Threat of Darkness

by Valerie Hansen

  Pausing, she tried to decide if she was pushing too hard or if he was accepting her story. She truly did need a car. And he had been the first to mention it. Therefore, she felt she was on pretty solid footing.

  “I have some chicken in the freezer. We could…”

  John interrupted. “No, thanks. I’ll grab a quick bite and get started going over Elvina’s old car. That way I’ll know if it needs parts and I can pick them up in town tomorrow.”

  “All right. I’ll give you a blank check.”

  When his head snapped around and he stared across the seat at her she saw both anger and disappointment in his expression.

  “I’ll get the parts, Sam. It’s the least I can do since we were responsible for the loss of your car.”

  “Nonsense. You didn’t burn it,” she argued.

  “No, but it was destroyed on my watch. That has to mean something, even if you don’t want to accept my help.”

  “I never said anything of the kind.”

  Judging by the way his jaw snapped shut he was still good and miffed. Well, too bad. She was doing her best to cope with multiple problems and his short temper was the least of her worries. She had an abused child to protect, a stolen dog to locate, one or more bad guys to outwit and goodness knows what else that she had yet to discover. Given all those things, John’s snit fell very low on her list of priorities.

  Still, when she looked at him and saw his distress it caused a genuine ache in her heart. She might refute her feelings all day long but they existed.

  In truth, this was not a surprise. Denial was futile. Useless. She’d known the moment she’d laid eyes on him again. The love she’d thought was long gone, that had been banished forever, was very much alive.

  * * *

  Entering the house without being greeted by Brutus made Samantha’s loss even more poignant. Yes, she had human friends, especially the wonderful support system at work, but Brutus had been the heart of her home, the creature who was always glad to see her, who never misunderstood her sometimes changeable moods.

  She swiped away a stray tear. If she missed him this much already, what was it going to be like if she never got him back? That notion was devastating.

  Rather than give in to sadness she quickly grabbed a granola bar, opened a can of soda for herself and picked up a second one to take to John.

  As promised, he was in the barn. He’d removed the tarp that had covered the enormous, dark green sedan and had its hood up.

  “What’s the diagnosis. Will she live?”

  “Probably. After a little CPR—Car Parts Resuscitation.”

  The joke wasn’t all that funny but it gave Samantha reason to smile because it showed a lifting of her old friend’s mood. “Good to hear. I brought you a soda.”

  He accepted it, popped the top and tipped it up for a long drink. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. I suppose I’d better grab some rags and start on the inside.” She grinned more widely. “You have evicted all the mice, haven’t you?”

  “Most of them.” His sardonic smile made her chuckle.

  “Lovely,” she said. “Now all I have to do is adjust to being seen tooling around town in that barge. When Elvina drove it she could hardly see over the steering wheel. At least I’m tall enough that I won’t have to sit on a pillow.”

  “You’ll look just like a cute little old lady when you’re behind the wheel,” John countered. He stood back and wiped his hands on a rag before taking another swig of the canned drink she’d brought him. “We could paint flames on the sides. That would help your image.”

  “I’ll pass. Hopefully I won’t have to drive it for long.”

  “Actually, it’s something of an antique. You might be able to sell it, if you have the title, and buy something else with that money.”

  “Now, there’s an idea. I’ll give it some thought.” She gestured at the motor. “Does it run?”

  “We’ll soon find out. I replaced the old gas and put the battery from my truck in it until we can get you a new one. The oil looks clean but the tires are all flat. Chances are they’ll have to be replaced unless they hold air better than I think they will.”

  “That’s all minor stuff, right?”

  “Yes.” He pointed to the driver’s seat. “Hop in and turn it over for me. Don’t crank on it too long, though. I need my battery back in good shape.”

  “Right.”

  The door wasn’t as hard to open as she’d expected it to be. Sliding behind the wheel brought back memories of her teen years when her benefactor had taught her to drive.

  She made sure the car was in Park, then turned the key. The engine coughed, sputtered and came to life. Samantha saw surprise on John’s face that equaled her own. “Wow. It sounds pretty good.”

  “Shut it off for now,” he shouted, waving. “I want to have the oil changed and get a lube job before you drive it. We can have a garage pick it up tomorrow and see to the tires at the same time.”

  “I really am sorry to cause you all this trouble,” Samantha said, getting out of the car and returning to his side. “But I’m also glad I have your help to figure out what’s going on. We make a pretty good team.”

  “I used to think so,” he said, sobering.

  What could she say to that? No matter how badly she wanted to argue with him, his attitude would ensure that her words fell on deaf ears. As Elvina used to say, “It’d be like talkin’ to a stump.”

  John handed her his empty soda can and backed away, clearly done with the car and with their conversation.

  “Okay. I’ll finish cleaning out the inside tonight so it’s ready to go,” she said. “See you in the morning.”

  At least he waved as he turned away and headed for his trailer, Samantha mused. She supposed she was fortunate to have received that much show of familiarity.

