The Colonel's Daughter (25 page)

* * *

The swing shift sped by for Samantha. Weary and eager to get home and relax, she clocked out at midnight, grabbed her purse and headed for her compact, blue sedan.

Overhead lights cast a yellowish glow across the medical-center parking lot. Fall breezes were scattering dry leaves and either piling them against the tires of the few remaining vehicles, or tumbling them down the hill into the farmers’ mowed fields beyond.

Samantha turned up the collar of her fleece jacket and clasped her arms across her chest to help ward off the chill. She knew she hadn’t been the same since she’d seen John again and she didn’t like the feelings of loss—and of buried anger—that kept washing over her.

Logic insisted that it was foolish to relive an unhappy past. The problem was, most of her time with John Waltham had been blissful. Elating. Filled with the promise of a perfect future.

That was the real problem. She was once again coming face-to-face with a shattered dream and seeing how irrational it had been in the first place. Childhood attachments were fine for kids. A person had to grow up eventually. In a way, John had done them both a favor when he’d left town and forced her to stand on her own two feet. Intellectually, she believed that. All she had to do was convince her emotions.

Because of hospital rules, Samantha’s car was parked in a distant section of the lot designated for employees. There were some lights back there, too, but the farther she got from the buildings the more forbidding the encroaching darkness seemed.

One hand was inside her shoulder bag, reaching for her keys, when a large, black-clad form stepped out of the shadows. She sensed him before she actually saw him and her fingers began probing the deepest reaches of her purse. Instead of her keys, she gripped a small can of pepper spray.

Shaking on the inside, she continued walking boldly toward her car. When the silent figure blocked her way she simply said, “Excuse me?”

His resulting laugh was far from humorous. Widening his stance he said, “Lady, there is no excuse for the likes of you. Now give it to me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Move. I need to get to my car.” She sidestepped to keep out of reach and raised the spray can, ready to put it to use.

“You think that scares me?” the man said. “I can take that away from you before you know what hit you.”

“Why
me?
” she asked, fighting to remain calm enough to defend herself. “I don’t know you.”

“No, and you won’t try to ID me if you know what’s good for you. Let’s just say we have a mutual friend whose life won’t be worth a bucketful of manure if you rat us out.” His raspy tone was almost as frightening as the outright threat.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get out of my way and I’ll leave. I won’t say a word about this. I promise.”

This time his laugh was even more sinister. “You bet you won’t. The only way you’re getting away from me is if you give me the package.”

“
What
package?” She could hear the fear in her voice and rued the lack of self-control.

“The one the Boland kid gave you.”

So that was the supposed mutual friend he was threatening to harm. “Bobby didn’t give me anything. I hardly
know
him.”

“Oh, yeah? Then why did he point to you when they were hauling him off to jail?”

“Me? I didn’t even see him leave. He couldn’t have pointed to me.”

Suddenly, the man lunged.

Samantha directed the pepper spray at his face and heard him curse as it hit its target but he didn’t slow his attack. In the blink of an eye he’d disarmed her and wrenched her purse from her grasp, as well.

Blinding headlights suddenly came out of nowhere and illuminated the darkened corner of the lot. Her head whipped around. A large vehicle, probably a pickup truck, was speeding toward her so fast it looked as though it might actually hit her car or run her over.

Tires screeched on the asphalt. The truck rocked as it slid to a stop. A man in a denim jacket jumped out and raced past Samantha in a blur, hot on the trail of her fleeing attacker.

The whole incident happened so quickly she needed a moment to process the details. What in the world could that guy have meant? Bobby Joe hadn’t given her any packages. He hadn’t given her anything but a headache. But it was clear the stupid kid was involved with criminals and was in way over his head. Perhaps lethally so.

It quickly dawned on her that the driver of the pickup had looked familiar. Peering after him she saw John Waltham returning with a broad grin and her purse in hand.

Well, now what?
she asked herself, trying to still her trembling enough to present a calm facade, even though she’d been scared out of her wits just now. John had saved her from theft and goodness knows what else. She could hardly snub him.

Instead, she merely smiled and said, “Thanks,” as she accepted her handbag from him and slung the wide strap over her shoulder.

