Threat Of Darkness. Valerie Hansen

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.

       Samantha’s initial urge was to pull away from him but by the time she had taken a few brief moments in which to relish his warm, gentle touch it was too late. She’d decided to leave her hand right where it was.

       “You’re just giving back some of the support you got when you needed it,” John continued. “All you can do is try your best in any given situation. The results are up to God.”

       “And to a judge,” she added, smiling wistfully. “As far as I know, nobody from CASA is on the Southerland case yet but I understand what you’re saying. It’s not my job to make things right. I don’t have that power.”

       “Exactly.” John leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “So, tell me more about this Danny. When did you meet him?”

       “It all started several months ago.” She closed her eyes and pictured the scene in the emergency room. “The last time was the worst. His father brought him to our E.R. because their regular doctor doesn’t work on weekends.”

       “Okay. Go on.”

       “I asked Mr. Southerland what the problem was and he told me Danny fell. That was his usual explanation.”

       “What made you suspect abuse? Bruises?”

       “Yeah.” She took a settling sip from her coffee mug, then continued. “Danny’s body language was textbook, too. He was perched on the edge of the exam table with his feet and legs dangling over the side. He wouldn’t look up but I could tell he’d been crying. He’d hunched over to cradle his left arm and was holding it tight against his stomach.”

       “Was it broken?”

       “No. I asked him what hurt and he nodded when I touched that arm. One area was showing signs of bruising so I told him the doctor would probably want an X-ray.

       “That’s when he started to really cry, looked at his father and said, ‘It’s better. Honest,’ as if he was apologizing for getting hurt.”

       “What did you do then?”

       Amazed and filled with relief, Samantha realized that her story was finally being taken seriously. “I said, ‘Don’t be afraid, Danny. We’ll be very careful with your arm.’ Then I whispered, ‘How did you get hurt?’ That’s when his father started insisting he fell when he was running in the house. I wasn’t too upset until he said it served Danny right to get hurt because he was disobeying.”

       Nodding, John gave a short chuckle. “I can just picture your reaction to that.”

       “And you’d be right. If that man had been three times bigger and growling like a grizzly bear I’d still have given him a piece of my mind. I told him that no child deserves to be hurt. Ever.”

       “What was his response?”

       “Nothing. He shut up the minute Dr. Weiss came into the cubicle.”

       “Did he ever threaten you?”

       “No. When I got the doctor alone later, and suggested we report possible abuse, he laughed at me. It seems Weiss and Ben Southerland go to the same church. Not only that, the man is about to be appointed to the medical-center board. The doctor swears there’s no way an upstanding citizen like that would abuse his son.”

       “What about his wife? Would she…?”

       “I don’t know. I was told flat out that it was an accident and ordered to forget it.”

       John’s brow furrowed. “Wait a second. If nobody reported him, why should the guy be mad at you?”

       Knowing her cheeks were betraying embarrassment, Samantha forged ahead. “Because I went against the doctor’s orders and called in a report. I had to, you know, even if my bosses fired me over it.”

       “Good for you.”