Justice For Abby

by Cate Beauman

  “You know better, damn it! You know better.” He shook his head, his jaw clenched.

  “Jerrod Quinn,” Mary scolded. “That’s enough.”

  He turned away, shoving his hands in his pockets, and pulled them out, jamming a hand through his hair. “Goddammit!”

  “Abby,” Mary took her hand. “I’m so sorry, honey. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

  She swallowed the lump of emotion, squeezing Mary’s fingers as she stared into her questioning gaze. How could she tell Mary that Jerrod had every right to be angry without breaking her cover? “I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be sorry.” Mary wrapped her up in a firm hug. “It’s been ages since I’ve had such a fine time. Thank you for lunch.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears. “I just needed to be,” she whispered, giving the woman who had become her friend the only explanation she could.

  Mary drew away. “Everything’s going to be okay, honey. Trust me on that.” She tossed a nasty look her son’s way.

  She nodded, unable to speak as her lips trembled. Everything was not okay, nor would it be anytime soon. She grabbed the bagful of treasures they’d discovered at the thrift shop, looked at Tim, Shelby, and Jerrod’s stiff stance as he still stood with his back to them, and walked toward the house.

  Jerrod turned, following hot on her heels. “We need to talk about this.”

  She picked up her pace, her heart accelerating with the sensation of being chased. “Later.”

  “No. Now.”

  She dashed up the front steps, trying to gain distance.

  He snagged her arm as they reached the porch. “Abigail—”

  “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, whirling, shoving at his chest.

  He dropped his hands and immediately backed off. “Take it easy,” his voice gentled.

  Her body trembled and her breath tore in and out as she glanced at everyone staring at her from the driveway. Humiliation stained her cheeks as tears began to fall. “I said later,” she repeated on a shaky whisper, trying to find her composure.

  “Okay.” He studied her with measuring eyes. “I’m sorry I grabbed you. I shouldn’t have.”

  She wasn’t interested in his apologies as she met Shelby’s smirking stare. Anger quickly replaced embarrassment as she looked at Jerrod again. “You might have a job to do, but I’m still trying to live my life. Somewhere along the way you forgot that.”

  “Abigail—”

  She walked into the house and up the stairs, closing herself in her room, locking the door. She gripped the knob, her breath rushing out, and dropped her hand, then opened the door just as quickly. She laughed humorlessly as more tears fell, hating her weakness, but did it really matter if the lock was in place? A closed door symbolized choices and freedom she didn’t have. She was a prisoner whether the door was opened or shut. Jerrod could walk in at anytime, just like Dimitri or Renzo or Victor had. She wasn’t free anywhere she went—the stash house, the condo in LA, or the pretty farmhouse in Nebraska. There was no place she could go to escape the reality that her life was not her own.

  The trial would come and go and hopefully her testimony would keep Renzo in jail, but what about Victor and Dimitri? They could stay under the radar for years. Was this her sentence? Would she live like this indefinitely?

