk or an armadillo?”

Rabbits, though plentiful, seldom interested him but he hated skunks and ’dillos. Still, it took quite a bit of incentive to get the old dog going these days. For him to show such concentration and defensiveness meant he was positive something was amiss.

“Okay, Brutus. You win. You can spend the night inside with me,” Samantha said with affection. “I don’t want to have to wash you in tomato juice because you got skunked. I don’t need anything else to make the last twenty-four hours more memorable than they already are.”

Suddenly, the dog ducked out of her hold and started to trot toward the front of the house. He barked, but only once. That reaction wouldn’t have caused her undue concern if she hadn’t just been through the growling spell with him.

He pressed his nose to the crack between the jamb and the heavy, wooden door, snuffling up and down where the door fit the frame the way he did whenever she had a pizza delivered. Only nobody delivered food at this hour of the morning, not to mention the fact that she hadn’t ordered anything.

Grasping Brutus’s collar she held tight, leaned close to the door and called, “Who’s there?”

When John Waltham answered, “It’s me,” Samantha didn’t know whether to be glad or tell him to scram. Judging by her dog’s amiable reaction, at least one of them was happy to encounter him again.

“What are you doing out there? Do you know how much you scared me?”

“If you were scared, it wasn’t my fault,” John insisted. “Open the door. We need to talk.”

Samantha’s sense of humor surfaced. Okay. If he wanted to come in she’d let him. But she wasn’t going to restrain Brutus. If John got knocked down and licked to death, it would serve him right.

She turned on the closest table lamp then reached to unlock the door.

Brutus had reacted with unbridled joy the moment John had spoken and he was still beside himself. He wedged his head into the gap as she started to open the door and shoved with his shoulders, his whole rear half wiggling like his tail.

Anyone other than John might have had trouble getting past a dog so bent on bestowing slobbering affection. Instead of giving ground, however, he simply started forward and Brutus made room.

“I think he remembers me,” John said as he shut the door behind him and bent to pet the old dog. “At least somebody is glad to see me.”

“He’s a dumb dog,” Samantha countered, struggling to keep from laughing aloud at the interaction between man and animal. “What does he know?”

“Plenty, if I remember right,” John said. “Brutus could always tell the good guys from the bad guys, even when he was a pup.” Slipping one hand under the dog’s muzzle he lifted his head and smiled affectionately. “He’s getting gray. How old is he now?”

“Probably about ten,” Samantha said. “I’ve had him since I was fifteen.”

“I remember. I thought you were going to go to jail over that episode, for sure.”

The particularly poignant memory sobered her. “I might have if you hadn’t arranged to buy him from that awful man who’d been abusing him.”

“I didn’t get you off the hook all by myself. Mrs. Prescott helped. She convinced the sheriff that you were just doing your civic duty and he had a talk with the guy for us.”

“I never knew that.”

“There was no need to tell you. Your life was already in an uproar because of your parents and since you were planning to come to live with Mrs. P, she figured it would be good for you to have a pet of your own.”

“She was right.” Samantha sighed. “So, what was it you just had to tell me?”

Straightening, he returned her steady gaze. “I followed you home and…”

“What has gotten into you? I do not need a babysitter.”

“If you’ll stop interrupting, I’ll explain.”

“Okay, okay.”

Reluctant to invite him to make himself comfortable, she nevertheless fell back on her Southern upbringing and gestured toward the tweed-covered sofa. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m not staying. I didn’t intend to even let you know what I was doing until I thought I saw a shadow moving around on your porch.”

“My porch?”

“Yeah.” Perching on the edge of the couch he continued to pet the dog. “But since Brutus isn’t upset, I guess it’s nothing.”

“But he was! Just before he heard you out front he’d been growling at the back door.”

John leaped up so fast he nearly knocked the dog off its feet. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

“You didn’t ask. Besides, I figured he’d just heard your truck coming up the drive. Relax. That’s probably all it was.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Are you sure enough about it to tell me you don’t want me to investigate?”

“I didn’t say that.” Although Samantha was making a silly face at him, there was plenty of fear hiding behind the mock humor. “Go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

“Okay. Stay there.” Although John was clad in jeans and a denim jacket instead of his uniform, he pulled a small gun from a hidden holster and started toward the kitchen.

Samantha crouched beside her dog and watched her old friend walk away. At least he’d been in the house often enough to know his way around so she didn’t need to direct him. The trouble was, she very much wanted to stick closer, and not for his sake.

