Justice For Abby

by Cate Beauman

  “This is going to take me a couple of minutes.” Ethan tapped at the keys as two minutes ticked into three. “I’m almost through the first firewall.” He continued typing as time ticked away. “Okay, I’m in. Dubov. Dimitri. Active file.”

  “Are there any recent traces on him?”

  “Looks like they almost had him in Houston—mid-October, then again in Miami in early November. An informant called in a tip to Miami PD on November third. Fugitive Task Force put a team together and moved on it right away. The guy who snitched was found full of bullets on November fourth.”

  Jerrod ran a hand through his hair. Ethan’s information matched Shane’s. “Are you sure, man?”

  “I’m reading the file.”

  “There’s nothing else? What about a trace earlier this week and surveillance?”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  He jammed his hand in his pocket. This didn’t make any damn sense. “Who was in on the attempted apprehensions? Who made up the teams?”

  “Local PD—”

  “Give me the ICE agents.”

  “I’m seeing Gabe Lorimar in on Houston and Gerry Groves in Miami. Adam Merriwhether flew down from Manhattan. He was in on both.”

  Someone tipped him off. They had to. Shane’s words echoed in Jerrod’s head as the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Adam was the common denominator in both failed attempts to apprehend Dimitri, and he’d been feeding him bullshit for the last week. “I need to call you back.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’m not sure.” He glanced around, looking in the corners of the room, feeling around on top of the cabinets, under the towels and sink, wondering if the house was bugged. The fact that he was checking made him nauseous. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay.”

  He stepped from the bathroom, moving across the hall into Gavin’s old room, yanking open drawers, peering inside as he patted around the tops of wood. He searched the small closet and tipped the lamp for cameras or listening devices, finding nothing, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something here. He put on his shoes and snagged his holster, sliding it over his shoulders, then checked his weapon, shoving the pistol into the leather holder.

  He slid on his coat, taking Abby’s from the hanger, and grabbed her purse, pausing. Was this really happening? He scrubbed his hands over his face as the idea of Adam being dirty shook him to the core. As much as he didn’t want to believe it, the possibility was definitely there. He needed to get Abby out of here until he could think everything through and figure out what the hell was going on.

  Stepping from the room, he walked down the hall toward Abby, studying Shane still stuffing his face, his shocking green eyes glued to the movie and his short brown hair standing in messy spikes. He wasn’t sure if his former roommate was friend or foe. If Adam was dirty, was Shane too? He stopped next to Abby’s seat at the table and brushed his fingers down her arm.

  She stopped drawing, looking up.

  He gave her a small smile. “Come on.”

  She closed her sketchpad and stood like a shot. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I thought you might like to get some fresh air.”

  She held his eyes, nodding. “Okay.”

  “You heading out, Quinn?”

  He looked at Shane lounging on the couch, his sturdy boxer’s build filling out his ratty Marshals t-shirt. They’d been friends for three years. Or maybe they hadn’t. “I’m taking Abby out for a bite to eat and a walk.”

  “You want company?”

  “Nah, we’re just going up to the Thai place on West 68th.” He took Abby’s hand and started toward the door. “We might grab a movie after.”

  “Call if you change your mind.”

  “You know I will.”

  Abby zipped up and pulled the bright red hat mom knitted her from her pocket.

  He gave her a barely perceptible shake of his head, and she shoved it back. “We’ll be back in a couple hours.”

  “See ya later.”

  Jerrod closed the door behind them, wanting to hurry to the elevator, but kept his pace slow and easy. There were cameras all over the building. If someone was keeping an eye on them, he wasn’t about to let them know he was on to them.

  “What are we—”

  “It’s been a while since we’ve eaten out. You’ll like this place,” he interrupted as they stepped in the elevator, checking his watch. He wanted them long gone before Adam came home.

  Abby clutched his hand tighter in hers, knowing him too well not to understand that something was up.

  He pulled her into a hug, sensing her tension, brushing his thumb along her skin, reassuring her the only way he could.