  What she wanted—what she really wanted—was to step into his embrace the way she had when she’d been weeping for Brutus, but she knew better than to hope for the impossible. There were some dreams that were so outlandish that no amount of wishing or even praying would make them come true.

  * * *

  John slammed the tinny trailer door behind him. With the lights off he was able to watch the barn without being seen, just in case Samantha had another uninvited visitor. Chances were that no one would return. Not after all they’d already done. Even the dullest, most drug-addled mind should be able to reason that if Sam had had Bobby Joe’s stash she would have turned it over to the police by now.

  Nevertheless, he kept his vigil. Saw her go into the house then walk back to the barn carrying a bucket and an armload of rags. He wanted to be out there with her. To have her within reach, close enough to touch, to kiss…

  Disgusted, he pulled his thoughts back into the realm of reality. No way was he going to kiss Sam, or even let himself think about doing so. It was bad enough that he had to be around her so much due to this assignment. Letting his imagination take flight was worse than foolish. It was self-destructive.

  Slumping into a swivel chair and getting comfortable, he propped up his feet as he continued to monitor the activity in the barn. Sitting in semidarkness soothed his nerves and calmed his turbulent thoughts.

  Sam was who she was and he was who he was. Trying to pretend he was someone else was foolish. So was expecting her to change to please him. Either they managed to accept each other without reservations or they didn’t. It was as simple as that.

  Weariness made John’s eyelids heavy. Light from the barn threw an arc that illuminated the yard all the way to the house and overlapped the fainter glow from the small porch light that hung by the back door. It wasn’t nearly as bright out as he’d have liked, even with the nearly full moon, but it would do.

  Una
ble to walk around or change his position much without taking the chance of revealing his watchfulness, he fidgeted.

  Sleep encroached, beckoned, tempted him. He shook it off over and over, refusing to yield. “Come on, Sam. Go back into the house and lock the door, will you?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

  Finally, he saw her starting to gather up her cleaning supplies. “About time, woman. That car must be as sterile as an operating room by now.”

  He leaned forward and scanned the empty yard. Nothing was moving except a flock of moths and other night-flying insects that had been drawn to the outside lights.

  John yawned. Stretched. Looked away for a few seconds while he untied his boots and slipped them off.

  The barn went dark. He peered out, expecting to see Samantha walking toward him. His brow furrowed. Where was she? She should be right there, right now.

  Kicking aside the boots, he lunged for the door, threw it open and leaned out. “Sam?”

  She didn’t answer. He stepped down. The hair on his neck prickled a warning and he reached behind him to draw his holdout gun.

  “Samantha!”

  He froze, listening to the chirping of nocturnal insects and the calls of frogs in nearby ponds and gullies.

  Nothing was moving. No one answered him. Whip-poor-wills that had been singing before were now silent.

  The still night air pressed in on him with smothering weight. Then he heard it. A scuffling sound. It only lasted for an instant but it had definitely come from the barn.

  Ruing the fact that he was in his stocking feet he ignored the gravel-strewn driveway as he crossed it. Suddenly, something clanged like the echo of a pail connecting with another metal object. The car?

  John flattened himself against the front wall of the old barn and cupped one hand around his mouth. “Samantha Rochard, if that’s you in there you’d better speak up because I’m armed and I’m about to come in shooting.”

  He heard a gasp, a noisy whoosh of air and a deep voice expressing an opinion that was less than sterling.

  The bucket connected again, only this time with a dull whomp followed by the clatter of it hitting the floor.

  “Sam!”

  “In here!” she screeched. “Hurry! He’s getting away!”

  Taking no thought for his own safety John pointed his weapon to the rafters, dashed through the doorway in a partial crouch and barreled straight toward the sound of her voice.

  She flew into his arms, holding so tightly he could hardly draw a breath.

  He shoved her behind him for protection and stood firm, aiming into the blackness. “Where did he go?”

  “Out the back. I hit him over the head with the bucket when he tried to grab me and he took off.”

  Keeping one arm around her waist, John braced himself for an attack that didn’t materialize. He could see that Samantha’s eyes were wide, even in the dimness of the barn.

  “Aren’t you going to go after him? Shoot him or something?” she asked.

  So relieved he could hardly catch his breath, John shook his head. “Not this time, lady. All I plan to do is get you into the house where you’ll be safe and then notify the station. Again.”

  “Isn’t that why Levi and Harlan put you out here in the first place? Aren’t you the officer on duty?”

  Chagrined, John sighed. “Yeah. I am. And the next time you need me I hope I’m closer at hand than I was tonight.”

  “You must have been watching me or you wouldn’t have known I was in trouble.”

  “Apparently I wasn’t watching closely enough,” John told her while he escorted her to her door. “From now on, where you go, I go, at least when we’re home.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes. Home.” He turned to face her. “I seem to have problems concentrating properly when I’m thinking about you. I figure the best way to deal with that is to become your shadow.”

