Justice For Abby (27 page)

Jerrod stepped in, handing over the water. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” She took the glass, drinking deep.

He closed the window and sat next to her. “Abby, what can I do to help you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I can do to help myself.” She set down the glass and rested her forehead in her hands. “I have no idea what’s going on with me. I haven’t had flashbacks like this since the beginning.”

“Maybe we should try the living room tonight. I think the couch is a pullout.” He slung his arm around her shoulders. “Just a couple more days and Ethan will have someone here.” He kissed her temple. “We’ll get a place of our own after that.”

“Staying here is fine.” She looked at him, wondering if he bought her fib.

He raised his brow.

“Okay, I
want
it to be fine.” She touched his cheek. “I’m so sorry, Jerrod. I’m so sorry I’m like this.” Her lips trembled in her misery.

“Hey.” He grabbed hold of her chin, pulling her closer. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

“There
used
to be nothing wrong with me.”

“Abby, you don’t give yourself enough credit.”

“I don’t deserve any right now.” She shrugged, shaking her head, truly ashamed. “What if—what if I’m like my mother?” There were few things she feared more than the idea of following her mother down the path she’d taken.

“You always come back to that.”

“I know, and I’m not exactly sure why. I don’t really even remember her.” She stood, huffing out a breath, needing to move. “The State took us away when I was pretty little, but I remember flashes—impressions, I guess.” She grabbed the blanket, wrapping it around herself. “She used to be beautiful. I’ve seen pictures. Apparently she was a good mom until my dad walked out.” Abby shrugged. “I remember the nasty motel she kept us in, and being hungry. She had long, black hair and awful whiskey breath. She cried and laughed and
yelled.
My mother scared the crap out of me.” She swallowed as she looked to the window, then at Jerrod again. “She called me Abby Dabby. I remember that distinctly. Then she shut herself in the bathroom and slit her wrists, with her little girls in the next room. The coroners brought her out zipped in a black bag. I wasn’t supposed to see that, but I did.”

“Abigail.” Jerrod stood, walking to her, sliding gentle hands down her arms. “Your mother was mentally ill, and an alcoholic on top of that. You absolutely aren’t either of those things.” He brushed tender fingers over her cheeks.

“But how did it start? How did she get that way?” That’s what scared her most—her lack of knowing or understanding.

“I’m not sure, but you’re not like your mother.”

“Sometimes I think I might be,” she murmured, looking down. “It terrifies me.”

He lifted her chin until their eyes met. “I wish you could see what I see. I wish you saw the strong, beautiful woman I do. This is a rough patch, Abby—another tough spot you’re going to make it through.”

She stared into Jerrod’s steady blue eyes, loving him as she loved no other. “Do you know how lucky I am?” She stood on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his. “What would I do without you?” She brought his mouth back to hers, clinging when he deepened the kiss.

She drew away, giving him the first sincere smile she’d had since they left the farm. “Come on,” she whispered, pulling him the two steps to the bed. “Let’s go back to sleep. There’s a fifty-fifty shot I’ll make it until the sun comes up without a nightmare.”

He lay down, snuggling her to him. “If you don’t, I’ll be right here.”

She kissed him again, savoring the comfort only he could bring. “I know.” She laid her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as they held each other close. She made it until sunrise before the next wave of terror woke her.

Jerrod relaxed in his old recliner, socks on, ankles
crossed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt while he and Shane watched an action flick on TV. The noisy commotion of a skyscraper blowing up echoed through the room in surround sound, as Bruce Willis found himself trapped in the crosshairs of danger. Seconds later the movie cut to a commercial break.

“Damn it. I hate when that happens,” Shane complained, dropping his long, muscular legs from the coffee table as he bit the chicken from the last meaty hot wing.

“Some bastard down at the broadcast studio did that just to piss you off,” Jerrod said, snagging his bottled water on the floor at his side.

