Even if you had an experienced field agent asleep in the next room, it never hurt to be prepared. You never knew when a monster would invade your life and change it completely.
“Poor little thing. You say she was there when her mother was killed?”
The kind looking lady in the black-and-white outfit reached out a hand to her. Still clutching her mother’s pink sweater, she released the policeman’s hand and took the lady’s.
The big policeman in the dark blue suit nodded. “We’re not sure how much she witnessed, Sister. We found her hiding in the closet. She hasn’t said anything but ‘Mommy’ since.”
The lady in black smoothed her work-roughened hand over the little girl’s hair. “And there’s no father?”
“Not that we’ve been able to find. In fact, there’s no family at all.” The policeman handed the sister a box with her clothes in it. “If you can get her to tell you anything, we’d appreciate you giving us a call.”
He turned and left.
The lady smiled. “You’re safe here, little one. I’m Sister Rose Thomas. Won’t you tell me your name?”
She stared into the Sister’s gentle, wrinkled face and compassionate eyes. “I’m Abigail.”
Sister Rose Thomas was the first to notice her unusual abilities.
“Your mind is like a huge filing cabinet, Abigail. Whenever you want to remember something, you reach in, pull out the image, and it’s as if you’re seeing it again for the first time, isn’t it?”
Abigail managed a smile. Other than her mother, Sister Rose Thomas had been the only other gentle person in her life. Her death had left another hole in Abigail’s world. One she doubted would ever be filled again.
Abigail swiped at the moisture in her eyes and shoved the memory back into the corner of her mind. Good lord, she was maudlin tonight.
The framed picture on the bedside table caught her eye. Brianna loved to have her picture taken. And why wouldn’t she? Her blonde good looks rivaled any movie star. So why would someone want to put out that light?
Abigail drew in a deep breath. She couldn’t help her mother, and she couldn’t bring back Sister Rose Thomas. But she could help Brianna.
Opening her laptop, she pulled on her reading glasses and started a new file. Then she closed her eyes and reached into her memory for the pictures she’d stored of Brianna’s townhouse. For now she’d avoid the bloodier ones. They’d have to wait until she could better handle seeing them. Blood always reminded her of the first pictures she’d ever stored in her brain—those of her mother lying dead on her bed, bloody and broken.
Instead, she’d concentrate on the datebook. She snagged those images from the pile, shoving aside the one with the Sudoku puzzle and moved to the actual pages of the datebook. She typed every date and time for the past six months into her laptop.
Finished, she sat back to study the pattern of her friend’s life. Brianna was a high-maintenance woman. She had weekly standing appointments for her hair, nails, pedicures and massages. Numerous men’s names filled the datebook, mostly for evening dates, but some for afternoon meetings and lunches.
A set of dates were marked with asterisks and appeared on a six-week cycle. What was that all about?
Then there were all the odd markings in the margins. Weird symbols that repeated, but at no constant interval. Was it some sort of code Brianna had developed or a shorthand? If so, what did they mean?
Only three sets of initials appeared more than twice throughout the pages.
D. K.
P. H.
R. B.
Were they all business associates? Or was one of them the man in the picture with his arms around Brianna? And which one was responsible for her friend’s disappearance?
All these questions, so few answers. Now her head hurt. Probably from frustration more than anything else. Exercise always seemed to help her focus.
If she were at home back in Washington, she’d go to the gym and work out, or throw on her Nikes and run a few miles. But she wasn’t at home, didn’t know the area well enough to go for a run, and she was pretty sure her self-appointed bodyguard in the next room wouldn’t take kindly to finding her missing. She’d just have to find an alternative plan.
Practicing her Kata might help. Performing the series of movements used in karate always cleared her grey cells and let her brain focus on a plan.
She set her laptop on the side of the bed and lay her glasses on the bedside table. Moving as quietly as possible, she set the lamp and generic chair away from their standard position by the window to the far side of the other bed. In the center of the empty space, she stood, inhaling and exhaling slowly. Eyes closed, she cleared her mind of the evening’s events and concentrated on stretching. First her whole body, then each group of muscles.
At home, she usually gave herself an imaginary foe—some criminal element or a mugger—a faceless attacker she could defend herself against. This time, however, she had two very real foes to give herself motivation as she practiced her skills. If she wanted to, she could imagine Brianna’s attackers. But that still gave her a faceless opponent. The other choice lay snoring on the other side of her wall.
Abigail opened her eyes, a grin on her face.
With Luke’s arrogant face in mind, she raised her foot in a high kick. It felt good. She forced herself to concentrate, and began the series of movements that would take her through the Kata.
* * * * *
In the colorless room the woman’s body lay sprawled facedown in the blood pooling beneath and around her on the hardwood floor. His pulse raced and his hands shook as he reached to turn her over. Her dark hair covered her face. He didn’t want to move her, didn’t want to touch her cold, lifeless body, but he had to know.
A branch tapped on the window.
He pulled her onto her side.
The tapping continued.
He brushed her hair off her face.
The tapping grew rhythmic.
Abby’s dark eyes stared at him, lifeless and cold.
The tapping stopped.
