“Been there, done that,” Abigail murmured, thinking back on the risks inherent in her own mistakes. If not for the grace of God and a few good influences at just the right times in her life, she wondered if she’d have survived to pass on the hard lessons she’d learned.
SIX
Abigail watched Kiera’s approach and assessed her as nervous and perhaps deceitful. Well, that wasn’t too surprising, given the girl’s background. After being abused or abandoned or both, as in Kiera’s case, it took time to heal.
No, healing was the wrong word, Abigail decided. It was more an adjustment of attitude and an acceptance of the mistakes of others, particularly one’s parents. Some adults simply could not relate to the immature thought processes of a teen. Others had so many problems of their own they didn’t even try to understand—or make the slightest effort at reconciliation with runaways. Those families produced the kids who were hardest to reach. They’d accept food and clothing and whatever else was offered but they never truly trusted. It wasn’t in them.
Instead of the greeting Abigail had expected, Kiera sneered. “At least you showed up.”
“I beg your pardon?” She faced the teen’s ire while Wanda made herself scarce, leaving the two of them essentially alone.
“Whatever,” Kiera muttered. She bypassed Abigail and headed for the refrigerator. “Got any cold beer?”
“You know better than that.”
“Yeah. I guess I’ll have to settle for soda.”
“Fine. Help yourself.”
The teen not only did so, she threw herself backward into the center of the sofa and propped both feet on the scarred coffee table before she popped the top of the frosty can.
Displaying a good counselor’s calm demeanor and posture, Abigail took the nearest chair, file folder on her lap, and leaned forward. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“Maybe.”
Self-control had helped get her this job in the first place and she needed it now. She waited quietly, knowing that the more she probed, the more she urged the girl to open up, the less likely it was to happen.
“So,” Kiera began, focusing on the soda can instead of her companion, “how are you?”
“I’m all right. Why?”
“Just wondered.”
There was so much unsaid, Abigail felt unsteady, as if she were floundering in the waves that were ebbing, returning and breaking on the nearby shore. Her mind had suddenly made an unexpected jump and provided a startlingly clear image of a beach with storm clouds threatening. Just like the night she’d been attacked! She shivered, hoping the teen hadn’t noticed.
Maybe Kiera hadn’t, but Wanda had. She approached behind Abigail, laid a steadying hand on her shoulder and explained, “Ms. Jones was involved in a frightening attack down by the Coney Island boardwalk. She isn’t feeling well but she came in today because you insisted you needed to speak with her. Please get to the point so she can go back home and rest.”
The slim, tanned girl swung her feet to the floor and sat up straighter. “You were hurt? H-how? Did they...?”
“I just have a few bruises,” Abigail assured her. “My main problem is my memory. I don’t even know why I was over by Luna Park so late at night, let alone what happened to me, other than what I’ve been told.”
“You—you don’t?”
Abigail was getting the idea that Kiera knew more than she was telling. Speaking softly, she said, “No. Do you?”
“Naw. Not me.” Kiera threw her body back against the sofa pillows again.
“Okay. So why did you want to speak with me today?”
“I don’t. Not really.” She lunged to her feet, splashing a few drops of the soda on her tank top. “Um, I gotta go.”
Abigail saw Wanda start to intervene and held up a hand to signal her to stop. Obviously Kiera did know something about the incident in Coney Island. Her expressions and changes of mood gave her away, although she undoubtedly believed she was fooling the adults. That was all right. The time would come when she’d speak up. It almost always did when the runaway was kind-hearted behind a facade of bravado. Kiera wasn’t a bad kid, she was just young and scared and trying to fight her way through to a better life with no idea how to go about it.
Kiera was on her way to the door, wasting no time, when Abigail called after her, “I expect to be back at work next week. Stop by anytime.”
A raised soda can was the girl’s only answer. She didn’t even look back.
“What do you think is going on?” Wanda asked when they were alone.
“Maybe nothing, maybe plenty,” Abigail said. “I got the idea she was fishing to find out what I knew. As soon as I admitted I couldn’t remember what happened, she clammed up.”
“I noticed. I’m surprised you let her get away with it.”
“Right now, there’s no way I can prove or disprove whatever she tells me,” Abigail said with a sigh. “I sure wish I could remember at least a little about that night.”
“You will,” her boss said. “It just takes time. Do you really think you’ll be ready to resume your duties by next week? That seems awfully soon.”
“Pretty sure. Everybody keeps telling me it’s not unusual for a brain to blot out trauma. I wish mine were not quite so efficient.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Wanda drawled. “If you stay the way you are, you’ll probably have a lot more visits from your favorite cop.”
Abigail’s cheeks warmed and she knew her fair, freckled skin had begun to look sunburned even though it was not. “I never asked him to take an interest in my case. He says he’s doing it because he was the one who found and rescued me and he feels some kind of divine assignment or something.”
