Читать книгу Trail Of Danger - Valerie Hansen - Страница 13

Abigail Jones stared at the blackening eastern sky and shivered. She was more afraid of the strangers lingering in the shadows along the Coney Island boardwalk than she was of the summer storm brewing over the Atlantic. Thankfully, the air wasn’t uncomfortably cool. It would be several months before she’d have to start worrying about the street kids in her outreach program during frigid New York weather.

Early September humidity made the salty oceanic atmosphere feel sticky while the wind whipped loose tendrils of Abigail’s long red hair against her freckled cheeks. If sixteen-year-old Kiera Underhill hadn’t insisted where and when their secret rendezvous must take place, Abigail would have stopped to speak with some of the other teens she was passing. Instead, she made a beeline for the spot where their favorite little hot dog wagon spent its days.

Besides the groups of partying youth, she skirted dog walkers, couples strolling hand in hand and an old woman leaning on a cane. There was no sign of Kiera. That was troubling. So was the sight of a tall man and enormous dog ambling toward her. As they passed beneath an overhead vapor light, she recognized his police uniform and breathed a sigh of relief. Most K-9 patrols in her nearby neighborhood used German shepherds, so seeing the long floppy ears and droopy jowls of a bloodhound brought a smile despite her uneasiness.

Pausing, Abigail rested her back against the fence surrounding a currently closed amusement park, faced into the wind and waited for the K-9 cop to go by. His unexpected presence could be what was delaying Kiera. Street kids were wary. Once he and his dog were far enough away, the teenager would probably show herself.

“Come on, Kiera. I came alone, just like you wanted,” Abigail muttered.

Actually calling out to the girl would be futile. Between the whistling wind and small groups of rowdy youth, there was no way she’d be heard. “Too bad I left my bullhorn at home,” she joked, intending to relieve her own tension.

Kiera had sounded panicky when she’d phoned. That was concerning. Ah, but she’s a teenage girl, Abigail reminded herself. They can be real drama queens.

“Here. Over here,” drifted on the wind. Abigail strained to listen. Heard it again. “Over here.”

The summons seemed to be coming from inside the Luna Park perimeter fence. That was not good since the amusement facility was currently closed. Nevertheless, she cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the chain-link fence, trying to make out a human figure among the deep shadows. It was several seconds before she realized the gate was ajar. Uh-oh. Bad sign. “Kiera? Is that you?”

A disembodied voice answered faintly. “Help me! Hurry.”

Abigail’s heart was in her throat. If the teenager was inside the park, she was trespassing. Looking around nervously, Abigail gave the gate a slight push and it swung open on squeaky metal hinges. An icy shiver shot up her spine despite the muggy night. Something was definitely wrong. “Kiera?” Her mouth was cottony, her insides quivering. “It’s Abby. I’m at the gate. You shouldn’t be in there. Come on out.”

As an outreach coordinator for troubled teens, Abigail was basically charged with taking care of those who came into her office. However, her past had been rough enough to compel her to respond to the girl’s summons and venture out tonight. That was one of the reasons she was so successful. She was able to personally identify with the street kids she was trying to aid.

And this one sure sounded as if she was in trouble. “Kiera. Come out.”

“Help me.”

There it was again. A plea that Abigail could not ignore. She’d have to trespass herself in order to set the girl straight about respecting the law.

Checking to make sure the officer and his dog were far enough away to keep from spooking the girl, Abigail sidled through the gate. Although she could have enlisted his aid, she didn’t want to give Kiera the mistaken notion that she had broken her promise and called the police.

Lingering odors of popcorn and other food would have been a lot more pleasant fresh. “Kiera? C’mon, honey. We shouldn’t be in here. Let’s go back to the boardwalk.”

Pausing, Abigail listened. Thunder rumbled. Wind whistled. Paper trash that the cleaning crews had missed tumbled along the ground and began to pile up against the fences and bases of the silent rides.

Abigail couldn’t help feeling edgy. She, who took pains to never break the law, was currently doing so. Yes, she had a good reason, but that didn’t mean it was legal. She looked heavenward briefly and prayed, “Please, Father, show me what to do now?”

