Читать книгу Trail Of Danger - Valerie Hansen - Страница 15

“I just want to go home,” Abigail kept telling anyone who entered her hospital room. What was wrong with these people? Why were her wishes being ignored?

The graying patient in the other bed snorted as a harried nurse beat a hasty retreat. “Might as well save your breath, sweetie. You ain’t gettin’ out of here tonight.”

Desperate for someone who would listen, Abigail fought tears of frustration as she said, “I don’t understand why they won’t discharge me. They did a brain scan and the doctor told me there was no damage.”

“I believe he said, ‘No visible damage.’”

“Same thing.”

“Not hardly.” The other woman coughed. “I heard him asking questions. You didn’t have a lot of answers.” Another cough. “You hidin’ from an abusive man or avoidin’ the cops?”

“Of course not!” I’m not my mother.

“Okay, okay, don’t get your jammies in a twist. I was just askin’. What happened to you, anyway?”

Abigail chewed on her lower lip before admitting, “I don’t know. I remember getting ready to leave the office. The next thing I knew it was dark and I was looking up at a stranger.”

“Did he hurt you? If he did, you gotta report it, you know. We can’t clean up these streets if we don’t all do our part.”

“I know,” Abigail said sadly. “I work with homeless teens all the time.”

“So what really happened to you? You can tell me. I won’t breathe a word.”

Frustration took over. Her voice rose, then cracked. “I don’t know! I can’t remember.”

As she took a shaky breath there was a knock at the open door and a man in a dark blue uniform entered the room. No, not a man, the man. She might not recall anything else from her ordeal but she’d never forget Reed Branson. Or his dog.

He smiled, dark eyes twinkling. “Good to see you awake and recovering.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty happy about that, too.” Abigail mirrored his expression. “They tell me there’s no brain damage but they won’t let me go home.”

Approaching her bed, he pulled up a chair and sat. “Do you know where you live?”

“Of course I do. I have an apartment in Brighton Beach.”

He held up his hands, palms out. “Okay, okay. Just asking. What else have you managed to remember since I found you?”

“Not a lot.” Abigail sobered. “I was just telling my new friend here that it’s a blank.”

“I heard part of that before I came in.”

“You were eavesdropping?”

“Not exactly. You’d be surprised how often we overhear a lot more than people are willing to disclose officially. I’m not the enemy, Ms. Jones. We really are sworn to protect and serve.”

Sighing, she nodded at him. “Well, at least you know I’m not holding back. I’d give almost anything to remember what made me walk over to Coney Island at night. I’m usually more cautious. Any big city like ours will rise up and bite you if you’re not careful, I don’t care whether you’re a native or not.” Studying his face, she noticed a small scar on his chin and wondered if he’d gotten that in the line of duty. Rather than spoil his looks it gave him a rugged edge.

“Will you be all right when you do go home? I mean, do you live in a secure building?”

“Why?” She inhaled sharply when she fully grasped his implication. “You don’t think anybody will come after me there, do you?”

“Probably not. I wish I knew more about the guys who were manhandling you tonight, though.”

“So do I.” Mulling over her predicament, she added, “I can only hope I’ll recognize them soon enough to protect myself if I see them again.”

“Tell you what,” Reed said. “I’ll go look your place over on my own time if the department doesn’t send another officer to do it. How’s that sound?”

Abigail frowned at him. “Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t even know me.”

“I’m not real sure,” he admitted with a grin. “Maybe because my being in the right place at exactly the right time to rescue you seems like such an odd coincidence. Plus, I had Jessie with me. She did all the tracking. I just followed her lead. That strikes me as providential, if you get my drift.”

“Why did you say were you down on the boardwalk?”

“Jessie and I were sent to follow up a tip on a missing K-9 that means a lot to the department, to my unit. Snapper is a highly trained German shepherd who used to be the chief’s partner.”

The flash of grief she saw pass over Reed’s face took Abigail by surprise. She could understand missing a dog as if you’d lost a friend, but the officer’s emotions seemed stronger than that. She had to ask. “What happened?”

When Reed swallowed hard and said, “Chief Jordan Jameson was murdered by a person or persons unknown. Snapper was his K-9 and has been missing since,” her stomach knotted. He wasn’t merely looking for a lost dog, he was searching for a cop killer. That made all her troubles pale in comparison.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

Before Abigail could decide what to say next, the handsome K-9 officer got to his feet. “You take care. I’ll get your address off your file, then speak to your super and make sure your apartment is safe before you’re discharged. I promise.”

He wheeled and was gone before she had time to decide to stop him. Pride urged her to object to having her privacy violated but good sense intervened. There was nothing secret in her life, nothing that anyone could hold against her.

Except my childhood, she added. Those records had been expunged but she hadn’t hidden her past when she’d applied for the job at A Fresh Start. If anybody could understand street kids, it was her. Success proved it.

The image of a pretty blonde teen popped into her mind. Kiera Underhill was one of her toughest cases, a girl with a chip on her shoulder the size of Lady Liberty’s torch.

