Valerie Hansen - Threat Of Darkness

“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.