  Hopelessness consumed her as she walked to her sketch pad and grabbed her pencil like a lifeline. She sat at her table, frantically drawing her ideas for Mary’s new dress, understanding for the first time that she might never have an opportunity at ‘normal’ again.

  ~~~~

  Jerrod sat at the kitchen table with a full plate in front of him but didn’t bother to pick up his fork. His stomach ached and his head throbbed. He didn’t have an appetite for beef brisket and scalloped potatoes no matter how many times his mother eyed him across the table.

  He pushed his meal away and rested his forehead in his hands, rubbing at his pounding temples. Abby was home and out of harm’s way, but overall, today had sucked ass. From a security standpoint, everything turned out a-fucking-okay, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that Abby had rushed to her room crying and his mother kept shaking her head in disapproval.

  Sighing, he squeezed the back of his neck, regretting the way he’d handled the entire afternoon. Protocol had flown out the window when he heard the loud blast of music and Abby’s laughter in the driveway. His relief had been huge when he’d rushed around the house and spotted her safe—so had his anger. He shouldn’t have shouted; he definitely shouldn’t have grabbed her arm when she told him to back off, but she shouldn’t have left.

  “You need to eat,” Mom said quietly. “It will help with your headache.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Mom set down her fork, her mouth firm with displeasure. “I imagine not.”

  He barely suppressed a groan as he rubbed at his chin. He’d been waiting for her verbal ass kicking since she glared at him in the driveway. “Mom—”

  “I’m disappointed, Jerrod. I didn’t raise my men to treat women the way you treated Abby today.”

  “Mom—” he tried again.

  “I know your father was hard. I know we don’t show much affection, but land sakes, Jerrod, what happened to my sweet son?”

  He squirmed in his chair as he had when he’d been a boy. No one brought on a bought of guilt and shame they way his mother could. “I overreacted.”

  “You had no right to come down on her the way you did.”

  “I agree, but—”

  “I don’t want excuses.” She pointed her finger as her voice grew even sterner. “I heard my son being a horse’s ass. I saw you grabbing that tiny little thing. You’re not too old for a firm hand to the butt, sir.”

  He looked down at the table, trying not to smile despite the lecture. He was twenty-eight and outweighed his mother by a good hundred pounds, yet he had no doubt mom would make good on her threat. “No, ma’am.”

  “So, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  He met her gaze. “I acted like a jerk, and I’ll apologize to you and Abby for that, but this whole situation isn’t as simple as it seems.”

  She crossed her arms. “I’ll take an explanation.”

  He studied his mother’s strong, steady eyes, debating how much he should tell her. “Abby’s not Ethan’s office manager. She’s in hiding.”

  Her eyes softened with concern as she folded her hands on the table. “What’s she hiding from?”

  “I can’t give you all the details, but she’s in trouble.” He sat up further in his seat. “She was abducted a few months ago—went through hell. Luckily a couple of my colleagues and the FBI were able to track her down. She’s going to testify against her abductors.”

  “That poor, sweet thing.” She cast a worried glance toward Abby’s room. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “I’m trying to keep her that way.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you weren’t doing WITSEC anymore.”

  “I’m not. Abby refused to give up her identity. She has family she’s close to. Ethan was aware of my background, so he assigned me to her protection.”

  “My word. That poor girl,” she said again.

  A vehicle rolled up in the driveway, honking twice. Mom frowned. “What on earth is Merl doing here? I don’t have any deliveries coming until the end of the week.”

  Jerrod glanced toward the dark beyond the windows and stood as his mother did. “Are you sure that’s Merl? It’s a little late for the mail.”

  “As sure as I can be. Merl gets around to things in his own time. You know that.”

  The doorbell rang, and moments later, the vehicle drove away.

  “Why don’t I get it?” After today he wasn’t taking any chances. He walked to the door, peeking out the side of the glass, noticing the large yellow envelope addressed to Jerrod. Not Jerrod Quinn, just Jerrod and the Los Angeles address in the left-hand corner. Ethan must have sent him something.
He opened the door and grabbed the mysterious package, pressing his fingers around the outline of what felt like a book.