Shane wiped his mouth on a paper towel, his bold green eyes full of fun as he grinned at Jerrod. “Probably.”

“Why don’t you just stream the movie? Then Bruce can kick ass without interruption.”

“Quinn.” Shane shook his head. “Always so practical.”

He chuckled, glancing at Abby while she sat hovered over the tiny kitchen table in her gray hoodie and snug jeans, drawing with frantic, jerky sweeps of pencil to paper. His smile vanished as the overhead light accentuated her pale cheeks and dark under eye circles. She paused, swiping at loose strands falling from her ponytail, then got back to sketching as if her life depended on it.

He exhaled a long, helpless breath. She hadn’t moved from her spot all day, even when he’d invited her to sit with him and relax for a while. She’d insisted on working; her deadlines were approaching quickly. He knew as well as Abby that her designs were no longer about Fashion Week and the
Escape
line. Each dress, shirt, or outfit she created was a desperate attempt to distract herself from the constant flood of flashbacks.

They’d been in the city less than forty-eight hours, and Abby was a mess. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed, and each smile was strained. The slightest sounds made her jump. He’d caught her glancing over her shoulder more than once. And the endless nightmares. She’d awoken again at dawn, screaming, drenched in sweat, her eyes glazed with terror. She was suffering, and he didn’t know how to help.

He’d toyed with the idea of taking her back to LA while he hugged her close in bed, soothing her as she sobbed hopelessly curled against his chest. Staying here clearly wasn’t working, but leaving posed too many risks. Until Task Force brought in Dimitri or Ethan sent backup, he and Abby were better off here in the apartment.

“Can you pass me the chips?” Shane held out his hand.

Jerrod reached forward, snagging the bag of Fritos, tossing them over. “So, how are things going with the Dubov case? Any more progress?”

Abby’s head whipped up, her gaze locking with Jerrod’s as he said Dimitri’s name. She swiped at her hair again and got back to work.

“We haven’t heard jack shit in weeks.”

Jerrod paused with the bottle of water to his lips, frowning. “On Dimitri Dubov?”

Shane shook his head. “Nothing. Task Force was hot on him down in Houston and Miami, I think back in October, maybe early November, then everything fizzled.” He scooped up more hot chili dip and bit in, talking with his mouth full. “They missed him by fifteen or twenty minutes on both attempts. Someone tipped him off; they had to. He’s been off the radar ever since.” Shane went after the dip again, scooping, stuffing his face.

He knew about October and November. Adam had told him, just like he told him about the surveillance Task Force started earlier this week. “Are you sure we’re talking about the same Dimitri Dubov?”

“Mid-Atlantic Sex Ring,” Shane confirmed, grabbing his beer as the commercial ended and the movie came back on, picking up where the action left off. A spray of bullets filled the room as the building tumbled and cars exploded on impact.

Jerrod no longer paid attention to the carnage on the television as he played through his conversation with Shane and the information Adam had shared over the last few days. Someone had bad information; it had to be Shane. He was US Marshal. Adam was Immigration and Customs Enforcement. ICE typically got their hands on the details first when it came to cases like Dubov’s. He wanted to shrug his shoulders and chalk up the last five minutes to a miscommunication between the two agencies. Crap like that happened all the time, but the sudden weight settling on his chest urged him to make sure. Righting himself in the chair, he stood, starting down the hall.

“You all right, man?”

“Yeah. I just need to use the john.” He closed himself in the small room and pulled from his pocket another pay-as-you-go phone he’d purchased at La Guardia, dialing Ethan.

“Cooke.”

“I need you to access a couple of files for me—ICE. Fugitive Task Force. Dimitri Dubov. What do they have on him?”

“I thought your pal was keeping you in the loop.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, attempting to banish the stirrings of unease. “I thought so too, but I’ve heard a couple of things; now I’m not so sure.”

“This is going to take me a couple of minutes.” Ethan tapped at the keys as two minutes ticked into three. “I’m almost through the first firewall.” He continued typing as time ticked away. “Okay, I’m in. Dubov. Dimitri. Active file.”

