One quick, sidelong glance at him insisted she must try. There was more than simple ire in his expression. The man was putting on an angry front but beneath his hard-hearted facade lay a tender heart; a heart that had been wounded by her unexplained choices.
Deciding to tell him enough to hopefully lift his spirits, she reached to touch his hand.
John abruptly pulled it away. “You don’t have to pretend you like me, Sam. I’ll help you, anyway.”
“I wasn’t…”
“Enough,” he ordered.
He expertly maneuvered the truck across the highway and into the parking lot for the pizzeria. Without another word he got out, circled and opened her door for her.
Her scraped knee smarted when she slid to the ground but she hid the pain. There had been very few times in the past when John had gotten really mad at her. Back then, the only thing that had brought him around was having a chance to brood.
So, she let him escort her into the small, colorful restaurant without comment, chose a booth behind the Southerland family and settled in as if nothing was amiss.
Later, when John had had time to calm down she’d try again to explain. Probably. Maybe. Well, maybe not. If it looked as if he’d forgiven her later, there might be no need to hash it out.
That was her fondest hope. One she chose to silently pray for while they waited for their order to be delivered.
* * *
“Which one is he?” John whispered behind his hand.
Samantha leaned closer across the tabletop and mouthed, “Over my shoulder,” while also signaling by diverting her glance.
“Got it.”
The man seated with his back to them looked innocuous enough. Middle-aged, neat brown hair, still clad in the slacks, vest, shirt and tie from the suit he’d probably worn to church.
The child wasn’t visible over the high back of the booth bench but John could tell by the way the father was moving and speaking that the boy had to be beside him.
Moreover, the mother’s eyes kept darting from her husband to her son as if she were concerned. John could tell there was plenty of tension in the family.
“Sit up straight,” Southerland ordered, then added, “both of you.”
That command caused Sam to stiffen her shoulders. John could understand why. If the tone hadn’t been strident it might not have been so bad but there was a definite warning in the man’s voice. He was unmistakably the boss.
“See?” Samantha asked, rolling her eyes.
“That’s still not conclusive,” John replied, his own voice casual. “Ah, here’s our pizza. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Not really.”
“Well, it smells delicious. You have to eat—unless there’s something wrong that you’ve been keeping from me. How’s your head?”
“It’s fine.”
“Then dig in.” He loaded a plate with a slice of hot pizza and passed it to her. “I’m famished.”
He knew he’d spoken a little too loudly due to the fact that his cop’s instincts had kicked in. He’d have sworn under oath that the man sitting directly behind Sam had flinched when he’d asked about her head. Why? Was it because he’d recognized her voice? Or had he noticed them when they’d walked in and realized she was the E.R. nurse who had reported him?
Either was possible, but that didn’t fully explain such a telling reaction. It looked as though Samantha might be right. Southerland might very well have something to hide. Something like the fact that he’d been abusing his son. No wonder she’d pegged him so easily. Even without prior knowledge of little Danny’s injuries, John knew he would have been suspicious. The man’s demeanor fairly screamed “watch me.”
And he was going to, whether or not his boss—or Sam’s—approved. Sometimes a cop just had to go with his gut instincts. This was one of those times.
* * *
Samantha managed to choke down two slices of pizza before her body insisted she stop. There hadn’t been a lot to hear from the family seated behind her other than the usual comments about table manners and such. That, alone, was telling. Most parents at least conversed with each other, yet the Southerlands had been almost completely silent for the duration of the meal.
She noticed John’s attention wavering and caught his eye. “What?”
“They’re leaving,” he said quietly. “And you should have seen the dirty look that guy gave you when he got up to go.”
“So, he knew it was me sitting here. No wonder he was so quiet.”