  The doors slid open after the endless decent, and they stepped out, heading directly into the bitter cold as the sun sank in the sky. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, protecting her from the winds as much as from the unknown, his eyes scanning as they joined the hundreds of pedestrians on their way home for the evening.

  “What’s going on, Jerrod?” She asked quietly.

  “I’m not sure, but we’re going to walk until I figure it out.”

  “Did they find me?”

  He was starting to wonder if he’d brought her right to the men they’d been trying to avoid all along, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “No.”

  “Then—”

  “Take your hair down,” he said as he picked up his pace, moving into a large grouping of people, intentionally pushing them to the center of the pack.

  “What?”

  “Pull the elastic from your hair.” If they had a tail, they would loose them easier without a visual point to follow. Red hats and ponytails were easy to spot.

  She did as he asked.

  Steering her right, they crossed at West 68th as he’d told Shane they would, but they passed the Thai restaurant and kept going, heading up another block, then one more before Jerrod pulled the phone from his pocket and let it fall to the sidewalk among the crowds. “Let’s grab a cab.” Instead of holding up his hand, he walked them into standstill traffic, weaving around cars, searching for a vacant taxi as pedestrians crossed at the crosswalk. Spotting an empty cab, he opened the door, letting Abby in before him. “Rockefeller Center,” he instructed the driver as he glanced out the windows, satisfied they were lost among the sea of yellow taxis.

  “What’s at Rockefeller Center?” Abby asked, her eyes full of questions and worry as she stared at him.

  “Distance.”

  “Distance,” she repeated, nodding, and gripped her hands together in her lap.

  “We’re okay, Abby.” He slid an arm around her, tugging her closer to his side, wanting her to relax. She laid her head on his shoulder and hooked her arms around him, clinging as she had the night they arrived in the city.

  He wedged his body in the corner, changing their positions so she stretched out and rested her cheek against his chest while he cradled her. “We’ll find another place to stay,” he murmured, running his fingers through her soft hair, looking out the window as the car inched its way through the stop-and-go traffic. His mind raced through the events of the last five days, trying to make sense of it all. Adam told him the Task Force was running surveillance on Dimitri, which was a bunch of bullshit. Adam had more or less lured him to the city with his false information and offers to help out with Abby.

  He shifted in his spot, glancing down, realizing Abby’s grip had relaxed. He stared down at her beautiful face as she slept, struggling to keep still in his restlessness. No matter how he tried to convince himself that there had to be a reasonable explanation or he was missing some vital piece of information, he couldn’t shake the sickening dread that Adam and possibly Shane were mixed up with Dimitri Dobov, Victor Bobco, and what was left of the Mid-Atlantic Sex Ring.

  He’d never flat-out told anyone that Abby was the Abigail Harris due to testify against Lorenzo Cruz, but his former roommates were smart enough to put the pieces toge
ther when he started asking for the whereabouts of the ring’s missing men. He’d been in contact with Adam for months, never sharing vital information, but still... If Adam was playing for the wrong side…

  He looked out as the cabbie slowed, frowning, then glanced at his watch as they approached the bustle of Rockefeller Center. Forty-five minutes had passed in a blink. “Abby.” He kissed her forehead. “Abby, we’re here.”

  Her eyes flew open and she sat up, looking around. “Where are we?”

  “Rockefeller Center, remember?”

  She yawned hugely, then gave him a smile. “I do now.” She turned her wrist, looking at her watch. “I guess I fell asleep.”

  “The snoring was embarrassing, and the drooling…” He wiped at his shirt in mock disgust.

  She rewarded him with a grin, the first one he’d seen in days, as the cab pulled up to the curb.

  “Thank you,” Jerrod said, paying their fare as they stepped out into the bitter cold, walking two blocks north. He hailed another taxi as Abby’s teeth chattered and she shivered at his side. “Nine-Eleven Memorial,” he said as they took their place in the backseat and headed south.

