Justice For Abby (19 page)

Abby held the pistol in both hands and took aim, firing
at the cans Tim set up for today’s lesson. The first piece of aluminum flew off the old tree stump, then the next one as she caught the side of it and smiled.

“Getting better,” Tim encouraged, his voice slightly muffled through her ear protection. “Go ahead and try for the next three—rapid shot.”

She nodded, licking her lips in the cold air and closed one eye, aiming again, pressing the trigger, once, twice, three times. Two of the three cans flew to the ground with a satisfying ping and thud.

“Nice,” Tim held up his hand for a high five.

“Not bad for my third day.” Smiling, her palm met his with a solid smack, pleased that her persistence was getting her somewhere. Thursday she shot numerous rounds and hit absolutely nothing without Tim’s help. Yesterday wasn’t much better, but today she was finally showing improvement.

“Not bad at all. I’ll set them up once more, then I should head back to town.” Tim walked to the old tree trunk, wearing blue jeans and his Parker Police jacket, his radio as always on his hip.

“Okay.” Abby set the pistol on the makeshift table they’d created out of logs and a two-by-four and cupped her hands around her mouth, blowing warm air on her chilly fingers, thankful he’d been able to give her any time at all. Their practice sessions were a welcome distraction, filling her quiet afternoons. Tim had come out to help her everyday since Jerrod told her about Margret.

The wind blew a frigid gust, and she hunched, pausing as she pulled off her ear protection, certain she heard Margret’s sobbing on the breeze. “Margret,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest as she thought of her sweet, beautiful friend. Her heart literally ached with sorrow; her stomach roiled with the anger of injustice. Margret died unspeakably at the hands of their worst nightmare—surely Dimitri or Victor was responsible.

She bit her bottom lip, blinking rapidly as another wave of guilt devastated her. She didn’t save Margret. She didn’t protect her from the monsters who thrived on greed and misery.
I want to go home, Abby. I just want to go home.
She sucked in several deep breaths, fighting back another bought of tears, haunted by Margret’s small, scared voice. How would she ever forgive herself for failing so miserably?

She wanted to be in Baltimore to lend support to the Stowers family as they prepared to lay their daughter to rest. She desperately needed to say goodbye to the young girl gone too soon, but she was stuck here, hiding on a farm, waiting for her day in court to bring down Lorenzo Cruz and the Mid-Atlantic Sex Ring. And she would take them down—for Margret, for herself, and the countless other lives they’d destroyed with their cruelty and lust for money.

Clenching her fist, willing her grief away, Abby picked up the gun, ready to continue with her practice, finding empowerment with each shot she mastered.

She was sick of feeling helpless, of depending on others to see to her safety. She understood the need for Jerrod’s protection, but she also needed to know she could take care of herself. She was no longer a captive in the stash house, but Dimitri, Victor, and Renzo still owned a piece of her. She was taking it back. Before her abduction, she’d never questioned her abilities to stand on her own.

“Okay.” Tim moved back to her side. “You’re good to—”

“Ten-seventeen-A in progress,” his radio belched. “Sixteen thirty-two Old Hamilton Road.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “Abby, I have to go.”

She lowered the weapon. “All right.”

“We can pick this up tomorrow.”

Footsteps crunched on the frozen dirt behind them. They both turned.

“Or you can finish up with Jerrod.” He smiled as Jerrod came their way in his winter coat and hat, his black knit cap accentuating his blue eyes and the dark stubble along his jaw. “Hey, big brother.”

“Hey.” Steam puffed from his mouth with his greeting. He stopped next to Abby and Tim, slipping his hands in his pockets.

“I’m heading out. Sounds like something’s heating up over at the Rutherfords’.”

Jerrod’s brow rose. “Shocking.”

Tim smiled. “It keeps things consistent. Abby’s finishing up her round if you want to give her a hand.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” She didn’t want Jerrod’s help. He made her too damn nervous. They’d barely spoken since Wednesday night, except for when he cornered her in the barn yesterday and this morning to ask her if she was okay. “I can wait until tomorrow.”

“Or you can give it a go and show Jerrod what you’ve got.” Tim’s radio squawked again. “I’ve gotta split. See you guys tonight.”

