Justice For Abby

by Cate Beauman

  “I think—I think it’s Quinn.” She squirmed under his heavy body, wanting to escape from his brutality, but it was no use. He was too big and strong.

  “You think or you know?” He bunched his fist, threatening.

  “I know.” Her cell phone rang again in the next room, and she prayed Timmy would come.

  “What else do you know?”

  “That the person calling my phone is a cop, and he’ll be here soon if I don’t answer.”

  He smiled, his grin ferocious. “Hopefully he will think you are worth dying for.”

  A new wave of dread consumed her as she thought of what this monster might do to Timmy. “No.”

  “I want information, and you have it. Now tell me where she is.”

  “I really don’t know. Jerrod took her away.”

  “He said nothing?”

  “No, he was mad at me for writing the article.”

  He grabbed her hair in both hands, hollering something she didn’t understand as he rammed her head against the mattress over and over again. “Who is Jerrod Quinn?”

  “He’s a bodyguard,” she confessed, crying, wanting this man to go away before Timmy came. Jerrod was long gone. She needed to protect Timmy.

  He stopped, his breath heaving. “Where would he go?”

  “I don’t know Jerrod very well anymore. Maybe back to Los Angeles or New York City. He was a US Marshal there.”

  Another slow smile bloomed across his face. “It is a small, small world, Shelby Haggerty.”

  Her cell phone rang for the third time. Taking a chance, she brought her knee up as hard as she could, tagging her captive in the balls.

  He crumpled forward, and she scrambled out from under him, sprinting toward the phone. She pressed ‘talk’ with her uninjured hand as the monster came running down the hall.

  “Help me, Timmy! Help me!”

  The stranger whirled her around, knocking her to the floor. She struggled to deflect his punches, tasting blood, feeling her skin swell with each agonizing blow. He hit her again and again until the world faded to a hazy gray, then went black.

  ~~~~

  Adam smacked at his alarm, attempting to silence the ringing, and groaned, realizing his cell phone was making the incessant noise, not the damn clock. “Fuck,” he muttered as he reluctantly reached for his phone, wondering what Donnelly wanted at four-fucking-thirty in the morning. He was supposed to be off duty until noon. “Yeah, hello?”

  “I need information.”

  Adam’s eyes flew open as he sat up, recognizing the dreaded Russian accent. “You’re not supposed to call this number—ever.”

  “My situation doesn’t give me much choice. It has taken me two days of dodging the police to find this phone to use.”

  He threw his covers back and got out of bed, pacing the small space in his room, regretting that he’d been desperate enough to make a deal with the devil. “What do you want?” But he already knew.

  “Jerrod Quinn. He protects Abigail Harris.”

  Sweat beaded on his forehead as he glanced toward the bedroom door left ajar down the hall. “How do you know?”

  “The reporter told me before I killed her. Find me Jerrod Quinn.”

  He swallowed, lowering his voice as he heard Jerrod’s murmurs mixing with Abby’s. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “You’ll do better than that. I want the information today. I need to find that bitch before she ruins me.”

  He brought the hem of his t-shirt up to his face, wiping at the drops running down his temples. “It might take a day or two.”

  “A day would not be good for your sister’s health. Two days would be deadly. Her baby is due very soon, yes?”

  Dread iced his veins as he collapsed to the edge of his mattress, certain he was going to puke. If Dimitri touched Samantha… He sent trembling fingers through his hair as he struggled to even out his breathing. He never should have gone to that casino. Why the fuck did he sit his ass down at the Black Jack table? He knew better. Standing, he walked to the wall, leaning against the cold, white paint as his mind raced. He needed to end this. “I know Jerrod. I know where he is.” He clenched his fist at his side.

  “You know him?”

  He grit his teeth, disgusted with himself. “Yes.”

  “This better be the truth. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you your sister will die with pain if it is not.”

  “He’s here in Manhattan. He came after the article broke in the Nebraska paper a couple days ago.”

  “Where?”

  “I’m not exactly sure, but he calls every day asking for updates on your whereabouts.”

  Dimitri laughed. “The hunted hunts, I see.” He chuckled again. “I am in Chicago. I will come as soon as I can. Find him quickly.” The line went dead.

  Adam stared at his phone, his breath rushing in and out, fighting not to throw it as he dropped to his knees with the crushing weight of despair. What the hell had he done? Would it really come down to Samantha’s life for Jerrod and Abby’s? Jerrod was as much family as Samantha. This wasn’t supposed to have gotten so out of hand.

  Gaining his feet, he dialed Samantha’s number as he got dressed.

  “Hello?” His sister’s sleepy voice filled his ear.

  “Sammy, it’s Adam. You and Greg need to pack a few things and head out of town for awhile.” He wiped at the tears on his cheeks.

  “What?”

  “We’ve had a case go sour. People know who you are. You need to go right now. Don’t use your credit cards, just cash.”

  “Adam.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut as fear trembled in Sammy’s voice. “Please. Please, Sammy. This is dangerous shit.”

  “Okay. How long?”

  As long as it would take for him to send a bullet through Dimitri’s brain. “I don’t know. A few days.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hurry and go.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ve gotta go.” He wiped at his cheeks for the second time.

  “Be careful.”

  “I will. You too.” He hung up and walked down the hall, stopping next to Gavin’s old room, peeking in as Jerrod wrapped a blanket around Abby’s shoulders while she stood by the open window in her underwear. He rested his forehead against the doorframe, hating himself for putting one of his best friends—and the woman he clearly loved—on the line just because he couldn’t kick his need to gamble.

  Stepping back, he walked to the front door, desperate to walk and think. He would fix this. He had to make all of this go away before anything happened to anyone except for the bastard who deserved it. His stomach pitched for the second time. He was desperately afraid he might not be able to take Dimitri down.