  Frowning, he carefully opened the parcel, unsure of what to expect, and pulled a magazine free, staring at Abby grinning on the March cover of Trendy. She was so damn beautiful with her perfect smile and big blue eyes. Her dress fit like a glove, showcasing her flawless body. Curious, he turned through the pages, finding several shots of Abby in different outfits—the red dress, jeans and a fancy black top, a business-like skirt and blouse. Zenn was right; the camera loved her.

  Flipping some more, he stopped on the picture of him and Abby on the swing. Barefoot, sleeves rolled, chest exposed, he grinned with his arm around her as she leaned back, laughing. He studied the happy couple enjoying a sunny spring day and continued his search until he found the two-page spread of him and Abby in bed. On the left page, she sat on top of him in her underwear, their fingers clasped while she smiled down at him. On the right, she lay mostly naked, his arm covering the majority of her breasts, his fingers in her hair, while they stared in each other’s eyes, their connection and chemistry unmistakable.

  His gaze trailed over her gorgeous body as he flashed back to their make-out session in the kitchen. He’d molded that soft warm skin beneath his palms. Throaty purrs had escaped that long, graceful neck as her pretty mouth answered his demands.

  “What are you looking at?” Mom stepped up to his side.

  He closed the magazine with a snap, clearing his throat as he turned and started back to the kitchen, trying to get his hormones under control. “Ethan sent along an advance copy of the magazine Abby’s featured in.”

  “A model?”

  “Actually she’s a fashion designer, but she’s spent plenty of time in front of the camera—or used to anyway.” He leaned against the counter.

  “Let me see.” Mom pulled the thick copy closer, smiling. “She’s such a beautiful girl.”

  “Mmm.” He stared at Abby in the barely there red dress.

  “Do you mind if I take a look-see?”

  “No.” He handed over the proof copy.

  The glossy pages slipped through mom’s hands, landing open on the picture of him and Abigail lying among the sheets. She gasped, looking from him to the magazine and back. “Jerrod, what on earth? Since when are you a model?”

  He rubbed at his chin, not loving the fact that his mother was staring at him and Abby in bed. It was too damn weird, especially after she’d just interrupted his thoughts. “I’m not.”

  She reached down, grabbing the magazine. “Looks like it to me.”

  “I was helping Abby out. The guy she was supposed to work with never showed up for the shoot, so I gave her a hand.” He avoided eye contact, crossing his arms as he felt his mother staring at him.

  “Jerrod, look at these pictures. Look at the two of you.” She whistled through her teeth. “I’d wondered...”

  He scratched his head, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s nothing.”

  She glanced at him. “It’s certainly something.”

  “It’s not.”

  “I think you should take a closer look, son. Come talk to me.” She walked to the table and sat.

  He took the seat next to her, hating the thought of dissecting his feelings for Abby with his mother. He could deny whatever he wanted, but somehow she always knew the truth.

  “Jerrod.” She took his hand.

  “Yeah.” He steamed out a breath.

  “You know I love you. I loved your father too. You two were as opposite as can be, but honey, on this one point, you’re exactly the same.” She pointed to the picture of him and Abby.

  He frowned, loathing being compared to dad in any way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you need to speak up. Women like to hear the words from time to time.”

  Dear god, this was as bad as he was afraid it was going to be. “I’m not in love with Abby.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe you are and maybe you aren’t. It would be a shame to let such a sweet, beautiful person slip right through these fingers of yours because you’re afraid.”

  He sunk in his chair. “I’m not afraid. I just can’t. I have an obligation to keep her safe.” He huffed out a breath. “We kissed a couple times.” He shook his head, hardly believing he was having this conversation. “Everything’s fucked up.” He winced when she glared. “Sorry. Screwed up.”

  She nodded, letting his slip of the tongue slide. “And what about after she’s safe?”

  “It’ll be awhile before Abby can get back to a normal life. Especially after that hits the shelves.” He gestured toward the magazine. Once Trendy’s March issue hit the newsstands, Dimitri and Victor would have a good idea of where they could find her.

  She squeezed his fingers. “Just think of all the time you’ll have lost. And she’s been right here the whole time.”

  He grunted as his mother’s comment hit home. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think she and Timmy—”

  Mom shook her head. “Timmy’s not for Abby, honey.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “We have the barn dance coming up. Abby has her heart set on going. Bless that sweet little thing. Maybe you could bring her as your date.”

  Somehow the idea was tempting. “I think it’s better to leave things alone.”