  “Why are we doing this?”

  “I don’t want to be found.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t want Adam and Shane to find us?”

  “I don’t know.” He met the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “I have some stuff to figure out.”

  “Like what?”

  “We’ll talk about it later.” He gestured toward the cabbie.

  “Fine.” She sat further back against the seat, staring out the window.

  Another hour passed in silence as Jerrod periodically glanced out the back window, searching for anything resembling a tail, though it would be almost impossible to tell in the chaotic city traffic.

  They got out at the memorial, walked four blocks east, bought another phone, and took their last cab. “The Ritz.”

  Abby’s eyes widened as she looked at him.

  He shrugged. “Might as well do this right.” Adam wouldn’t be searching for him in a luxury hotel—if he were searching for him at all. And if Abby relaxed even a fraction and ate a real meal, tonight would be worth it.

  Moments later the cab pulled up in front of the majestic building. They got out, walking quickly to the entrance in their hustle to escape the chill rolling off the Hudson Bay a couple hundred yards away. The doorman pushed open the glass door.

  “Good evening, ma’am, sir.”

  “Good evening.” They stepped inside, instantly cloaked by elegant warmth. Dark wood, marble floors, candles, and pretty white flowers arranged in crystal vases added to the ambiance of comfort and luxury.

  “This is beautiful.” Abby beamed.

  “Not bad,” he said as they walked to the black granite desk.

  “Good evening, sir.” The suit-clad gentleman smiled politely as he looked them up and down in their jeans and casual jackets.

  “Hi. We need a room.” He pulled out his Ethan Cooke Security credit card.

  “Do you have reservations?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” The attendant tapped at his keyboard. “It looks like we have a couple of expanded one-bedroom suites available tonight. Last-minute cancellations.”

  “Does a suite sound good to you, honey?” Jerrod winked at Abby.

  “Uh, yes.” She smiled at him.

  “We’ll take it.”

  “I need to see an ID, Sir.”

  Jerrod handed over his license and bodyguard identification. “We’ll need to keep the registration out of the system.”

  The man looked from him to Abby and back. “Let me call my supervisor.” He picked up the phone.

  “Sure.” He should have had Ethan set this up, but that hadn’t been an option. The Ritz was used to dealing with high-profile discretion—another reason he’d brought Abby here. No one would know they checked in except for the man standing in front of them and the woman stepping out of the office down the hall. And in moments only the woman in her navy blue power suit would know where they were located in the building.

  “Good evening, Sir.” The pretty blond smiled at him, then looked from his license to his bodyguard identification. She tapped several buttons on the computer and smiled again. “It looks like you’re all set.” She slid a card over without revealing a room number, and also passed back his identification and credit card. He and Abigail were officially invisible patrons. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

  He took Abby’s hand as they followed the manager through a door and down a long hall to a private elevator. She used a key to access the door. “If you need anything at all, please let us know. Room service will know you as Mr. Smith.”

  “Thank you.” They stepped inside, and he pressed the button, taking them to the sixteenth floor. The doors slid open, and they walked to their room. He stepped in, turning on the light, scanning the posh space decorated in dark wood and different shades of blue. “Come on in.”

  Abby grinned as she closed the door behind her. “This is beautiful. And look at our view.” She hurried over to the windows with her usual enthusiasm. “The Statue of Liberty.” She turned and rushed into his arms. “This is amazing, Jerrod. Thank you for this.”

  “You’re welcome.” He eased her back, stroking his fingers along her cheeks. “Tonight it’s just you and me. I want you to relax.” He kissed her forehead. “I want you to go in and take a bath. We’re going to order in some damn fine food and enjoy the hell out of this.” Or he would try to.

  “It’s a date.”

  He smiled, relieved to see Abby’s eyes bright and her shoulders relaxed. “I’m going to make some calls while you soak in that monster tub.”

  “I’m willing to accept this mission, Captain.” She saluted and closed the door most of the way.