“Bye. Thanks,” she called as Tim jogged to the cruiser.

He stopped with his hand on the door, gesturing toward the cans with his head then got in and took off with a quick u-turn in the pasture. The air was uncomfortably silent as the police car whipped down the lane, lights blazing.

Abby shoved her free hand in her jacket, looking from the cans to Jerrod, trying to think of a way to end the awkward moment. “I can clean up if you’d rather go back inside. It’s pretty cold…”

“Nah. Go ahead and practice.” Jerrod crossed his arms at his chest, clearing his throat.

She shrugged, studying the sinful effect a day’s growth of beard had on an already gorgeous face, trying to ignore the frenzy of nerves invading her stomach. How was she supposed to concentrate on her accuracy when he was standing here looking like that? “Okay.” Licking her lips, she put her hearing protection back in place, took the stance Tim showed her and fired, missing her target each time she tried. She huffed in frustration, sliding him a glance, her cheeks heating despite the frigid air.

“You’re a little stiff.”

“I know. I’m…” She almost confessed to her jitters. “I did fine when Tim was here.”

“Yeah, well now I’m here,” he muttered as he stepped up behind her.

She locked her shoulders tighter as their bodies brushed, and he settled his hands on her waist.

“Relax, Abigail.”

She breathed in his familiar pine scent and swallowed. “I’m trying.”

“Stand up a little straighter.” He adjusted her hips, correcting her form. “Put your left foot out a bit more in front of you.”

She did as he instructed.

“Bend your arm here and position your hands a little more like this.” He cupped warm hands over hers on the weapon. “Good.” He stepped back. “Now aim and give it a go.”

She pressed the trigger, hitting each can dead center. “I did it.” Grinning, she looked at him.

He gave her a small smile. “Good job. I’ll line them up again.”

She nodded, glancing at his ass in dark wash denim as he walked ahead and set the cans right. He turned, starting back, and their eyes met, holding. She looked at the ground, hating that nothing was the way it used to be.

“Okay, go for it.” He stood to her side.

She tried to stand as he showed her, fired, and missed.

“Close.” He moved behind her, making slight corrections, his hands on her hips, then her arm. “Now try.”

She fired and hit her targets. “How do you know?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t.”

“Show me. I want to see you shoot.”

“This is your lesson.”

“I’ve been out here for a while. I’m getting cold.” She handed over the pistol in the darkening skies and hurried to set up fresh cans. “Be a showoff for once,” she said on her way back. “Tim definitely likes to.” She moved well out of the way as he dropped the empty clip, shoved a full one home, and blew each can off the trunk, hitting the aluminum a second time before it fell to the ground. She stared in amazement. “Holy crap, Jerrod.”

He shrugged again. “You don’t make Marshal if you can’t handle a gun.”

She laughed incredulously. “You more than handled it.”

They grinned at each other for the first time in too long, and for just a moment everything felt exactly right. Talking to Jerrod soothed her as nothing else could. Seeing him smile was even better. “Tim was going to show me a couple of basic defense moves after we finished with this,” she said in a rush, taking a chance. Despite the rocky few days she wasn’t ready for him to walk away.

“We can do that if you want.”

Her shoulders relaxed as she nodded and pulled off her earpiece. “For a few minutes anyway.” They picked up the cans, leaving them in the recycling receptacle and started toward the house. “I told Mary I would help her with her dress.”

“I can’t remember the last time I saw my mother in anything but blue jeans or her robe.”

“Get ready to be amazed.”

He smiled as they climbed the steps, and he opened the door for her.

Abby stepped in and moaned, treasuring the slap of warmth and scent of cinnamon and apples as Jerrod closed the door behind them. “It smells so
good
in here.” She took off her jacket, hat, and boots.

Mary pulled a pie from the oven and hurried to the cooling rack. “Maybe I can actually get you to eat a healthy slab of this later.”

She breathed deep again. “You can count on it.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Mary moved to the stove next, stirring the chili in a huge pot. “I’ll serve you up a piece at the O’Neils’ myself.”

“I’ll be ready. What can I do to help?”

“Nothing yet, honey, but I’ll let you know when I need a hand.”

