Sirens broke the peaceful, Sunday morning silence. Samantha shivered, glad when John slipped his arm around her shoulders.
“Take it easy. It’s almost over.”
“Oh, yeah? Says who?”
He gave her a quick squeeze. “Says me. I’m always right, remember?”
“I remember that you thought you were,” she countered. “I’ll reserve judgment.”
“Some things never change, do they, Sam?” He chuckled. “Think about this situation. You said you saw someone up at your house. There’s only one way in and out and we’re parked in the road. Therefore, whoever was up there before is still there, the cops will catch him and your troubles will be over. Simple.”
“I hope you’re right, but…”
“But you can’t believe I can be? That’s hardly a surprise,” he said flatly as he removed his arm from her shoulders and prepared to get out of the truck to meet his fellow officers.
He hesitated only long enough to gesture in a blocking motion. “You stay put. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve briefed Glenn and Walter.”
If Samantha hadn’t been so shaky she might have argued or at least tried to follow. Unfortunately, her knocking knees didn’t feel ready to support her, let alone help her pretend she hadn’t been terrified.
This is ridiculous, she reasoned, angry with herself. Here she was, an independent, capable career woman who had handled her private life just fine until John Waltham had returned to Serenity.
Was he the real problem? She couldn’t accept that theory without reservations. Not when so many outside influences seemed to be in play. Even without John she would have been accosted in the hospital parking lot and her car would have been vandalized. Perhaps it was time she confessed everything the purse snatcher had said.
That conclusion brought a deep sigh. Yes. It was not only time, it was long past the time when she should have told the authorities the whole story. There was only so much she could do to protect the Boland boy, and she certainly didn’t want to become his enabler by letting him get away with criminal activities.
Fully decided, Samantha scooted across the seat, opened the passenger door and slid out. She paused to make sure her legs would support her well enough before trying to follow John.
The older, taller, gray-haired member of the team he’d been speaking with pointed in her direction as she approached. Since she knew both men she greeted them with a smile. “Morning, Walter. Good to see you.”
The cop who was closer to her age removed his hat, ran his palm over his blond crew cut and blushed slightly when she added, “Hi, Glenn.”
John whirled to face her, his brow furrowed and his jaw set firmly. “I thought I told you…”
“I know, I know. But there’s one more thing you should all know before you go looking for the vandal who trashed my car.”
Now that she had everyone’s undivided attention she found her mouth excessively dry and her words hard to form. “Um, it’s like this,” she began, staying focused mostly on Walter because she saw him as the least likely to chastise her. “I may know what the guy who tore up my car was after.”
John stared through narrowed eyes. “Go on.”
“That night, when that man snatched my purse, he mentioned something about a package Bobby Joe Boland was supposed to have given me. I don’t have it, of course, but apparently somebody thinks I do.”
The look on John’s face was far darker than that of his companions. While the other two officers merely nodded and Glenn made notes, John was clearly fighting to control his rising temper.
“You didn’t say a thing about this that night.”
“I—I guess I forgot.”
“You always were a lousy liar,” he countered before turning to the others. “Okay. Now this whole thing is starting to make sense. I can stay here and continue to block the road if you want. Just be careful. Boland was into drugs so this prowler is probably frantic to get his hands on whatever stash the kid was carrying before he was arrested at the hospital.”
Samantha was sorry to see the others nod, get back into their patrol unit and start for her house. That meant she was alone with John. And with his temper.
When he turned back to face her, he looked more irate than she had ever seen him. That impression was so strong it caused her to cringe when he reached toward her.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Sam,” he said, dropping his hand to his side and shaking his head soberly. “I’m not like your father, okay?”
“I know.”
“Then stop looking at me as if you expect me to start yelling and swinging.”
“Sorry. Old habits die hard.”
“That, they do.” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth but the emotion didn’t quite reach his eyes.
He offered his hand to her, waited a few heartbeats then started to pull back.
Samantha moved quickly to grasp it before he could change his mind. The feeling of safety and concern in John’s tender touch was all-encompassing and so comforting it nearly brought tears to her eyes.
Holding his hand like this was dumb. Foolish. Ridiculous, given their stormy history. It was also something she was not ready to relinquish. Not yet. Not when the police were still at her house searching for her erstwhile attacker.
The phone in John’s pocket jingled and he flipped it open to answer. “Waltham.”
Samantha’s pulse was hammering in her ears so loudly she could hardly hear anything else. The expression on her companion’s face was enough to tell her the officers had not found a prowler.
“Okay,” John said into the phone. “We’ll be right up. Don’t go into the house until we get there. She’s got a watchdog the size of a pony inside.”
He ended the call and started toward his truck, still holding her hand and dragging her along so fast she had to practically jog to keep pace.
“What is it? What did they see? There has to be someone up there. I know there does.”
“Not now,” John said, sounding cynical. “They spotted tracks from an all-terrain vehicle. Looks like your prowler made his getaway on an ATV.”
“I didn’t hear anything like that, did you?”
“We probably wouldn’t have when we were both concentrating on your wild driving. Apparently, while you were going one way, your druggie friend was headed in the opposite direction. He could be miles away by now.”
“I certainly hope so,” Samantha said. She scooted into the truck on the driver’s side, then slid over to make room for John.
The grim look he shot in her direction was unsettling. Nervousness kept her talking. “What? You don’t want him to go away because you want to capture him? I get it, believe me. What I meant was I hope I never see him or his cronies again.”
“That’s not likely,” John warned. “As long as they think you took some kind of package from the Boland kid they’ll keep coming after it. And you.”
“What can I do? I told you, Bobby Joe didn’t give me a thing.”
“Is that the truth?”
She bristled. “Of course it is.”
John’s smile grew sardonic, as if he wanted to believe her but couldn’t quite manage it in spite of his earlier claim that she was a poor liar. She could sort of understand that point of view. Perhaps it was time for a more detailed explanation of her