  Seconds later, he heard water splash against marble as he pulled the new phone from the plastic, grabbed the card, punched in the information, and dialed Ethan.

  “Cooke.”

  “We’re secure for now at the Ritz.”

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Adam told me the Task Force was on Dimitri’s tail. Supposedly they were running surveillance on two suspected locations they thought he might be at. This afternoon Shane told me they haven’t heard anything on Dubov or Bobco since November. After talking to you it turns out Shane’s right and Adam’s not.”

  “Sounds sketchy.”

  “That’s why Abby and I left.” He sighed, rubbing at his jaw. I’m trying to figure out Adam’s angle. Why would he make shit up?”

  “I hate to say it, man, but it sounds like he’s playing both sides.”

  “It sure as hell does, doesn’t it?” He sat on the couch, closing his eyes, as Ethan confirmed what he already knew.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Hang here until you can get me someone.”

  “I can have Stone there tomorrow night.”

  “I’ll take him.” The phone beeped in his ear, alerting him to his low balance and battery power. “I need you to add minutes to the phone. I’ll text you the serial number.”

  “Do you think you’re safe until tomorrow?”

  “I don’t see why we wouldn’t be. We changed cabs three times, and we’re here unlisted. I don’t plan on leaving this room until Stone knocks on the door.” He walked to the bathroom, peaking in at Abby lying in a sea of bubbles, her eyes closed, her cheeks pink, smiling, humming. “Abby needs this. Being at the apartment wasn’t working for her.” He battled his guilt. Somehow she had known something was off, and he’d ignored it. “I thought bringing her to Manhattan would be a good idea. I thought my friends help and the anonymity would be the best thing. I was wrong.”

  “There’s no way you could’ve known. No one expects their bothers to be dirty bastards.”

  “Yeah.” He pressed a hand to his stomach, struggling with the sharp twist of betrayal
.

  “I’ll get you those minutes. Stone’s flight is already booked for nine tomorrow morning.”

  “Thanks.” He hung up, expelling a deep breath, part relief, part disbelief. Help was on the way, but some sixty blocks north Adam probably waited for him and Abby to walk back into his trap.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Abby released the stopper, ridding the tub of most of the bubbles. She turned on the faucet, rinsing the remaining suds from her body, and stood. She wrapped the huge towel around herself as she looked out at the New Jersey lights across the Hudson Bay. Closing her eyes, she sighed, savoring the sense of peace she hadn’t felt since her last night on the farm.

  For the first time in two days her head didn’t throb, and her stomach didn’t ache. Now that she was relaxed, she craved food. She’d done her best to gag down little bits of cereal or a sandwich at the apartment, but she needed something more substantial. With her nausea gone, she had every intention of stuffing herself full of fabulous five-star cuisine.

  Jerrod had yet to share why he’d brought her to the Ritz in the first place, but as she glanced around at fresh-cut flowers and sniffed at the soothing tropical scent lingering from her bath, she didn’t care. Pretending everything was perfectly fine for a few hours wasn’t going to hurt anyone. Their problems would still be daunting when they woke tomorrow. Tonight she wanted a nice meal with the man she adored. Tonight she and Jerrod had a date.

  She stepped closer to the door, peeking into the sitting area, smiling as Jerrod lay sprawled on the couch, shoes off, arm behind his head, asleep with the television murmuring in the background. The poor guy was exhausted. He needed a quiet evening as much as she did. The last couple of days had been draining for both of them. Adam and Shane’s hospitality was appreciated, but this was definitely better. It was almost as if they were finally home in their condo, but here someone else was in charge of the cooking and cleaning up.

  Smiling, she turned away, glancing at her jeans and the oversized sweatshirt she’d folded and set on the chair, then at the matching “his” and “her” robes. This was totally an eat-in-your-robe kind of night. She pulled the soft terrycloth from the hanger, groaning as she enfolded herself in sheer pleasure, pulling the belt tight, rolling the huge sleeves to her wrists.