  ~~~~

  Abby shot up, gasping, searching frantically for Margret as her friend’s wrenching cries echoed in the dark. She closed her eyes, opening them just as quickly, desperate to shake herself loose of the horrifying grips of her latest nightmare. Pressing a hand to her racing heart, she stumbled out of bed on weakened legs, making her way to the window, yanking it open, greedily breathing in the bracing air.

  “Abby.” The mattress squeaked as Jerrod stood, walking up behind her, wrapping a blanket around her trembling shoulders. “You’re okay,” he whispered.

  “No, I’m not,” she struggled to say over chattering teeth. “I’m not.” She’d woken countless times over the last two nights, sweaty and terrified. Despite her own pep talks and efforts to settle in, she hadn’t been able to shake the need to run away. “I don’t know why this is happening. I can’t figure it out.” She shook her head, swiping her hair back from her sweaty brow, certain a nervous breakdown was right around the corner.

  She’d fought to cope for the last forty-eight hours, but the strategies Dr. Tate taught her were little defense against the constant flashbacks. “I can’t stop thinking about Margret. She’s in every dream, calling for me.” She wiped at the hot tears streaming down her chilled cheeks. “I kee
p waking up thinking I’m in that damn closet.”

  He turned her to him, hugging her tight. “Maybe our room is too small.”

  “I don’t know.” She pulled away from him, needing her space, wanting more fresh air.

  “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  Jerrod closed the door most of the way as he stepped out, and she sat on the bed, pressing her hands to her face, giving into her despair. If she couldn’t get a grip she would be little more than the pathetic mess Alexa found at Zachary Hartwell’s home months ago. Heck, she was pretty much there already. Eating had become a dreaded chore; sleeping wasn’t any better. And she had no clue why.

  Adam was loud but kind. Shane was a bit more reserved but had been nothing but sweet and welcoming since his return last night. Neither of Jerrod’s friends wanted to hurt her, yet she couldn’t relax her guard. She’d tried distracting her busy brain with movies and sketches to replace the designs she could no longer use—thanks to Shelby, but the need to look over her shoulder was constantly there.

  The door opened, and she stiffened, preparing herself for…what? What was it about this place that made her so darn jumpy?

  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.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  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, fro
wning. “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.”