  Seeing her jaw drop for a few seconds before she snapped it closed, he realized that up until now she’d had no idea how much her constant presence had been unhinging him.

  “Really?” It was a breathless question, more whisper than word.

  “Really,” John said.

  He held his ground when she leaned closer. Her face was raised, her eyes misty.

  If she had been merely a needy crime victim he could have easily stepped away from her. But this was Samantha. His Samantha. And she was looking at him as if…

  Sighing, he closed his eyes, surrendered to the urges he’d been fighting for so long, leaned down and kissed her.

  TWELVE

  Moments later, left standing alone in the middle of her kitchen, Samantha stared at the back door as it closed after John.

  She was stunned. Although she knew what had just happened, she couldn’t rationalize it. He had kissed her, that much was certain. The question was, Why?

  And why had he looked startled and immediately pushed her away? Had he been as flabbergasted by their emotional connection as she was? That was certainly possible, given their history and the way they were clearly still attracted to each other. For a few, beautiful seconds she had felt as if no time had passed. As if nothing had changed between them.

  No, she corrected, shivering. Something had changed and whether or not it was for the better was beyond her reasoning. If anything, their emotional connection was deeper, more poignant.

  This time, John’s kiss had moved her in a way that it never had before, even when he had bid her that final goodbye before leaving Serenity so long ago. It was as if their love had grown in the ensuing years instead of faltering and fading the way she had assumed it would. That, alone, was enough to take her breath away and make her heart race. Considering the possibility that he might share the same impression was mind-boggling.

  Samantha meandered to the sink and leaned her palms on the edge of the countertop while staring out the window at the travel trailer. John’s abrupt departure after their solitary kiss only made sense if he was either sorry or glad.

  “Now that’s a logical conclusion if I ever heard one,” she muttered, chuckling to herself at the absurdity of her thoughts.

  Another good question was how she felt. That was even harder to discern. Yes, she had relished his kiss. And, no, she had not sought it. Or had she? If memory served, she hadn’t done much to deter him. As a matter of fact…

  Disgusted with herself, she turned away from the window and headed for the refrigerator. Medically speaking, hypoglycemia from lack of food had probably muddled her thinking processes. What she needed was a decent meal, not a renewed relationship with someone who had already proved he was unreliable by abandoning her for the sake of his career.

  Samantha pulled open the door to the fridge and leaned down to peer in. Only one thing caught her attention. A note lay on the closest shelf. One corner of it was weighted down by a carton of milk.

  With a trembling hand she started to reach for the paper, then stopped herself, pulling back as if her hand had been burned. The message was crystal clear from right where she stood and if there were any clues on the note, such as fingerprints, she didn’t want to smudge them.

  “The package for the dog.” That was all it said. It was enough.

  Without stopping to consider her own safety, Samantha straight-armed the back door and sailed down the steps.

  She circled the trailer and pounded on it, rattling the metal door in its frame. “John!”

  The small revolver was in hand again when he confronted her. “What is it? What happened this time? Is the prowler back?”

  “No.” She waved her hands wildly. “I found another note! In the house.”

  “Okay.” Stepping down, he scanned the visible sections of the yard before he said, “Looks al
l clear this time. Show me what you found.”

  “They did take Brutus,” she explained, lamenting the quaver in her voice as she led the way. “We were right. Somebody stole him. They said so.”

  Brightness from the kitchen spilled out onto the porch. John shoved Samantha into the house ahead of him and slammed the door. “Where is it? Show me.”

  “Over there. In the refrigerator. Right in front. I didn’t touch a thing except the handle.”

  He followed her directions, then turned back to stare at her with a frown. “Where did you say you saw it?”

  “Right in there. You can’t miss it.” Edging past him she pointed toward the shelf in question without actually looking at it. “They weighted it down with the milk carton. See?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “What?” Sam peered around him, incredulous. “It was lying right there. I didn’t imagine it. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  Reaching for his cell phone, he pointed his pistol into the kitchen, kept his back to Sam and made a call. “This is Waltham. I’m on scene at the Rochard residence. We’ve had another break-in.”

  He paused, listening. “No. This is in addition to the incident in the barn that I already reported. That’s right.”

  Unable to hear the response from the dispatcher, Samantha was nevertheless able to tell they were taking the call seriously when John added, “Yes. I’m armed. I’ll keep the victim safe until backup arrives.”

  Samantha leaned against the counter for support, wondering if her knees were going to continue to support her. What if she’d been alone when she’d found the note? What would she have done?

  “You okay?” John’s deep voice rumbled, sending a jolt of electricity along her nerves and making the hair at the nape of her neck prickle.

  “No. I’m not okay,” she answered bluntly. “Right this minute, I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again.”

  When he said, “Good. That means you’ll be more careful from now on,” she didn’t know what she wanted most: to slug him for giving her an unnecessary lecture or kiss him again for standing by her.