  She pressed her lips firm. “I guess that’ll have to be up to you. I’m going to take this fancy magazine to my room, get in my pajamas, and give it a read. I’ll hand it over to Abby in the morning. Hopefully you two can straighten today out a bit. And try to get her to eat something.”

  “I’ll bring her something, but she doesn’t have much of an appetite when she’s upset.”

  She tsked her disapproval. “She’s going to waste away as it is. She’s so tiny.”

  He smiled. Abby had a small frame, but she wasn’t a skeleton by any means. “She’ll be all right.”

  She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Night, son.”

  “Good night.” He slung an arm around her waist, hugging her tight. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.” She walked away, and he sighed, picking up his fork, sampling a bite of cold, cheesy potatoes. He forked up more as his cell phone rang. He glanced down, looking at the readout. Ethan. Ethan wasn’t supposed to call unless there was a serious problem. Grabbing his phone, he pressed ‘talk’ and pushed back from the table, starting up the stairs. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, I have some news.”

  His shoulders tensed as he quickened his pace, ready to grab Abby’s hand and be gone.

  “They found Margret Stowers.”

  He paused mid-step and veered toward his room instead of Abby’s. “Where?”

  “She’s dead, man.”

  His heart sank as he closed the door behind him. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. News has been traveling through the precincts out east. Jackson got a call from his friend, Doug, on the Pittsburgh PD. Margret’s parents were notified this afternoon.”

  Jerrod sat on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes. “Damn.” This was going to rip Abby apart. She’d been searching for the pretty blue-eyed girl since the night of her rescue.

  “A homeless man found her in Houston Monday morning. It took the ME’s a few days to identify her. She was in rough shape. They beat the fuck out of her—massive head and facial trauma. They raped her and left her naked and stuffed in a dumpster.”

  “Fucking bastards.” Anger burned in his gut as he ached for the girl as much as the woman in the next room. Abby spoke of Margret often enough that somewhere along the way he’d lost the ability to distance himself from her case. Months ago, he’d stopped thinking of the fifteen year old as just another missing person waiting to be found. “She loves that kid.”

  “I’m sorry, man. This is tough.”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed at his temple. “I’ll talk to her. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say.” No matter how he told her, he was going to break her heart.

 
“Shitty situation.”

  “Doesn’t get much worse.” He stood. “I should probably go.”

  “Good luck, man.”

  “Thanks.” He hung up and tapped his phone against his chin as he expelled a deep breath, trying to figure out how to handle this. Telling Abby would’ve been hard if they were on good terms, but now? She had lived with the mantra that finding Margret was only a matter of time. She’d fully expected to bring Margret home, safe and alive. How many times had she spoken of blue dresses, shopping trips, and the fashion shows she’d promised her young friend?

  He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Damn it.” Margret was finally going home, but not the way she should have. “Damn it,” he said again, drowning in helplessness. What was this going to do to Abby? How was this going to set her back?

  He walked to his door, stopping when a vehicle pulled up to the house. He moved to the window, glancing out as Timmy got out of his pickup. He turned and made his way across the hall, raising his hand to Abby’s mostly closed door, and dropped it.

  How the hell should he start the conversation? With an apology? He clenched his jaw, remembering his harsh words. If he could go back…he would probably handle the situation exactly the same way, minus the grab as he chased her up the front steps. Abby had been reckless, putting not only herself but his mother in danger.

  You might have a job to do, but I’m still trying to live my life. Somewhere along the way you forgot that.

  He hadn’t forgotten. He’d done everything in his power to keep her security as low-key as possible, but the fact of the matter was she needed twenty-four-hour protection. I’m suffocating. Her eyes had pleaded with him for understanding. And he did, but keeping her alive came before everything else—even her happiness. He hated that for her. Abby deserved all the happiness in the world, but he was about to knock her back another step.

  He raised his hand once more. It was time to get this over with, despite how his stomach sank. He knocked, hoping she would invite him in without having to invade her space. “Abby. We need to talk for a minute.”

  The staticky music grew louder.