Between Dusk and Dawn

by Alfie Thompson

  "I loaned thirteen thousand dollars to the last man I trusted. I haven't seen him since," she reminded herself as well as him. And Sam was offering company, not the forgetfulness she knew she could find by closing her eyes and lifting her lips to his.

  As if reading her mind, he slid his thumb a fraction of an inch to the left and softly traced the corner of her mouth. "Then he was a fool," Sam said.

  She told herself to move away from his soothing touch.

  "Jonna?"

  "What?" she asked, mesmerized by the gentle stroke. She thought she might even have swayed closer.

  "I won't let this monster win."

  Her heavy eyelids jolted up. A hard and terrible expression flickered across his face and she finally had the strength to draw away.

  "You'll be right down there?" Her head jerked in the di­rection of the farmhouse and she managed a tremulous but bright smile. "Ready for anything?"

  He nodded, then swung on one heel and went to the car he'd driven up so many hours ago. He had gotten his coat from the foyer where he'd thrown it when he came in. It was the long, dark coat he'd arrived in, and she realized the ominous aura she'd felt the day he came was one he inten­tionally created. It was part of his defensive wall and it fit his save-the-world self-image.

  She wondered if he'd packed the rest of his things in his car, ready to leave if she didn't believe his story. Would he have left if she insisted? As he said he'd left Leah Darcy?

  She'd never know. She shook her head and watched until his car disappeared behind the windbreak of trees. Even then, she could see his headlights slowly bounce and fall with the ruts in the road. They outlined random trees as he turned the car toward the old house.

  Jonna switched on the lights she rarely used between the breezeway and the garage. Her first steps were calm and measured. But by the time she reached the side door of the garage, she was running.

  She stopped inside. Her gaze flicked around, spastically searching the dark corners of the cool and hollow building. Each move became more jerky and self-conscious as she withdrew the gun from beneath the pickup seat. Her back felt exposed as she awkwardly leaned across the cab and took the box of bullets from the glove compartment.

  She didn't breathe naturally again until she was back in the house, locking the night outside.

  But as she looked around, she knew she'd also locked the horror in. Sam had rehung the cabinet doors, but they had scars. They'd put everything redeemable back in its place. Together, they'd patched the furniture cushions with silvery electrical tape. But the damage screamed danger. Everything is not right.

  She lurched self-consciously through the open rooms, leaving the lights on in her wake as she sought the sanctu­ary of her untouched bedroom.

  She popped a couple of aspirins, took her time in the shower and through all the rituals that usually calmed and soothed her. She read. She watched... nothing at the old farmhouse.

  She branded and counted cattle and drew house plans in her head. It was a long, long while before she slept.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jonna's hand hit the snooze alarm four times before she realized the awful noise was the phone. She yawned and moaned a "hi" into the receiver all at one time.

  "Jonna Sanders," a voice singsonged in a ghastly whis­per.

  Her body lunged upright and she was suddenly very wide awake.

  "Where did you go in such a hurry yesterday?" His words were muffled and Jonna strained to hear.

  "Who is this?" She squeezed the words past vocal cords so tight they hurt.

  "I'm sorry I missed you or I would have introduced my­self.' ' A high-pitched and sinister giggle set her nerves on edge. "Hope you enjoyed my little surprise when you re­turned."

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to reduce the man at the other end of the line to cinders with some devastating remark but her paralyzed brain wouldn't produce one co­herent thought. "You can't—"

  "Oh, I agree. It's a terrible shame but I really can't in­clude you in The Record yet. Until you have your award, it’s just not possible."

  His raspy laugh bordered on unholy. "But you'll get it soon, then I'll be in touch," he promised and the phone clicked.

  All Jonna heard now was her heart pounding in her ears.

  The call had been short. The water bed waves she'd cre­ated bolting upright hadn't subsided yet. Jonna glanced to­ward the window to get a time reference. She'd drawn the curtains and she reluctantly turned toward the clock. A lit­tle after four.

  Sam. She had to tell him.

  It comforted her, knowing that hideous voice hadn't be­longed to him. Her instincts had always known.

  Without consciously moving, she was at the window, standing between parted drapes. Deathly cold oozed through the gap and her nipples hardened painfully.

  Except for a light coating of frost that glistened and de­fined select blades of grass in the waning light of the moon, the prairie below her was a tarnished bronze.

  The white farmhouse accented the harsh landscape like a warm refuge, an inviting sanctuary against a storm. It had embraced her throughout her safe and secure childhood, and even dark and sleeping, it beckoned like an old friend.

  Her house—her award-winning, wonderful house—sud­denly felt hostile and lonely. And nothing in this world said she had to stay here, she realized. She stepped back and let the curtains separate her from the night.

