Debby Giusti - MIA - Missing In Atlanta

A dull thud pounded in the deep recesses of his brain. Chalk it up to the worry that continued to eat at his gut.

Jude closed his eyes and thought of the way the dimples in the corners of Nicole’s cheeks appeared when she laughed.

They had laughed so much. Deep, turn-your-world-topsy-turvy laughter that wiped away the past and gave him hope for the days ahead. Days he wanted to spend with Nicole.

The door creaked. He rose as Sarah stepped onto the porch.

“I checked the overnight log. A young woman named Viki Valentine stayed here for a couple weeks, six months ago. She left just a few days after I arrived.”

“But what about Nicole? Perhaps she was a volunteer?”

“Not in the last six months.”

Jude sighed. Nicole had mentioned a younger sister, although he couldn’t remember her name. As much as he hated to think of someone in Nicole’s family ending up in a shelter for wayward teens, even good kids made bad decisions that got them in trouble. “Do you know where I can find Viki?”

Sarah shook her head. “I’m afraid she left without telling anyone.”

“You must keep records,” Jude pushed.

“Of course, but only if the kids give us information.”

The breeze blew a strand of hair across Sarah’s cheek. She tugged it back into place and tilted her head as she stared back at him. “You’ve got to understand, Jude. Usually the kids who stay here have no place else to go. They run away from a bad life at home and run into a worse situation on the street.”

“You’re saying this Viki Valentine came from a troubled home?”

“More than likely. And for whatever reason, she didn’t want to accept the help we offered.”

“Any idea where I should start looking for her?”

Sarah hesitated, her face clouding for an instant. “Viki may have gone back to where we find a lot of the girls,” she finally said. “The area’s about six blocks from here. Head to Moreland Avenue and go south. At the fourth light make a right. You’ll see a series of run-down motels. Some of the girls work the streets in that area.”

“Work the streets?”

“That’s right. Like so many of the girls we rescue, Viki Valentine is a prostitute.”

A streetlight glowed in the cold night air, throwing shadows across the faces of the people Jude passed. An empty cigarette pack littered the sidewalk along with fast-food wrappers and the want-ad section of the newspaper, all strewn like rubble across the cracked cement.

Rap music blasted a message of violence and despair from the stream of motorists who cruised the streets, looking for…?

Jude could only imagine.

A plastic bag of powder? Enough crank or ice or speed to drown out the reality of life on the street.

And what was Jude looking for? He’d pounded the pavement for hours, lost in his own world of unanswered questions. Did he really think he could find Nicole?

She was probably far from this area of unfulfilled dreams, living the good life that didn’t include an army guy she’d met by chance at a coffee shop six months ago.

He let out an aggravated breath. Had he deluded himself, thinking fate had brought them together?

Nicole’s take had been less romantic and more realistic.

“Baby, it’s just that our paths crossed for a moment in time.”

And then she’d moved on?

Is that why she’d given him the wrong address?

And what about her e-mail and disconnected phone service? Surely that was overkill.

Unless she was running away. From what?

A two-week relationship filled with the promise of developing into something more?

Jude tugged at his Windbreaker. The temperature had dropped significantly with the setting sun.

At least he’d changed into civilian clothes. No reason to advertise he was military. Plus he doubted people would be forthcoming talking to a man in uniform.

Up ahead two women leaned against a brick storefront, the display window covered in a protective web of wrought iron.

The taller of the two tapped her boots to ward off the cold, the tasseled suede covering more leg than the miniskirt that stopped midthigh. The other stood on red stiletto heels, legs wrapped in fishnet stockings. A thin slip of a dress hung on her bony body. She clutched a denim jacket around her shoulders and shivered in the night air.

Couldn’t be more than fifteen. Pretty mocha face. Shoulder-length hair. Big eyes that turned as Jude approached.

Someone Sarah needed to take home to her shelter.

A late-model sedan pulled to the curb. Two guys, wearing sport coats and ties. The front-passenger window lowered.

Jude fisted his hands and hustled forward, realizing what the men were hoping to buy.

Not the young one.

The older woman climbed into the rear seat, and the car sped away into the night.

The girl left behind stared at Jude.

He dug in his back pocket and fished out his wallet. The least he could do was help. Palming three twenties, he cautiously approached the teen.

Doubtful she’d take the money without encouragement. Maybe he could trade for information.

“Miss?” Jude pulled Nicole’s picture from his pocket. “I’m looking for someone.” The girl glanced nonchalantly at the photo he held up to her.

Jude fingered the bills. “Have you ever seen this woman? Or someone named Viki Valentine?”

A flicker of recognition swept over her face.

“Do you know Viki?”

The girl grabbed the twenties. “Why you want Viki when you can have me? I be nice to you.” She pushed off the brick wall and wiggled toward him. “First time you pick up a girl?”

Jude took a step back. “Look, miss, I’m not interested in buying anything from you except some information. Do you know where I can find Viki Valentine?”

The girl’s eyes swept past Jude, her face caught in a pulse of light. A car door slammed. Jude glanced over his shoulder and squinted into the bright glare.

With a flash of motion, the young woman raced around the corner.

A police officer stepped onto the sidewalk. “Hold it right there, sir.”

The officer mumbled something into the radio on his shoulder. The dispatcher squawked a reply.

Jude raised his right hand, palm out. “I was just talking to the girl.”

“You gave her money.”

“So she could get off the street and find a motel room.” Bad choice of words. “You’ve got it all wrong, Officer. I wasn’t making a buy or trying to pick up the girl. Besides, she couldn’t be more than fifteen.”

“Since when’s that stopped anyone?” Sarcasm was evident in the cop’s voice. “Step to the car, sir. Put your hands on the hood.”

“What?” The cop wasn’t interested in Jude’s side of the story. “I’m a captain in the army. I’ve been overseas for the last—”

“Lonely and lookin’ for a woman, eh?”

“Actually, I am looking for a friend of mine.”

“Friend or not, solicitation’s against the law. Now, spread your legs, hands on the hood.”

“Solicitation?” Jude let out an exasperated breath. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand you’ll be cited with resisting arrest if you don’t move. Now, buddy.”

How had he gotten into this mess?

Jude clamped down on his jaw and held his anger in check as the cop patted him down. Arms, torso, both legs.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

“Officer, this is entirely unnecessary,” Jude said.

Cold steel cuffs snapped around his wrists. The night had gone from bad to worse.

On the opposite side of the street, a utility van pulled to the curb. The driver’s door opened and a black man—probably six-four, three hundred pounds, gold ring hanging from his left earlobe—dodged the traffic and hustled toward them.