A noise to the far left startled her. She froze, straining to listen and peering into the shadows. Lightning flashed. In that instant she did see a person. Two people, to be exact. And they were men. Imposing men. Neither of them looked a bit like the slim young girl she was seeking.

Then, the men stepped apart and a third figure appeared between them. This person did resemble Kiera and seemed to be struggling to break away. Of all the situations Abigail had faced in her troubled past, this was the kind she’d most feared. The scenario that had given her untold nightmares.

Despite being unarmed and alone, she knew she had to do something. What? How could she possibly rescue Kiera, or whoever the smaller person was, without weapons? Fear urged flight. Duty insisted she act. Good sense demanded both.

How long had it been since she’d seen the police officer and his dog? Maybe she could return to the gate and call him back to rescue the captive.

But first, she had to distract the kidnappers, slow them down. Ducking behind a post, she took full advantage of the deep shadows, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Let. Her. Go!” It worked so well she almost cheered. The men froze and stared in the direction of her voice.

As she pivoted to make a dash for the gate, lightning illuminated the area around her like the noon sun. Someone shouted, “There she is! Get her!”

Oh, no! Abigail’s heart leaped. She stumbled and almost went to her knees trying to get a running start. Her pulse was pounding. Her body felt numb, as if it belonged to a stranger.

She gasped, nearly falling a second time. Shouts were getting louder, closer, more menacing.

Almost there!

A gloved hand reached past her and shoved the gate closed, blocking her exit. Someone had a death grip on the back of her lacy vest. She twisted and shed the garment. Her attacker flung it aside and grabbed her arm.

She ducked and wrenched. Pulled and flailed. It was no use.

Finally, she filled her lungs and screamed. High, loud and repeatedly. “Help!”

* * *

Officer Reed Branson’s K-9 partner, Jessie, stopped plodding along with her nose to the boardwalk, lifted her broad head and looked back.

“What is it, girl?” Reed also listened. Whatever his K-9 was hearing was too faint for human ears. Nevertheless, he trusted his partner and reversed their direction. They could try to pick up Snapper’s trail later, assuming the latest supposed sighting of the missing police dog was a valid lead. So far, none of the other tips had turned up the valuable and beloved German shepherd.

Jessie picked up speed, ears flopping, hips swaying beneath rolls of extra hide meant to protect her in battle.

He strained to hear despite the rushing wind and the dog’s panting. His demeanor as he passed small groups of teenagers this time was different enough to scatter them. Adults cast wary glances and shied away, too.

Jessie led him straight to a gate at Luna Park. The chain was unfastened, the padlock hanging open on the wire mesh. He reached for his mic and identified himself, then said, “Ten-thirteen at entrance C, Luna Park. Possible break-in.”

Dispatch answered in his earpiece. “Copy. Ten-thirteen. Requested assistance dispatched. Advise on a ten-fifty-six.”

Good question. Did he need an ambulance as well as police backup? He hoped not. Hot summer nights were notorious for mischief and simmering tempers, whereas cold weather kept many New Yorkers off the boardwalk, particularly when rain was threatening. This night was a mix of both. Unpredictable.

Reed tightened his hold on Jessie’s leash, pushed open the gate and undid the snap on his holster, just in case. The seasoned K-9 was on high alert, stopping to check out a small item of clothing crumpled on the ground. Reed picked it up. It was pristine, not like something that had been discarded when the park was last open. Instinct told him it was time to put Jessie to work. He presented it to her.

She was sniffing, showing eagerness to track, when a muffled noise in the distance put her hackles up and she gave voice as only a bloodhound can. Her mix of a growl, bark and then deep howl carried throughout the park, bouncing off the uneven surfaces to echo back as if a dozen hunting dogs were pursuing fleeing game.

The hardest thing for Reed, as a handler, was convincing the born and bred tracker to be silent. He laid a hand against the side of her muzzle. “Hush, Jessie. Quiet.”

Slurping and drooling, she danced at his feet, mouth only temporarily closing. That was enough. Reed heard it now. A woman’s scream. He grabbed the mic again as he gave Jessie her head and broke into a run. “I’m ten-eighty-nine, foot pursuit, inside Luna Park. I can hear a woman screaming.”