“Are there any recent traces on him?”

“Looks like they almost had him in Houston—mid-October, then again in Miami in early November. An informant called in a tip to Miami PD on November third. Fugitive Task Force put a team together and moved on it right away. The guy who snitched was found full of bullets on November fourth.”

Jerrod ran a hand through his hair. Ethan’s information matched Shane’s. “Are you sure, man?”

“I’m reading the file.”

“There’s nothing else? What about a trace earlier this week and surveillance?”

“I don’t see anything.”

He jammed his hand in his pocket. This didn’t make any damn sense. “Who was in on the attempted apprehensions? Who made up the teams?”

“Local PD—”

“Give me the ICE agents.”

“I’m seeing Gabe Lorimar in on Houston and Gerry Groves in Miami. Adam Merriwhether flew down from Manhattan. He was in on both.”

Someone tipped him off. They had to.
Shane’s words echoed in Jerrod’s head as the hair stood up on the back of his neck. Adam was the common denominator in both failed attempts to apprehend Dimitri, and he’d been feeding him bullshit for the last week. “I need to call you back.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m not sure.” He glanced around, looking in the corners of the room, feeling around on top of the cabinets, under the towels and sink, wondering if the house was bugged. The fact that he was checking made him nauseous. “I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.”

He stepped from the bathroom, moving across the hall into Gavin’s old room, yanking open drawers, peering inside as he patted around the tops of wood. He searched the small closet and tipped the lamp for cameras or listening devices, finding nothing, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something here. He put on his shoes and snagged his holster, sliding it over his shoulders, then checked his weapon, shoving the pistol into the leather holder.

He slid on his coat, taking Abby’s from the hanger, and grabbed her purse, pausing. Was this really happening? He scrubbed his hands over his face as the idea of Adam being dirty shook him to the core. As much as he didn’t want to believe it, the possibility was definitely there. He needed to get Abby out of here until he could think everything through and figure out what the hell was going on.

Stepping from the room, he walked down the hall toward Abby, studying Shane still stuffing his face, his shocking green eyes glued to the movie and his short brown hair standing in messy spikes. He wasn’t sure if his former roommate was friend or foe. If Adam was dirty, was Shane too? He stopped next to Abby’s seat at the table and brushed his fingers down her arm.

She stopped drawing, looking up.

He gave her a small smile. “Come on.”

She closed her sketchpad and stood like a shot. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I thought you might like to get some fresh air.”

She held his eyes, nodding. “Okay.”

“You heading out, Quinn?”

He looked at Shane lounging on the couch, his sturdy boxer’s build filling out his ratty Marshals t-shirt. They’d been friends for three years. Or maybe they hadn’t. “I’m taking Abby out for a bite to eat and a walk.”

“You want company?”

“Nah, we’re just going up to the Thai place on West 68
^th
.” He took Abby’s hand and started toward the door. “We might grab a movie after.”

“Call if you change your mind.”

“You know I will.”

Abby zipped up and pulled the bright red hat mom knitted her from her pocket.

He gave her a barely perceptible shake of his head, and she shoved it back. “We’ll be back in a couple hours.”

“See ya later.”

Jerrod closed the door behind them, wanting to hurry to the elevator, but kept his pace slow and easy. There were cameras all over the building. If someone was keeping an eye on them, he wasn’t about to let them know he was on to them.

“What are we—”

“It’s been a while since we’ve eaten out. You’ll like this place,” he interrupted as they stepped in the elevator, checking his watch. He wanted them long gone before Adam came home.

Abby clutched his hand tighter in hers, knowing him too well not to understand that something was up.

He pulled her into a hug, sensing her tension, brushing his thumb along her skin, reassuring her the only way he could.

