Threat Of Darkness. Valerie Hansen

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