The high-pitched protest continued, then broke off, then started again. Reed lengthened Jessie’s lead but kept a firm hold of her leash so she wouldn’t race into danger alone. She wasn’t trained as an attack or protection dog, meaning she was nearly as vulnerable as whoever was yelling for help.

Except dogs have big teeth, he countered. Judging by the tone and volume of the screams he’d heard, this victim was not only female but likely young.

Suddenly, the night went silent. Jessie slowed, tilted her head to the side and tested the air for odors. Reed strained to listen. Nothing.

He gathered up the extra length of leash and gripped the handful tightly, every sense keen, every muscle taut. His K-9 acted puzzled for a few seconds, then started to strain to the left. Their quarry, or victim, or whatever, was apparently on the move.

Reed presented the vest again, braced himself, commanded, “Seek!” and they were off like a shot.

* * *

Abigail kicked and clawed and threw herself from side to side, trying to break loose as the first man picked her up like a sack of potatoes and jogged through the park to where the other waited. Frantic, she searched the dimness for the smaller person she’d spotted earlier. There was no sign of her or him. That was some relief. Now she could concentrate on her own escape without worrying about collateral damage to anyone else. “Let go! You’re hurting me.”

Her captor set her on her feet, kept hold of her wrist, and focused on his partner. “What happened to the other one?”

The second man snorted. “Almost got away. I was tyin’ her to a post so I could go help you when she ran off. I caught her and locked her in the car trunk.”

“As long as that took you, it’s a good thing I didn’t need any help.” Shoving Abigail forward, he cursed.

The second man huffed wryly. “Hey, you ain’t the boss.”

“Neither are you.”

“Never mind that. What made you think it was a good idea to bring that one back here where she could see my face?”

“Your ugly face, you mean. I had to do something with her, didn’t I? She was watching us when we...”

“Shut your yap. You ain’t got a brain in your pinhead.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Abigail felt a slight lessening of his grip. The more the two thugs concentrated on each other, the less attention they paid to her. It took enormous effort to relax her arm and give the impression she was no longer struggling to break free.

“So, what’re we gonna do?”

“How should I know?”

“What about keepin’ this one? A bird in the hand?”

“Too old. See?” The captor released her arm and started to grab her shoulders, apparently intending to turn her around for his partner’s inspection. Before he could get a fresh grip, Abigail continued her spin, kicked one of the men in the side of his knee and punched the other in the stomach.

Neither blow was serious but together they were enough. Abigail ducked, dodged and sprinted away. Adrenaline gave her speed and made her feel invincible. For a few seconds.

Then they were after her again. Shouting. Cursing at her and at each other. Abigail had barely enough breath to keep going. Her initial burst of speed was waning fast. Where could she hide? How close were they? She didn’t dare look back.

The night became surreal. Surroundings blurred as if she were navigating a nightmare. An impressive antique carousel loomed ahead. Despite knowing the ride was closed, she imagined seeing its wooden horses prance and paw the air. Her brain whirling, her lungs fighting to fill, she made a critical decision.

After vaulting over a low decorative fence, Abigail gained the circular platform with a leap and made a lunge for the closest steed. Her arms closed around its carved nose and she used her momentum to swing past to the second row. The horses grew uniformly smaller as she worked her way toward the center control booth. It had a door she could close. Even if it wouldn’t lock, maybe her pursuers would overlook her in there.

Abigail jumped down and landed with both palms against the mirrored center pillar. Circled looking for the camouflaged door. Found it. Threw herself inside and pulled it closed behind her, stumbling backward as she did so and landing against a bank of switches.

Suddenly, calliope music began, slowly rising in speed and volume until the air vibrated. Had she bumped something? Accidentally flipped a switch? Was her hiding place useless? Undoubtedly. And it was already too late to stop the music. The damage had been done.

Stunned, she clamped her hands over her ears, pressed her back against a side wall and began a slow-motion slide to the floor as sheer panic began to dull her senses and render her helpless.

The walls pressed in on her. Reality receded as her mind shut down, and she gladly accepted the enveloping darkness of unconsciousness.