* * *

John relied on the living-room lamp for illumination as he edged into the kitchen. His boots clomped hollowly on the floor. He lightened his steps as much as possible but the old house squeaked and groaned like a dilapidated garden gate swinging on rusty hinges.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness he was able to see well enough to get by. Gun in hand he approached the back door, laid his ear to it and listened. There was nothing to hear. Not even the songs of the usual crickets and night-calling birds. That was a bad sign.

He was about to unlatch the door when he sensed that he was no longer alone. Samantha was creeping up on him quietly enough but Brutus’s noisy panting and the click of his nails on the hard floor announced their approach.

“Stay back,” John said.

“What did you find? Anything?”

“Not yet. Was this where he was when he growled?”

“Close. We were out on the porch.”

“Terrific.”

“Hey, don’t blame me. I had to get to the house somehow.”

“You could have parked in front, under the bright lights.”

“That’s not where my carport is.”

This argumentative exchange was getting them nowhere. It didn’t matter what he said, Sam would have a rebuttal ready. She was not making this easier. Then again, she never had been simple to understand, at least not for him. Just when he was certain they saw eye to eye, she’d shock him by proving otherwise or by setting up a no-win situation.

“Look, since you’re here, how about unlocking the door and easing it open for me. Just do that and then get out of the way. Can you manage that?”

“Of course.”

“Well?” He knew his tone was too harsh but he’d seen her in danger at least twice in the past few hours and that was two times too many to suit him.

He watched her approach in a crouch, hand on the knob, the other on the dog’s collar. At least she was thinking clearly enough to keep Brutus out of trouble. Too bad she wasn’t that cautious with herself.

“Ready?” Samantha asked, nearly whispering.

John braced himself. “Ready.”

She jerked open the door.

Something moved on the other side of the screen.

Startled, John tightened his finger on the trigger for an instant before he realized what he was seeing. A large piece of paper was fluttering against the mesh.

He reached around the screen door frame, grabbed the paper and jerked it loose.

Samantha’s voice trembled. “What is it?”

“Looks like a note. Close the door and lock it, then turn on the lights.”

His eyes were barely adjusted to the brightness when she rejoined him but he’d already seen plenty. For a brief moment he thought about hiding the details from her, then reconsidered. If Sam was in danger she needed to know everything about the threat.

John holstered his gun, then laid the note on the kitchen counter so they could both study it.

“But out if U know whats good for U” was printed in block letters with broad strokes of a black marking pen.

“Well, they can’t spell or punctuate but I get the idea,” Samantha said with a short, nervous laugh. “Think I should post the corrected version?”

More than a little worried, John rolled his eyes at her. “No. And we don’t want to handle it any more than we have to in case there are fingerprints. What I do think you should do is make a pot of coffee, sit down at the table and tell me who you’ve made mad lately.”

“You act like you think it’s a long list.”

“Is it?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay. I’ll go check the rest of the house while you make coffee. Brutus isn’t the least bit upset so I assume your prowler is gone but there’s no sense taking chances.”

He paused at the doorway to the hall and glanced back at her. The dog sat at her feet, leaning his shoulder against her knee, his tongue lolling. “Keep him with you.”

Hearing that, Samantha gave a wry chuckle. “Mister, you couldn’t separate me from this dog with dynamite.”

“No,” John said, smiling, “but a slice of baloney might do the trick.”

THREE

“I doubt I’ve had any CASA cases that might still be causing problems,” she said, cupping her hands around a steaming mug and watching eddies of cream spread across the surface and lighten the color.

Wishing she’d told John everything her purse snatcher had said, she knew she didn’t dare reveal those threats now. Not unless she wanted to listen to another lecture. Besides, there was no reason to assume that the man who had accosted her outside the hospital had left the semiliterate note. It didn’t really fit with his verbal warnings.

“Tell me about the cases, anyway. Are any of your CASA assignments recent?” John asked.

“Not really. One was late last year. After that I helped Jill Kirkpatrick—I mean Jill Andrews—and her new husband, Mitch, get set up to adopt the Pearson orphans. I imagine the chief and the sheriff told you all about that murder and kidnapping since it happened so recently.”

“Yes. It was my understanding that the guilty parties were incarcerated.”

“The instigator has been hospitalized for psychiatric reasons. The others all ended up in jail.” She sighed.

“What else? Was that your last case?”

“Nearly. One more concluded several months ago when the court gave the children I was helping to their maternal grandmother.”

“Are those parents still around?”

“No. The kids’ mother went to jail for unrelated crimes and nobody knows what happened to the father. He split a long time ago.”

John nodded. “Okay. So what are you working on right now?”