Abigail shivered despite the warm room. Thoughts of Kiera were unduly disturbing for some reason. A sense of foreboding had settled over her like winter fog, yet the harder she tried to access her locked mind, the more blank it became.

She scooted down in the bed and pulled a sheet over her head, blotting out the world the way she had as a little girl.

Irony brought unshed tears. If she was going to forget something traumatic and painful, why couldn’t it be her childhood?

* * *

It had been several days since Reed had visited Abigail in the hospital. Why was he having so much trouble getting the pretty redhead out of his thoughts? They had no actual connection other than their accidental meeting at Luna Park, unless you counted the city’s problem with homeless kids and Abigail’s job assisting them. He’d had more than one difficult encounter with young teens along the boardwalk and in nearby neighborhoods like hers. Many were victims who put on a show of being capable and happy while hiding their true situation. They found safety in numbers, yes, but get one of them alone and you could often glimpse the fear lurking behind a facade of bravado and arrogance.

When he tried to phone Abigail at home and got no answer, he left messages, which she apparently ignored. Checking with her place of employment didn’t help either. She’d been put on medical leave.

Consequently, he decided to visit in person, parked as close as he could, about three blocks west, and walked over with Jessie. Reed let her sniff along the narrow sidewalk because she wasn’t on duty. Street-side trees that had once enhanced the old neighborhood crowded the four-and five-story brick apartment buildings as if in a battle for dominance. Eddies of sand and trash waited against the curbs for city trucks to sweep away.

After reaching Abigail’s building, he found her name on the tenant list and pushed the worn brass intercom button. “Ms. Jones? It’s Reed Branson.” There was no answer, no buzz to unlock the front door. He tried again, speaking more slowly and identifying himself as a K-9 officer. The result was the same.

Not good. Even off-duty he needed to watch his professional image, so he hesitated before randomly pushing other buttons. A tenant leaving solved his problem. Reed grabbed the edge of the exterior door before it could close behind the other man, nodded pleasantly and slipped inside with Jessie.

Reed chose to take the stairs to the third floor rather than chance riding an elevator that was probably older than his grandfather. The halls were swept clean, which was a plus, but the ancient building exuded an aura of age and use. Cooking odors seeped into the hallways, reminding him of the street fairs he’d attended around the city.

His knock on Abigail’s door was not demanding—until he got no response.

He called to her. “Ms. Jones? Abigail? It’s Reed Branson. And Jessie. Are you all right?”

Still no answer. He knocked again. Louder. Called out to her. “Abigail?”

Frustration made him want to force his way in but what if she simply wasn’t home? A quick trip back downstairs and he was knocking at the superintendent’s door.

An apartment dweller across the hall stuck her graying head out of her own apartment and gave him a scathing look. “Hush. You’re spoiling my show. I was about to find out if Reginald really murdered his half brother.”

It took Reed the space of several heartbeats to realize she was referring to the plot of a daytime soap opera. “Sorry. But I can’t get the tenant in 312 to come to the door and I’m worried. Do you know if she’s gone out?”

“Not likely. She would have said. Does she know you?”

“Yes.” Since he was in civilian clothes he flashed his badge wallet. “Officer Reed Branson. I was the one who helped her when she ran into trouble a couple of nights ago.”

“Well, in that case, thank you.” She stepped out. “I’m Olga Petrovski.” A ring of keys jingled in her hand as she locked her door behind her. “That poor girl’s a basket case and nobody seems to care. She’s turning into a worse hermit than she was before. Doesn’t even have a cat for company. Can you imagine?” The woman led the way up the stairs, surprising Reed with her ease of movement in broken-down shoes that looked as if they were about to fall off.

“You have keys? I thought Mr. Rosenbaum was the super.”

“He is. But he’s in Jersey visiting his daughter. When he’s gone, I handle the building.” She squinted at Jessie. “That dog better be house-trained.”

Reed paced her. “She is. Jessie’s a police officer, too, K-9 unit. We’re just not in uniform today.”

They reached Abigail’s door. The woman knocked gently. “Abby, honey. It’s Olga. You need to open up so we can check on you. Please?” Casting a worried look at Reed, she spoke aside. “Like I said, I look after her and she never goes out these days. She has to be in there. You didn’t scare her, did you?”

He shrugged. “Not purposely. She seemed to be doing pretty well when I saw her in the hospital right after the incident but she’s not returning my calls.” Glancing at the woman’s fisted hand he said, “I think you should use your key.”

She did. The door swung open slowly. “We’re coming in, dear. It’s Olga and...”

“Officer Reed Branson,” he called. “I brought K-9 Jessie, too. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

Still there was no reply, no sign of the apartment’s occupant. Heavy drapes were pulled, shutting out most of the available daylight. The odor of pizza or something equally spicy lingered, although he couldn’t spot takeout containers. Abigail Jones’s home was spotless yet unwelcoming. She had created her own dungeon and locked herself away in it.