  Yanking her gown over her head, she pulled on jeans and a saggy sweatshirt as she slipped her feet into shoes. Her numb fingers zipped and smoothed as she ran through the brightly lit rooms.

  She grabbed her jacket and a sleepy Magic, slung her purse over her shoulder and sought the keys in the front pocket of the bag as she hurried to the garage.

  Blanking all thought from her mind, she locked her doors and backed the little vehicle out. She forced a calm she didn't feel as she drove too swiftly down the hill.

  Sam's house still looked peaceful. Jonna considered honking, trying to raise him. She dreaded getting out, walking across the shadowy yard. Magic had snuggled close to her hip and looked as reluctant as Jonna felt to go any­where. She picked up the cat and curled her to her chest. No one could have phoned and then made it here to attack her in the five minutes or so since she'd hung up the phone, she assured herself and opened the truck door.

  He could have a cell phone, a voice whispered in her head.

  “But it wouldn’t work,” she answered aloud. They are getting better out here, the voice argued.

  “I should have called Sam first, so he could be watching for me.”

  She slammed the conversation closed.

  "Come on, kitty. I know this is crazy, but I just can't stand the thought of going back up there."

  She concentrated on taking long and confident steps to­ward the porch because that kept her from watching over her shoulder. "It was only a stupid telephone call," she whispered.

  She finally managed a deep breath when she was at Sam's front door.

  Her knock sounded loud and hollow in the silent pre­dawn. She shivered and pounded again. This time, as the racket died, she gave in to her screeching nerves and swiveled, pressing her back against the side of the house. She scanned the area for a legitimate threat, sure that if she didn't see anything, she'd relax.

  Nothing moved, not even the grass in the breeze. Her land, which should be friendly and quietly familiar, seemed gloomy and ominous. And instead of easing her mind, her certainty that the shadows held terrifying things lying in wait, increased.

  Without turning back to the door, she hammered on the Frame of the screen again. Before the echoes died, she ac­cepted that Sam wasn't going to answer.

  Her body launched into automatic pilot. Three fast strides took her to the steps and she lunged above and beyond them, hitting the ground running. She was gasping by the time she reached the pickup, but not from exertion. And locking the door, almost before she closed it completely, seemed like habit now.

  She cleared her
throat and gulped air. Her heart rate gradually slowed to its usual pace—until another thought struck her.

  The tiny hairs on the back of her neck slowly rose, tin­gling like some freaky sensor as she lifted her eyes to the rearview mirror. She fully expected a strange pair of eyes to look back from beyond the window behind her.

  Of course, no one was there. Only trees filled the small mirror, imitating attentive soldiers.

  Magic rubbed against her hand and Jonna jumped, whacking her wrist on the steering wheel.

  She grabbed her cell phone from her purse and hit the ‘5’ speed dial. Maybe she’d get lucky. The little icon swirled and swirled, but nothing ever happened and as usual, she had zero bars.

  "Damn, you're a fool," she scolded herself, then wished she hadn't spoken aloud. Every whisper of noise startled her and seemed foreboding.

  That final bit of paranoia convinced her she was totally losing it. It was time to get a grip, go home and back to bed. She turned the ignition and the motor purred reassuringly to life.

  She released the clutch, intending to reverse and go back up the hill. She looked again at the house, convinced that now, since she was leaving, a light would come on inside. Again, nothing.

  "Some kind of protector you are, Sam Barton," she muttered. "God, an army could have come in and you would have slept right—"

  —unless you're not here. He usually parked in back. She'd automatically assumed his car was there.

  Jonna put the truck in drive and let the vehicle creep around the side of the house. By the time she reached the rear, she had accepted that Sam's sedate little car might not be there.

  Missing in action!

  Her fears confirmed, the wheres and whys occupied her mind and weighed heavily on her heart while she drove back to the house that no longer felt like home.

  When her headlights lit the garage, she put her questions aside so they wouldn't distract her as she searched each nook and cranny of the suddenly sinister building. Finally find­ing the nerve to get out of the pickup, she rushed headlong back into the house.

  She took her suspicions back out for examination as she heated water in the microwave for a cup of hopefully soothing herbal tea. Sitting down at the table a minute later, she dunked the bag and tried to understand how this new piece fit into the whole puzzle.

  He'd said he was here to stop someone from killing her.

  Then where would he be at four in the morning? How concerned could he be about her safety if he wasn't even there? The caller could have just as easily come to "visit." It wasn’t like he didn’t know where she lived!

  Of course, she didn't have the award yet. The caller had pretty much verified Madden's and Sam's assumption that she didn't have to worry until she had actual possession. That might explain why, but it certainly didn't explain where.