“Officially, nothing. I have been worried about a seven-year-old boy, Danny Southerland. I’m virtually positive he’s being abused. His father works for some kind of investment firm and he’s deeply involved in town politics, too. I guess he thinks that makes him above the law.”

“Nobody is above the law, Sam. You should know that from personal experience.” He reached toward her hand where it rested on the table and tenderly laid his over it.

Samantha’s initial urge was to pull away from him but by the time she had taken a few brief moments in which to relish his warm, gentle touch it was too late. She’d decided to leave her hand right where it was.

“You’re just giving back some of the support you got when you needed it,” John continued. “All you can do is try your best in any given situation. The results are up to God.”

“And to a judge,” she added, smiling wistfully. “As far as I know, nobody from CASA is on the Southerland case yet but I understand what you’re saying. It’s not my job to make things right. I don’t have that power.”

“Exactly.” John leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “So, tell me more about this Danny. When did you meet him?”

“It all started several months ago.” She closed her eyes and pictured the scene in the emergency room. “The last time was the worst. His father brought him to our E.R. because their regular doctor doesn’t work on weekends.”

“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.”

“I certainly hope so,” Samantha said. She scooted into the truck on the driver’s side, then slid over to make room for John.

The grim look he shot in her direction was unsettling. Nervousness kept her talking. “What? You don’t want him to go away because you want to capture him? I get it, believe me. What I meant was I hope I never see him or his cronies again.”

“That’s not likely,” John warned. “As long as they think you took some kind of package from the Boland kid they’ll keep coming after it. And you.”

“What can I do? I told you, Bobby Joe didn’t give me a thing.”

“Is that the truth?”

She bristled. “Of course it is.”

John’s smile grew sardonic, as if he wanted to believe her but couldn’t quite manage it in spite of his earlier claim that she was a poor liar. She could sort of understand that point of view. Perhaps it was time for a more detailed explanation of her motives.

“I would have gotten around to telling you about what the purse snatcher said,” Samantha insisted. “Honest I would. I was just worried about Bobby getting in more trouble because of me. I know his whole family. He’s not a bad kid at heart.”

“He’s an addict who probably sells the stuff to innocent little kids to support his habit. Is that the way you want to take care of the children in Serenity?”

“Of course not. I was planning to talk to Bobby’s folks but I wanted to wait and see what the actual charges were before I said anything, that’s all. This whole drug-conspiracy idea might be nothing more than a big misunderstanding.”

“Even if it is, there’s still somebody out to get you, Sam. All the good intentions in the world won’t protect you from evil if you don’t use your head.”

“Humph. I thought you believed in God taking care of His own.”

“I do. But I also know He gave us brains and expects us to think with them. I may be a Christian but I still put bullets in my gun. It would be idiotic not to.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point.”

She settled back against the seat as John started the truck and headed up the hill toward the old farmhouse. He was right, of course. It made perfect sense to use the capabilities each of them had been given. That was what she was doing when she volunteered through CASA. And that was the same thing John had been doing when he’d put himself in place to protect her.

That action wasn’t out of the ordinary. It was merely what he did. Who he was at heart. He would have done the exact same thing for anyone he felt was in danger.

Her conclusion about not being special to him was so obviously correct, it hurt.

* * *

First out of the truck, John trusted the other officers to have done their jobs so he didn’t order Sam to stay put. His opinion seemed to have little effect on her and the way he saw it, the less he tried to control her unnecessarily, the less they’d butt heads.

It didn’t surprise him that she was at his elbow when Walter showed him the tire tracks. John crouched. “They’re from an ATV, all right. There are probably hundreds just like this in Fulton County. You got pictures?”

“Yep. Measurements, too.” The grizzled, older man’s attitude clearly showed a chip on his shoulder. John understood. He’d returned to his former hometown with a degree in law enforcement and big-city experience that Chief Kelso had bragged of as an asset when he’d reintroduced him to the men he’d be working with. Given the fact that they had remained local and he was now viewed as an outsider, it was normal for them to feel a little put out.

“I’m sure you did everything by the book,” John assured him. “How about footprints?”

“It’s pretty dry and dusty. Not much to see.”

“Okay. We’ll put the dog out and let you in.”

“House is locked. I already tried the door.”

“Right.” He looked to Samantha. “You’ll need to open the door for us.”

Eyes widening, she stared at the porch. “Oh, no. My keys are still in the car. So is my purse.”

“Okay.” John rolled his eyes and sighed noisily. “Wait here with Glenn and Walter. I’ll be right back with your stuff.”