Then her lips moved, and she whispered, “Why didn’t you help me?”
Luke shot up out of the covers, panting hard. Sweat pouring off his brow, his heart pounded in his chest. He shoved the blankets free, sat on the edge of the bed and tried to get his bearings.
With great effort he sucked in air and forced his heart rate to slow down. He wasn’t in the shadow-filled room of his dream anymore. Even in the dark, he could see the colorful bedspread and the picture on the wall of his hotel room.
This dream had haunted him for years. The first time he’d had it was the day he met Abby. It was always the same. Her inert body lay on the floor, covered in blood. Each time he prayed he’d turn her over to find her still alive. However, it always ended the same—Abby dead and him helpless to stop it.
Only this time the dream was different. This time she spoke. She wanted him to help her. Never before had she spoken to him. And something else was different.
The damn tapping.
Where had that come from? What did it mean? And where had it gone?
His breath coming at a less frantic pace, he listened to the silence in his room. Then he heard a sound. Not tapping. Something altogether different.
A soft grunting came from the next room. A light shone through the cracks around the partially opened door. And a thudding sound, like someone hitting something.
Visions of the blood pool at the condo and Abby dead in his dream still fresh in his mind, Luke untangled his body from the sheets and pulled his gun from its holster by the bed. He didn’t know what was going on next door, but if someone was hurting Abby, they weren’t escaping with their lives.
With his back pressed tight against the wall, and the urge to rush in firmly pushed deep into the back of his brain, he inched his way toward the connecting door. The grunting and thudding continued in an odd sort of stop and start fashion. Inhaling deeply, he pushed the door open with his foot, and wed
ged himself into the narrow opening between the door and the frame.
Silently counting to three, he turned, moved through the doorway, and crouched. His gun extended in front of him, he growled out, “Freeze!”
He followed his own command.
Abby stood frozen in mid-kick. A light sheen of sweat covered her long slender legs and arms stretching from beneath her T-shirt and shorts. A few of the dark strands of her hair had escaped her ponytail to lay wet against her neck and cheek. In the dim light he could see the light flush of pink in her cheeks. Her eyes widened even more as she watched him from across the room. Then she parted her lips, her tongue darting out to moisten them.
“Can I put my leg down now?”
He swallowed hard, nodded, lowering his weapon as she lowered her leg.
She bounced on the balls of her feet a few minutes, then began slowly stretching down toward her toes. Mesmerized, Luke watched her T-shirt fall forward, revealing the soft curve of her lower back and the stretched shorts over her hips and ass.
Still feeling the effects of his dream, he fought the urge to make her work up a sweat for another reason. Then the red glowing numbers of the bedside clock-radio caught his peripheral vision.
3:15 in the morning.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, not trying to hide his irritation.
“Stretching. What does it look like I’m doing?” she asked as she straightened.
Besides torturing him?
“I meant the kick boxing routine in the middle of the night.” He laid his weapon on the edge of the credenza.
“It’s called a Kata. Since the space is so limited I’ve had to modify the steps a bit. I needed to think. Some sort of physical activity clears my brain.”
She stretched to the side, her T-shirt sliding up and revealing more of her creamy skin, this time on her waist and abdomen. And visions of them both participating in another activity filled his sleep-deprived brain.
He bit back a curse. She had to be doing this on purpose.
“It’s the middle of the night, Abby. You’re supposed to be sleeping. Or do you do this all the time—exercise in the middle of the night?”
She shrugged, grabbed the towel from the bed and mopped at the sweat around her face and neck. “If a problem bothers me I usually go for a run, but I didn’t know the area here, so I thought this was a better solution.”
He couldn’t believe it. White-hot anger coursed through him and he advanced, until he stood less than a foot from her. “You go running in the middle of the night by yourself?”
She looked at him as if he were the crazy one.
“Well, no. If it’s late at night, I usually go to the all-night fitness club near my apartment. There’s an indoor track and a security guard.” The towel in one hand, she thrust her fists onto her hips, her cheeks red and her eyes narrowed. “Despite what you think, I’m not stupid or irresponsible.”
“I’ve never thought you were stupid or irresponsible, Abby. Just a little out of your element, sometimes.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He folded his arms over his chest and gave her a once-over exam from head to toe. “Let’s face it, Abby. Give you a set of numbers or data to analyze and you’re a whiz. Out in the field? You’re a disaster waiting to happen.”
“How would you know? I haven’t had enough field experience for my superiors, let alone a fellow agent to know how I handle myself during a case.”
“I’ve seen you in action today. You walked right into a crime scene without waiting for backup.”
“Give it a rest, Luke.” She looked briefly at the ceiling then fixed him with a determined stare. “I’ve already explained. The whole situation took me off-guard. I arrived at my friend’s townhouse thinking I’d be spending a quiet night with an old friend. I didn’t expect to find her place in shambles, blood on the floor, and no sign of Brianna.”
“And what are you going to do if someone attacks you like they did your friend? Scare them with karate moves?”
“I’m not defenseless.” She stepped back, dropped the towel on the bed and raised her arms in a defensive posture. She motioned him to attack.