The doors slid open after the endless decent, and they stepped out, heading directly into the bitter cold as the sun sank in the sky. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, protecting her from the winds as much as from the unknown, his eyes scanning as they joined the hundreds of pedestrians on their way home for the evening.

“What’s going on, Jerrod?” She asked quietly.

“I’m not sure, but we’re going to walk until I figure it out.”

“Did they find me?”

He was starting to wonder if he’d brought her right to the men they’d been trying to avoid all along, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “No.”

“Then—”

“Take your hair down,” he said as he picked up his pace, moving into a large grouping of people, intentionally pushing them to the center of the pack.

“What?”

“Pull the elastic from your hair.” If they had a tail, they would loose them easier without a visual point to follow. Red hats and ponytails were easy to spot.

She did as he asked.

Steering her right, they crossed at West 68
^th
as he’d told Shane they would, but they passed the Thai restaurant and kept going, heading up another block, then one more before Jerrod pulled the phone from his pocket and let it fall to the sidewalk among the crowds. “Let’s grab a cab.” Instead of holding up his hand, he walked them into standstill traffic, weaving around cars, searching for a vacant taxi as pedestrians crossed at the crosswalk. Spotting an empty cab, he opened the door, letting Abby in before him. “Rockefeller Center,” he instructed the driver as he glanced out the windows, satisfied they were lost among the sea of yellow taxis.

“What’s at Rockefeller Center?” Abby asked, her eyes full of questions and worry as she stared at him.

“Distance.”

“Distance,” she repeated, nodding, and gripped her hands together in her lap.

“We’re okay, Abby.” He slid an arm around her, tugging her closer to his side, wanting her to relax. She laid her head on his shoulder and hooked her arms around him, clinging as she had the night they arrived in the city.

He wedged his body in the corner, changing their positions so she stretched out and rested her cheek against his chest while he cradled her. “We’ll find another place to stay,” he murmured, running his fingers through her soft hair, looking out the window as the car inched its way through the stop-and-go traffic. His mind raced through the events of the last five days, trying to make sense of it all. Adam told him the Task Force was running surveillance on Dimitri, which was a bunch of bullshit. Adam had more or less lured him to the city with his false information and offers to help out with Abby.

He shifted in his spot, glancing down, realizing Abby’s grip had relaxed. He stared down at her beautiful face as she slept, struggling to keep still in his restlessness. No matter how he tried to convince himself that there had to be a reasonable explanation or he was missing some vital piece of information, he couldn’t shake the sickening dread that Adam and possibly Shane were mixed up with Dimitri Dobov, Victor Bobco, and what was left of the Mid-Atlantic Sex Ring.

He’d never flat-out told anyone that Abby was the Abigail Harris due to testify against Lorenzo Cruz, but his former roommates were smart enough to put the pieces together when he started asking for the whereabouts of the ring’s missing men. He’d been in contact with Adam for months, never sharing vital information, but still... If Adam was playing for the wrong side…

He looked out as the cabbie slowed, frowning, then glanced at his watch as they approached the bustle of Rockefeller Center. Forty-five minutes had passed in a blink. “Abby.” He kissed her forehead. “Abby, we’re here.”

Her eyes flew open and she sat up, looking around. “Where are we?”

“Rockefeller Center, remember?”

She yawned hugely, then gave him a smile. “I do now.” She turned her wrist, looking at her watch. “I guess I fell asleep.”

“The snoring was embarrassing, and the drooling…” He wiped at his shirt in mock disgust.

She rewarded him with a grin, the first one he’d seen in days, as the cab pulled up to the curb.

“Thank you,” Jerrod said, paying their fare as they stepped out into the bitter cold, walking two blocks north. He hailed another taxi as Abby’s teeth chattered and she shivered at his side. “Nine-Eleven Memorial,” he said as they took their place in the backseat and headed south.

“Why are we doing this?”

“I don’t want to be found.”

She shook her head. “You don’t want Adam and Shane to find us?”

“I don’t know.” He met the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “I have some stuff to figure out.”