There was no way he would have considered leaving her at the farmhouse if she hadn’t had the companionship of veteran officers. They might look and act like good old boys most of the time but they were both plenty sharp. Sam would be safe with them, at least for the few minutes it would take him to retrieve her keys.

John made the trip down the hill quickly and easily. Stopping next to Samantha’s car he left his truck idling and stepped out. Everything looked the same as it had earlier.

He leaned in and reached around the car’s steering column, expecting to find the keys dangling from the ignition. That slot was empty. So where were her keys? Had Sam dropped them when she’d bolted?

Scowling, he squinted at the floor mats, then probed the slashes in the messy seat, finally scanning the bare ground outside the car. No keys. No purse, either. There was nothing left in Sam’s car but a worn, leather-covered Bible.

John straightened and carefully studied his surroundings. Had there been time for whoever had left the house on the ATV to have circled around and cleaned out the car? Maybe. Maybe not. It hardly mattered how many thieves were involved at this point. Someone had stolen everything except Sam’s Bible, including the keys to her house.

If the criminals came back, and John was positive they would, they could simply unlock her doors and walk in. Not only was Samantha in worse danger than before, it was at least partially his fault.

* * *

Samantha could tell from John’s closed expression and stiff body language upon his return that all was not well. The moment she saw him climb out of his truck and start toward her carrying her Bible, she assumed that that was the only thing he’d managed to retrieve.

“My purse?” she asked, trying not to sound as if she were making any kind of accusation.

“No sign of it. This was all there was left in the car,” he said, handing her the Bible. “I’m sorry. I should have made sure you had all your things with you before we came up here. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“I wasn’t, either.” The unshed tears that misted her vision were unacceptable. She blinked them away. “I’m sorry to cause all these problems.”

“It’s not like you went looking for trouble. At least not this time.”

Samantha was relieved to see a smile start to tease one side of his mouth when she said, “Thanks, I think.”

The more John’s expression softened, the easier it was for her to begin to smile at him—and at the other officers. “So, gentlemen, what do I do next?” She checked her watch. “I see we’re already too late for church.”

“Maybe we’ll take in the evening service,” John said. “Do you still hide a spare house key in the old barn?”

“Yes! I’d forgotten all about that. I’ll go get it.”

“No. I’ll go. You stay out here with Walt.”

“It’s on a nail, just inside the door to the left.” Samantha wasn’t about to argue with John this time. The notion of having her private space invaded so easily gave her the creeps. In mild weather she liked to throw open all the windows to let in fresh air. That practice was probably going to have to stop, at least temporarily. Moreover, she’d need new locks on her doors, not to mention doing something about changing the ignition, door and trunk locks in her car. This was getting complicated. And worse by the minute.

Returning with the single key, John unlocked the door and controlled Brutus’s exit so the other officers could enter the kitchen.

The mostly black dog bounded off the back porch and gamboled up to greet her. Just as delighted to see him, she bent to stroke his broad head and rusty-colored eyebrows, then ruffled his darker ears, speaking soft encouragements and enjoying the uncomplicated companionship while she bided her time.

“I am glad about one thing,” Samantha told John when he finally rejoined her. “They didn’t hurt Brutus. They could have. I let him out the front door this morning and if he’d realized someone strange was in the backyard he might have gone after them. No telling what they’d have done to him then.”

“Really? He was outside earlier?”

“Of course. No way was I going to leave for the morning without giving him a chance to go out first.”

“Just making sure.”

Judging by the way her old friend was scowling at her he had come to some conclusion. Since he didn’t seem inclined to share his thoughts she decided to probe for answers.

“Okay. I can see the wheels turning in your brain, Waltham. So, give. What are you thinking?”

“A couple of things. First, if Brutus was outside and the perp was still hanging around, why didn’t the dog alert?”

“Good question. Are you saying you think he recognized somebody?”

“It’s certainly possible. Have you had any work done around this place recently? For instance, did you hire any handymen, any strangers?”

“No. None.” She sighed thoughtfully. “Brutus may be an old dog but you saw how well he remembered you. If he did notice someone messing with my car it didn’t have to be anybody he’d recently met. He’s with me whenever I run errands and he always attracts plenty of attention. He probably knows at least half the people in town.”

“True.”

“You said you’d thought of a couple of things. What else?” When John stepped closer and leaned in to speak more quietly she immediately sensed the gravity of what he was about to say.

“Okay. Since your car had already been thoroughly ransacked, why did the man or men stick around? Why didn’t they make their getaway long before you came out of the house?”

“How should I know?”

“Think carefully, Sam. Whoever vandalized your car was waiting.”

He paused and lightly touched her shoulder before he added, “Waiting for you.”

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