Valerie Hansen - Trail Of Danger

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.”