“Whatever works.” Wanda was chuckling. “If you decide you’re not interested, let me know.” She nodded toward the front of the store. “Looks like he’s still on volunteer guard duty.”
The sight of Reed’s back and broad shoulders through the glass made Abigail’s pulse speed and stole breathable air from the surrounding atmosphere. How long had he been standing there? Had he seen Kiera leave? If so, why hadn’t he come inside? Was he waiting until she gave him the okay?
Well, it was very okay for him to rejoin her, she decided easily. Being with Reed and the dogs gave her a morale boost as well as keeping her from jumping at shadows.
Abigail froze. Shadows! She remembered seeing shadowy figures. Trying to bring the hint of memory into focus, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the blurry picture. It was... It was gone.
Her shoulders sagged with disappointment. So close, yet still too far away, too buried in the labyrinth of her mind. Was seeing Kiera again the trigger? She supposed just getting out of her apartment and back into the office might have helped, too. So did Reed’s presence, although she had yet to figure out why, other than equating it with him showing up at Luna Park after the attack.
It had been real. She was sure of that much. Bruises on her arms and wrists showed the patterns of large hands. Male hands. So one or more men must have grabbed her. Reed said his dog had alerted to screaming and her throat had hurt, so she figured the screamer had been her. And he’d found her hiding in the carousel control booth, another sign she’d been threatened.
Those facts were the bare bones of her ordeal. In order to flesh it out and provide clues to the attackers, she was going to have to get past her nerves and unlock her mind. That was easier said than done. Until she remembered more details she didn’t even know what questions to ask.
Thinking about this latest encounter with Kiera, however, she had a pretty good idea where to begin.
* * *
Reed glanced over his shoulder into the AFS office after he noticed a teenage girl leaving. Reflections of passing traffic and other pedestrians made it hard for him to see through the glass. He was about to approach the door when Abigail opened it and bec
koned. Her serious expression turned to a smile when she noticed he’d brought both dogs this time.
As soon as Midnight spotted her, the tug-of-war was on. Reed had the pup’s leash looped around his wrist, and her lunge toward Abigail pulled him sideways. A quick step and slight stagger set his balance right again. Some valiant defender he was, he mused. He must look like a flailing fool.
“Come on in. And bring your furry friends,” Abigail said, chuckling, “before they flatten you.”
“She caught me off guard, that’s all. I can see she needs a lot more leash training.”
“Will you show me how to do that?”
Reed pushed the door shut behind him and stepped farther into the office. “Seriously? Do you think you’re ready to hit the streets with her?”
Good humor fled. “Well, no, but you can take her outside for me and I can walk her up and down the hallway for practice. That will help, won’t it?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t let her lead you. We’re not sure of her strongest traits but she is headstrong.”
“And so cute it’s impossible to be mad at her. I’m not supposed to spank her, am I?”
“No. Absolutely not. That could make her afraid of all human contact and she needs to use her brain to tell the good guys from the bad guys.”
“Police dogs really do that?”
“All dogs do to some extent,” Reed said. “The secret is teaching them proper responses.” He nodded to Wanda before turning his concentration back to Abigail. “So, what did the girl want to tell you that was so urgent?”
She shrugged. “Beats me. Kids like Kiera are masters at avoidance, but her body language gave me the idea that she may have seen what happened to me down by the boardwalk.”
The short hairs at the back of Reed’s neck prickled. “What makes you think that?”
“Her attitude, mostly. And the way she changed the subject when I asked her if she knew anything about it.” Abigail sighed audibly. “I am sure she was worried I’d been hurt because she asked me. That’s a positive sign. She does have a tender heart, she’s just learned to hide those feelings, and it’s going to take more than one meeting to convince her she should share information. Maybe she heard rumors from some of the other kids. I don’t know.”
“Okay.” Reed shortened the puppy’s leash to keep her close to his side and inclined his head toward the door. “Let’s get you home and settled in again, then I’ll go by headquarters and check up on her via computer. Do you know if she has a juvenile record?”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t known her for very long. There’s a tremendous turnover in kids who hang out at the beach in the summer. Most have homes to go to and unless they show a need or happen to drop in here with friends, it’s hard to tell much about them.”
“How do you know they aren’t scamming you?”
That question brought a sweet, pensive expression to Abigail’s face. “We don’t. We do check, of course, but getting their real names is tough enough, let alone the true story of their past. It takes time to develop rapport and some are only here for a short time. Foot traffic dies down in the winter.”
“I imagine so. Do you take them in if the weather turns bad?”
“We don’t, but we have connections with some of the area churches and other charities that do. I’d never let my kids suffer on the streets.”
That statement, her owning of the lost children, struck Reed as the crux of her personality. She was a nurturer. Oh, she might not know it or might deny it if asked, but that was what she was. Everybody’s mother. The other notion that stuck in his mind was wondering how such a young, seemingly fragile woman had developed the inner strength to carry off the daunting task of tending to a myriad of ungrateful strangers, week after week, year after year.
When—if—he got to know her better, he might even ask.