  When Moss's convenience store, the business with the longest hours of operation, closed at midnight, Whitfield officially rolled up the streets. Even Emporia, fifty min­utes away and the only town around that was larger than Whitfield, pretty much folded when the bars closed at 2 a.m.

  She propped her elbows on the table, burying her fore­head in one of her palms. In a few short days, her life had turned upside down. She didn't feel secure anywhere. And suddenly, she was so weary.

  And Sam had been here such a short time. How could one man change everything? How could she know what to think?

  Logic. She had to think logically. Why would he have gone anywhere?

  Jonna realized she was slowly lifting the tea bag up and down, up and down. The liquid inside the mug looked thick, undrinkable and cold. She poured it down the sink.

  After double-checking and triple-checking the locks and dead bolts on the doors, she again left all the lights on and took her thoughts upstairs to her bedroom.

  There she slowly put her gown back on and went to gaze at the house below. She'd been standing there perhaps two minutes when headlights pierced the drive, flickering eerily through the trees as a car came slowly up the lane.

  The car pulled behind the farmhouse and Jonna watched Sam's long shape get out, then disappear inside the back door.

  She actually got as far as picking up the phone before she realized she had no idea of what she would say if she called him.

  What could she say?

  I got another call? She suddenly realized she hadn't told him—or anyone—about the first one. So many things had happened, she hadn't thought about it. She'd associated it with some who's-who book. It had never occurred to her that there might be a connection.

  I came to you for protection. From what?

  Where the hell have you been?

  No lights came on in the house below. Jonna had seen very few lights there since he'd moved in, she realized. She'd assumed he was just one of those nuts who believed in "early to bed" and all that garbage. He did seem to be an early riser.

  She wondered now if he'd been home the night of the other call?

  Dammit! Where had he been?

  Maybe he couldn't sleep and had gone for a drive. Could he know someone in the area and have gone for a visit? Would it be so amazing if he had a girlfriend?

  No, she thought uncomfortably. In her entire life, she'd never met a man who was so compelling. Or attractive. Shoot. He probably had dozens of girlfriends. He might even have a wife.

  She knew darn little about him, and what she knew she could tick off without using all five fingers on one hand. His sister had been murdered—he said. He had worked at, NET—he said. He'd been in the service—he said. And he was obsessed with catching a killer—he said.

  Each of those things could be lies. But for some ungodly reason that had nothing to do with common sense, she believed most of them.

  Her thoughts were disturbing. She looked once more at the dark and quiet house below. The sky was starting to lighten in the east. She forced herself back to bed and her thoughts back to the original question.

  Where the hell have you been, Sam Barton?

  Maybe he'd gone to town to mail something. To pick something up? To make a phone call?

  But he had a phone.

  What if he didn't want any record of a call? The shiver­ing started again.

  But calling me wouldn't be long distance. There would be billing records. And it wasn’t like his cell, which would have a history.

  Who knows what the phone company—or the police can tell with current technology? the small voice countered in her head.

  She tried desperately to remember every detail: the low breathy voice, the hushed whispery tone. She would have recognized it if it was Sam's. Wouldn't she? Right now she wasn't sure.

  And no matter the technology, no one could prove a spe­cific call had been made by a specific person if that person used a public phone—unless he or she was caught in the act.

  The tiny bit of trust Sam had earned earlier evaporated as if it had never been.

  The quivering that had never really stopped returned in earnest, and Jonna clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

  She wished she had paid attention to where he'd been the night she received the first call—the morning after she hired him. Sam could have easily made that call, too.

  * * *

  Jonna gave up her restless attempts at sleeping about ten the next morning.

  The phone rang as she was coming out of the shower and she recoiled from the instrument. Wrapping herself in a towel, she let the answering machine pick it up, listening until she heard Sheriff Madden's voice.

  "How you doing?" he asked after her hello.

  "I've been better," Jonna replied honestly.

  "I'm not surprised," he agreed, then hesitantly added, "I've got several reports from last night's patrols. They in­dicate you probably didn't get much sleep."

  "Oh?" She felt a shimmer of hope. She'd forgotten they promised to be watching.

  "Yeah. One says Sam didn't leave your place till after midnight. I suspect that means you didn't finish cleaning up
until then. Then you wandered around until nearly three— they saw movement in the house anyway; nothing at all the next two trips by, then about four-thirty, they recorded ac­tivity at both your place and the old house every time they drove by for the next two hours."

  "They saw Sam leave then?"

  The other end of the line was quiet for a moment. "Did he leave?"

  "Yes." Her teeth gnawed at the corner of her hp. "I got another one of those calls about four."

  "What calls?" Madden broke in.