If she didn’t look so earnest, Luke would’ve laughed. “You can’t be serious. The last time we tried this during training, you couldn’t take down anyone in the class, Abby.”
“What? You afraid I can do it this time?”
Luke shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“This isn’t a joke to me. Attack me, dammit.”
He held up his hands. “I’m sure you’ve been practicing a lot. But this is the real world, not some karate gym. Even if you have been practicing, you could still get hurt.”
She whirled, kicking at his head.
Instinctively, he grabbed her leg, then lifted her by the other one, turning and landing them both on the bed. She lay trapped beneath him, his hips wedged intimately between hers. Her arms stretched above her on the pillows and rumpled covers.
Anger replaced his humor. “That’s what I’m talking about. If you seriously mean to use karate as self-defense, then don’t go showing off.”
She gulped, panting, her breasts rising and falling beneath the T-shirt now pulled tight across them. Her eyes widened and her lips parted.
He pressed his body closer, slowly lowering his head towards hers. God, he wanted to taste her again. It had been too long since the last time.
“Luke,” she whispered when his mouth was but a fraction away.
“Yes, Abby?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t call you Abby? Or don’t do this?” He closed the space between them, pressing his lips softly against hers. Lingering. Tasting. Warm honey. That flavor had lingered in his mind for the past five years. A man could die wanting more of it.
Cold metal pressed against his side.
He went still as a statue. Slowly he lifted his face, their lips parting.
“I…said…don’t.” Abby panted out each breath, pushing the gun into his ribs for emphasis. “Now, get…off me.”
Luke eased his body away from hers and rolled onto his side. He flopped an arm over his eyes, inhaling deeply. Then he shoved his other arm over his head, hitting her laptop. “I’m sorry, Abby. I shouldn’t have…”
“That’s right. You shouldn’t have.” She released her grip on her weapon, lying beside him. “I told you. I can take care of myself. You seem to think I’m that same naïve kid right out of college you knew five years ago. Believe me, I left her on a sidewalk outside my hotel back in Georgia.”
“Abby.” He reached for her hand only to have her shove herself off the bed.
“Don’t. Just don’t say another word.” She stood straight and walked past the bed with her head held high, back straight. At the bathroom door she stopped. “I neither need nor want your pity. But you’re right. I probably can’t do this by myself. What I need is your help to find Brianna or whoever hurt her. Help me do that and I’ll go back to Washington and we’ll never have to see each other again.”
Before he could answer her she stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.
“Argh.” Luke pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes until he saw stars. Dammit. What was it about this one woman that drove him crazy? He couldn’t make the right move no matter what he did.
The sound of running water in the shower filtered through the bathroom door. Visions of Abby naked, standing beneath the jets, water running over her long, lithe frame, steam rising around her, flashed into Luke’s mind.
With a groan, he rolled to his side and came face-to-face with Abby’s laptop. She’d left it open to a file titled Brianna’s schedule. Had Abby taken evidence from the crime scene? He glanced around the room. Nothing looked like her friend’s datebook. He studied the computer screen again. Apparently Abby had reconstructed it from memory.
Interesting.
The water stopped.
His imagination working overtime thinking
of every inch of skin Abby toweled dry behind the bathroom door, Luke tried to concentrate on the screen in front of him and not the rustling coming from the bathroom.
Get a grip, Edgars. There’s a missing woman out there depending on you to find her, and all you can do is lust after Abby—naked, hot and willing for you. The memory of her pushing the gun into his side quickly cooled some of his ardor. For both their sakes he’d best remember she was armed and knew how to use her weapon.
He focused his attention on the open file. Abby definitely had her friend’s daily activities listed for the past six months. From the pattern, the missing woman was a very busy lady. So, how had Abby reconstructed her friend’s schedule? Who were the three sets of initials she had highlighted?
“I’ll bet one of them has something to do with Brianna’s disappearance,” Abby said, coming out of the bathroom, rubbing her hair with a towel.
“What makes you think our man is one of these?”
She pulled back the cover on the other bed, climbed in and turned on her side to study him for a moment. “Because each one…” she yawned, then closed her eyes “…had a meeting with Brianna yesterday, before she called me.”
“How did you get this copy of Brianna’s datebook?” Luke studied the computerized itinerary and waited for an answer. None came. He glanced at the other bed. “Abby?”
Her eyes remained closed, her breathing easy and regular. She’d finally exercised herself into exhaustion. He closed her file and the laptop, setting it on the bedside table next to a pair of black-framed glasses. Had he ever known she wore glasses?
Before leaving, he turned off the light. Tomorrow he’d get an answer to his question about the datebook. Only he had a feeling he wouldn’t like what he heard.
* * * * *
Even with her eyes swollen shut, Brianna knew the room was dark. If her captors thought to frighten the information out of her, they’d miscalculated. Darkness didn’t scare her.
The familiar metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Ignoring the reflexive gag, she swallowed. Her parched throat needed something fluid down it, even if only her own blood. The last time she’d had anything to drink was when she’d gotten home from work today. Or was it yesterday? How long had it been? She couldn’t remember.
VANISHED, A Romantic Suspense Novel (Edgars Family Novel) Page 4