* * *
Abigail managed to leave A Fresh Start without too much angst because of Reed and the dogs. At first she felt hesitant, but as they walked toward the lot where he had left his car, she began to actually enjoy the brisk day. Temperatures had moderated since the storm the night of her attack and the weather was about as perfect as fall along the Atlantic could get. Some seagulls whirled overhead while others, and smaller birds, squabbled over bits of food in the street and along the curb.
“That reminds me,” Reed said, “are you hungry? I’ll buy.”
His offer startled her. Under other circumstances she might have been flattered, but eating out would mean a delay in getting back to her apartment and was therefore unacceptable.
“Sorry. No,” she said too quickly.
“I’m the one who should apologize for asking,” he told her. “You seemed so calm I thought you might be up to it.”
“I am better. Who wouldn’t be on such a beautiful day? But I still feel as if I’m being watched.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
Abigail huffed a chuckle. “And convince you I’m paranoid? I don’t think so.” She concentrated on watching the dogs rather than meet his gaze. Thinking about the weather and the birds and the dogs had distracted her some, but it hadn’t taken much to pull her back into survival mode. There was no way she was even close to being normal.
The crush of pedestrians around them, the noise of traffic, the calls of vendors and incessant chatter along the busy street were drowning Abigail in sensory stimuli. Everything pressed in on her as if she were being swamped by a tsunami of sound or lost in a forest of trees so close together there was no clear avenue of escape.
“My car is right around the next corner,” Reed said. “Do you think you can take charge of Midnight for a bit until I get Jessie loaded?”
A nod was all she could muster. He handed her the leather leash and she slipped her hand through the end loop. Reed’s concern was evident. If there had been a way to explain how rapidly a sense of looming disaster had overcome her, she would have done so. Gladly. All it had taken was a simple question and she was headed straight over a figurative cliff again. There had to be a way to stop these panic attacks. There had to be. Because if she failed to get control of her own emotions she wasn’t going to be fit to help anyone else.
It was one thing to study human behavior in school and quite another to apply that knowledge to her personal life, let alone those of others. Head knowledge didn’t erase irrational fear any more than wishful thinking did.
So, what options did she have? Abigail asked herself. Wanda would cite total reliance on faith and prayer, she knew, and if that had ever worked well for her in the past, she might consider it. Night after night she’d prayed that her father would return and that her mother would stop partying and bringing home strange men, yet nothing had changed. Inevitably, she had run away and become a street kid just like the ones she was now trying to aid.
Abigail froze as her thoughts came full circle. The unanswered prayer had forced her to leave, sent her into the streets and eventually to school, where she became qualified to do what she was currently doing for others. If God had given her the results she’d prayed for, who knew where she’d have ended up or what she’d be doing for a living?
Looking back, she suddenly realized she was acting like a foxhole Christian, only praying when she was out of other options or too scared to think straight. No wonder she assumed God wasn’t listening. The only time she called on Him was during an imminent disaster.
Like the assault, she added, stunned by the recollection.
A sharp intake of breath drew Reed’s attention. He wheeled. “What is it? Did you see somebody?”
“No.” Although she was a bit breathless, she nevertheless explained. “I just remembered something I did the other night before you found me.”
“Running? Hiding? Getting grabbed?” he asked, finishing loading his K-9 and stepping closer to Abigail.
She shook her he
ad. “No. Praying.”
Instead of congratulating her on bringing back a lost fact, Reed began to smile. Seeing that was disconcerting enough for her to ask, “What’s so funny?”
“Not funny. Gratifying,” he drawled. “It feels good to be the answer to someone’s prayers.”
“How do you know you are?”
The self-satisfied smile grew into a grin. “Because you probably asked for help and I was sent. Go ahead. Deny it.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t remember what I prayed for. I just thought it was a good sign that I recalled doing it.”
“It’s always good,” he countered, loading the puppy into the secure second seat space, then opening the front passenger door for her.
As she slid in and reached for her seat belt, she was frowning. “Which one? Praying or remembering an inconsequential detail like that?”
“Talking to God is never inconsequential,” Reed admonished gently. “Answers always come in one form or another. All we have to do is accept them when they come and recognize how blessed we are.”
She waited until he slid behind the wheel before she said, “It’s never worked that way for me.”
“Sure it has.” Reed started the SUV and merged into traffic. “You just haven’t been looking with your heart.”
Mentally working on a logical argument, Abigail saw something flash in her peripheral vision. She tensed. Opened her mouth to warn Reed of the anomaly.
It was too late. A white box truck sped out of nowhere and smashed into the side of the SUV with a rending of metal and shattering of glass.
Abigail gasped, intending to scream, but the air was knocked out of her by the impact. Her seat belt grabbed her chest and kept her from being thrown across the front seats.
They were sliding sideways into oncoming traffic. She threw her arms across her face and braced for a second impact as the airbags exploded.
SEVEN
Trail of Danger Page 6