“Call when you’re ready.” Jerrod secured the pistol in the lock box and set the metal above the cabinets. “We’ll be in the exercise room.” He looked at Abby. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

They made their way down the hall to the small workout space equipped with weights, a bench, and an ancient treadmill. Jerrod opened the closet, pulling out a folded mat and set it on the floor. “So, I guess we’ll focus on the stun and run, which is the goal.” He peeled off his sweatshirt, exposing a dusty blue thermal top.

“Stun and run?”

“Surprise your attacker and get the hell out of there.”

She nodded.

“You’ve got several key spots you can aim for and cause serious damage—the eyes, nose, ears, throat, the package, and the knees.”

“Okay.” She nodded again, taking everything in.

“The eyes are pretty easy—scratch, gouge, claw, whatever you can do. We won’t demonstrate that one.”

She smiled. “We probably shouldn’t.”

“Let’s work on the nose. You’ll want to use the heel of your palm and push up, right here.” He put his hand above her top lip, showing her what he meant. “The more weight you put behind the action, the better.” He stepped closer. “Go ahead and make the movement on me—slowly. I don’t want anything broken before the dance.”

“I’ll try to control myself.” She smiled again as she stood on her tiptoes mirroring the position he’d demonstrated.

He took her wrist, pushing up on her hand slightly, tickling her skin with the scruff of his unshaven face. “That’s the motion you want but a hell of a lot harder. If you do this one right you should buy yourself enough time to get a good running start, or you could possibly disable your attacker all together.”

“I think I’ve got it.”

“Good. Now we’ll try something different using your elbow. We’re still focusing on the nose, but this is a tactic to use if someone grabs you from behind.” He turned his back to her, bending at the knees, making their height a bit more even. “Grab me and I’ll show you what I mean.”

She wrapped her arms around his solid waist.

He pivoted slightly and brought his elbow up to her nose. “See that?” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Yes.” She let go and he turned.

“Okay. I’ll come after you now. Are you going to be okay with that?”

She didn’t like anyone coming at her from behind, but she couldn’t practice if she wasn’t willing to try. “I think so.”

“If it’s too much, just say stop, and I’ll let you go.”

“All right.” She turned and her palms grew sweaty as his powerful arms came around her, lifting her off her feet.
I’ve got you, Little Bitch.
She froze, her heart kicking into high gear as Dimitri’s voice echoed in her head.

“Abby, bring your elbow up like I showed you.”

She gripped Jerrod’s forearms, wanting to break free, but she was powerless to move, paralyzed by her memories.
You want to run, then I teach you lessons in the closet. The door slammed and the bar scraped into place, trapping her in the dark.
Her breath rushed out, and she gasped for air.

Jerrod set her down, turning her to him, cupping her face in his hands. “Abigail, it’s okay.”

She clutched his wrists, struggling to keep her head from going light. “I almost got away. I snuck out of the basement and made it to the front door, but Dimitri caught me and shoved me in the closet.”

“Okay.” He stroked her cheek. “You’re safe here with me.”

She closed her eyes, swamped by utter defeat. “I hate this.” She looked at him again, concentrating on his steady blue eyes staring into hers and the gentle, comfort of his thumb moving along her cheek. “I hate that I freeze when I’m supposed to fight.”

“We’ll work on it.”

“Now.”

He shook his head. “You’ve had enough for today.”

She held his hands in place on her cheeks as he tried to pull away. “No. Right now. Grab me again.”

“Abby.”

“And again and again until I’m not afraid anymore.”

He studied her. “Tomorrow.”

It was her turn to shake her head. “Help me.
Please
.” She pressed her hands on his, willing him to feel her urgency. “I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to hear his voice mocking me every time someone comes up behind me. I don’t want to think of that damn closet or how I could hardly breathe.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “But you tell me to stop if it gets to be too much.”

“I will.” But she was going to beat this tonight. She and Jerrod had their problems, but there was no one she trusted more to help her conquer her fears.

“Go ahead and turn. I’ll tell you the first few times until you’re more comfortable, then I’ll just grab.”

Nodding, she turned her back to him, slamming her eyes shut, preparing herself for the buckling fear.

“Here I come.” He scooped her up gently.