Reed unclipped Jessie’s leash and quietly ordered, “Seek.”

Seeming to sense the need for finesse, Jessie didn’t give voice to her quest. She merely snuffled along the carpet, clearly on the trail of something or someone. Reed came next, followed by the acting super.

The K-9 entered a bedroom and circled the bed, then barked once at a closet door. Reed moved in. “Abigail? Ms. Jones? It’s the police. Your friend Olga from downstairs is here, too. She let us in.”

He eased open the door.

* * *

Abigail pulled her knees closer. Instinct warred with the part of her mind that knew there was no real danger. She wanted to stand up and act more normal, but some inner power refused to let her move.

A clicking pattern on the bare floor jarred her. She heard heavy breathing and her heart stopped for a moment before she realized the noise was a dog’s panting. A broad wet nose poked through a crack in the door. The bloodhound!

Jessie panted against Abigail’s cheek, then slurped her ear with a tongue wide enough to cover it. That was enough stimulus to snap her out of her fugue.

She focused first on the affectionate hound and rubbed her droopy, velvety ears, then forced herself to look up at Reed and Olga. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Reed said.

Olga followed with, “Are you all right, hon?”

The ridiculousness of her location triggered Abigail’s wry wit despite feelings of unease and embarrassment. “Fine and dandy. I always sit on the floor of my closet. Doesn’t everybody?” When Reed offered his hand, she took it and let him pull her to her feet. “In other words, no.”

“I get that,” he said. “How about coming out here with us? I’d like to have a talk.”

Abigail managed to overcome lingering reluctance by keeping one hand atop the dog’s broad head. “I’m sorry I caused worry. It’s just... I don’t know. For some reason I couldn’t make myself come to the door when you buzzed and then knocked.”

“How about my phone calls? I left messages. Did you get those?”

“I—I must have. I probably didn’t recognize your number and I didn’t listen to anybody who had a deep voice.”

“I’ll go make some coffee,” Olga offered. “You two have a seat and visit.”

Abby chose the sofa, relieved as the police officer took an easy chair. Even in jeans and a polo shirt instead of his uniform, he had the bearing of someone in command. Someone to trust and lean on in times of trouble. Beyond the fact that she found him handsome, there was an unexplainable attraction. That, she attributed to his heroic actions. Why wouldn’t she admire somebody who had rescued her the way this K-9 cop had?

To her delight, Jessie jumped onto the couch and plopped her enormous head in Abigail’s lap. It was a relief to rhythmically stroke the tan fur. “I think she likes me.”

“No doubt. Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes. Thanks. I don’t know what came over me.”

Reed sobered. “Have you seen a doctor since you left the hospital? It’s normal to be uptight after a traumatic event, but it’s troubling to see you so fearful. I think you should seek professional help.”

Her hand stilled. “You think I’m crazy?”

“No, no.” Reed leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees. “What I’m trying to say is that sometimes we need to talk it all out, to try to make sense of whatever has happened to us. Posttraumatic stress can hit anybody. Surely you’ve seen it in some of the homeless kids you work with.”

She nodded.

“Then you know it’s not a sign of weakness, Ms. Jones, it’s a manifestation of your mind’s self-defense mechanism. We all get scared sometimes. It’s when we get stuck in that emotional state that it becomes a problem.”

Abigail’s fingers slipped under Jessie’s collar and she wiggled them. Pure bliss filled the dog’s soulful brown eyes and she actually sighed in contentment. Searching for a smidgen of similar peace, Abigail asked, “So why don’t I remember my attackers?”

“Short-term amnesia, I assume. A health care professional can tell you more.”

“No way. I can’t afford to be judged mentally unstable. It might cost me my job. I won’t abandon those kids. It’s bad enough that I’ve stayed home as long as I have.”

“Surely no one holds that against you.”

Abigail huffed. “I do. I haven’t been able to push myself to set foot out of this apartment all weekend.”

“The trip home from the hospital went all right?”

“Yes, but I thought...”

He leaned closer. “What? You thought what?”

“You’re going to think I really have lost my mind. I thought I heard the voice of one of my attackers on my way home in a taxi.”

“The driver?”

“No, no. Passing on the sidewalk. A man yelled and he sounded so menacing I almost jumped out and ran.”

“Where was this? What street?”

“I’m not sure. I covered my eyes.”

“I can take you over the same basic route, if you want. Maybe he lives or works around there.”

She was so astounded by his suggestion, she was temporarily speechless. Finding her voice, she finally said, “Do you think I want to find him? No way. If I never run into him again it will be too soon.”

Even as she was speaking, Abigail somehow knew a repeat encounter was possible. It didn’t matter how big the city was or how carefully she moved through it, she could meet her attacker again. And until her memory recovered, she was a sitting duck for any evil he had planned. If only she could remember more. Put faces and descriptions together and help the police.

But those memories were all gone, sunken into an abyss of her own making and leaving her a prisoner in a cell with invisible bars.