“You’re welcome. Sorry he got away.” John eyed the bag. “Aren’t you going to check and see if he stole anything?”

“I doubt he had it long enough for that.” Samantha nevertheless pawed through the contents. Her wallet and cracked cell phone were still there. To her surprise, so was the pepper spray.

Looking back at her rescuer she raised an eyebrow. “Wait a minute. It’s after midnight. What were you doing out here?”

“Waiting for you to get off work so I could try to talk to you again,” John said.

“How did you know my hours?”

“I asked at the information desk. That’s what they’re for. Information, right?”

“They’re not supposed to give strangers my personal schedule,” Samantha countered.

“Ah, but they could tell I was one of the good guys because I was still in uniform when I asked.”

She shivered. “Yeah, well, apparently you weren’t the only one waiting for me.”

“No kidding. I think I’d better escort you to the station to make a report.”

“For a purse snatching? I’d really rather not.”
Especially since I don’t intend to involve Bobby Joe until I’ve made sure he won’t be hurt worse because of my statement,
she added to herself, considering that decision totally rational under these circumstances.

“Why not?” John was scowling.

“Hey, don’t look at me like I’m some kind of criminal. I just don’t relish visiting Sheriff Allgood or Chief Kelso, okay? We don’t exactly see eye to eye.”

John still didn’t touch her but he did hover closer, making Samantha feel safer and more secure than she had in a long, long time. “Explain.”

She leaned against the side of her car because she was still unsteady on her feet and didn’t want him to suspect. “It’s not complicated. I see it as my duty to report suspicions of child abuse and the authorities don’t often take me seriously. It was bad enough before I became a CASA volunteer but it’s even worse now. You know what that is, right?”

“Court Appointed Special Advocates for children? Sure. What’s the problem? The people you report are guilty, aren’t they?”

“Sometimes. Like Bobby Joe was today.”

“And sometimes not?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s okay, Sam. I understand. You’re smart enough to catch clues that others miss.”

“Do you really believe that or are you just trying to get back into my good graces?”

“Maybe both. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said earlier. It pains me to hear you dropped out of church because of me. Is that actually true?”

“In a manner of speaking. People were so used to seeing us as a couple and expecting us to get…married…that they kept nagging me about it long after you’d left. I finally decided it was easier to stay home than to go through interrogation every Sunday.”

“That’s a shame.”

Samantha knew she’d already revealed too much for her own good so she changed the subject. “If you want me to make a police report I suppose it would be better to get it over with now, while your office is quiet.”

She jingled her keys. “I’ll take my car. You can follow if you want.”

When he smiled tenderly and said, “You couldn’t get rid of me tonight if you tried,” she was so touched by his evident concern she had to turn away to hide her emotions.

Don’t do it, Samantha,
she warned herself.
Don’t soften. Don’t start imagining that you can go back and pick up where you left off. It’s far too late for that. The romance is over. Period.

A basic truth struck her as she was climbing into her car. She and John had had more than a romance. They had shared a special friendship for years. And that, more than anything, was what she missed. What she grieved for.

Looking into the side mirror she watched him striding to his truck. There was a time when she’d believed that he was everything she’d ever wanted; that he completed her in a way no one else could.

The lump in her throat and rapid, thrumming pulse told her that she’d never changed her mind. But John had changed his. He had chosen his career over a life with her and the only way she could hope to protect herself from a repeat of the same pain was to guard her heart—no matter what.

ISBN: 9781459235526

Copyright © 2012 by Deborah W. Giusti

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• CHAPTER ONE
  
• CHAPTER TWO
  
• CHAPTER THREE
  
• CHAPTER FOUR
  
• CHAPTER FIVE
  
• CHAPTER SIX
  
• CHAPTER SEVEN
  
• CHAPTER EIGHT
  
• CHAPTER NINE
  
• CHAPTER TEN
  
• CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
• CHAPTER TWELVE
  
• CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
• CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
• CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
• CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
• CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
• CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
• CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
• EPILOGUE
  
• Dear Reader
  
• Questions for Discussion
  
• Excerpt