Valerie Hansen - Threat Of Darkness

“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.