Valerie Hansen - Trail Of Danger

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.”