Trail of Danger

by Valerie Hansen

  Abigail jumped down and landed with both palms against the mirrored center pillar. Circled looking for the camouflaged door. Found it. Threw herself inside and pulled it closed behind her, stumbling backward as she did so and landing against a bank of switches.

  Suddenly, calliope music began, slowly rising in speed and volume until the air vibrated. Had she bumped something? Accidentally flipped a switch? Was her hiding place useless? Undoubtedly. And it was already too late to stop the music. The damage had been done.

  Stunned, she clamped her hands over her ears, pressed her back against a side wall and began a slow-motion slide to the floor as sheer panic began to dull her senses and render her helpless.

  The walls pressed in on her. Reality receded as her mind shut down, and she gladly accepted the enveloping darkness of unconsciousness.

  TWO

  Reed and Jessie had detoured past the Shoot-the-Chutes when the calliope music had begun to play, starting low and winding up to quickly gain intensity. During the day when the park was crowded and other attractions were operating, the distinctive tunes blended in. Tonight, the solo music was deafening. And eerie, particularly since the rest of the ride wasn’t lit or moving.

  Jessie would have tried to climb the sides of the water ride and plunged through the cascading stream if Reed had not guided her around. The screaming had stopped. As painful as it had been to hear someone in that much distress, this was far worse. Silence could mean the danger had eased, but he knew it was more likely that things had worsened. A screeching victim was a breathing victim. It was as simple as that.

  Reed approached a low fence that kept riders from cutting the line. A hand signal sent Jessie leaping over and he followed. Man-sized shadows shifted on the opposite side of the wide, round platform. Reed looked to his dog, read her body language and drew his sidearm. “Police. Freeze.”

  The figures froze all right—for a heartbeat—then parted and dashed off in opposite directions. Not only could Reed not pursue them both, he still didn’t know where the screaming victim was or how badly she may have been injured. Finding out came first.

  “Seek!”

  Jessie led him in a weaving pattern between horses while Reed radioed his position and circumstances. The K-9 went twice around the center pole of the carousel before stopping and putting her enormous paws up on one of the beveled mirrors.

  “Sit. Stay,” Reed commanded. The door release was cleverly hidden but he found it. “Police,” he announced, his gun at the ready.

  The hair on the back of his neck rose and perspiration trickled down his temples. He pulled open the narrow door and struck a marksman’s pose with his gun and flashlight.

  Instead of the panicking, wild-eyed victim he’d expected, he saw a small figure curled up on the cement floor. His light panned over her. She had long, reddish hair that made him think she was a teen until he took a closer look.

  He’d seen that face. Tonight. She’d passed him on the boardwalk not more than a few minutes ago. She was no kid but she wasn’t middle-aged either. Reed guessed her to be younger than he was by five or ten years, which would put her in her twenties. What in the world was she doing out here in the middle of the night in the first place?

  Holstering his gun, he bent and lightly touched her arm. Her skin was clammy. “Ma’am? Are you hurt?”

  There was no reaction. The woman didn’t even act startled when he held her wrist to take her pulse but he did notice that the fair skin looked irritated. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Still nothing. He could hardly hear himself speak over the rollicking pipe organ music. A quick scan of the control panel showed one switch out of place, so he flipped it to kill the noise. Propping the narrow door open for ventilation he stood with one booted foot outside and radioed in the details as he knew them. “That’s right. She’s really out of it. I don’t see any serious signs of physical trauma but I can’t get a response, so you’d better start medics. The victim may have internal injuries or be drugged. I’m pretty sure she was the one doing all the screaming.”

  He paused and listened to the dispatcher, then stated his case. “Jessie acts like this is the same person she was tracking before, and I have no reason to doubt my K-9. Put a rush on that ambulance? I don’t want my victim to code while I wait, okay? I’m going to take a chance and move her out onto the carousel floor where she can get more air. Tell backup to hurry.”

  One more check of his surroundings and a long look at his dog assured Reed the area was clear. He bent and gently lifted the victim in his arms. She was lighter than he’d imagined. “Take it easy,” he said, speaking as if to a frightened child. “I’m a police officer. You’re safe now.”

  She stirred. Her lashes quivered.

  Reed placed her carefully on one of the chariot bench seats. It was too short for her to lie down all the way so he propped up her feet and lowered her shoulders, bringing more circulation, more oxygen to her brain.

  She blinked and stared directly at him. He had expected at least a tinge of leftover panic but there was none. The woman didn’t even flinch as she studied him.

  He gave her a minute to process her thoughts, then asked, “What happened to you? Why were you screaming?”

  “Screaming? I don’t think...” She coughed. “My throat hurts.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Reed told her. “What’s your name?”

  The blue eyes widened and filled with tears. “It’s—it’s Abigail. I think.”

  * * *

  Abigail’s instincts told her to trust this man even before she realized he was wearing an NYPD uniform. He had kind brown eyes and his expression showed concern. What struck her as odd was her sense of overall peace and security in his presence.

  Looking past him, she saw elaborately carved wooden carousel horses that reminded her of the ones on the restored antique ride at Luna Park. Luna Park? What she was doing there? And why was a police officer acting as if he thought she needed help?

  “Abigail?” he asked softly. “That is your name, right?”

  “Of course it is.” Affirmation came easily.

  “How about a last name?”

  “Um...Jones?”

  His lopsided smile made his eyes twinkle. It was clear he didn’t believe her. Thoughts solidified in her muddled mind and affirmed her choice. “It really is Jones. I’m sure it is.”

  “Okay. How are you feeling? Are you hurt?”

  Abigail worked her shoulders and rubbed her right arm. “I think I pulled a muscle.” Her eyes widened. “Did you see something happening to me?”

  Reed shook his head. “Sorry. No. By the time I got here you had stopped screaming and were hiding. All I saw were shadows.”

  He paused, studying her so intensely that it made her ask, “Shadows? Of who? What?”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  Her earlier peace was giving way to the uneasiness of the unknown. How much did she remember? And why did she feel a creeping fear when she tried to draw those memories out?

  Head throbbing, she sniffled and pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I don’t know anything.” She concentrated on her rescuer. “Why can’t I remember?”

  “Trauma can do that sometimes. It’ll all come back to you after a bit.” His radio crackled and he replied. “Copy. Tell them to pull as close as they can to the carousel. She’s conscious but disoriented.”

  Abigail grasped his forearm. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “The ambulance is on scene. Medics will look you over and take good care of you from here on.”

  He leaned away and started to stand but she held fast. “Don’t leave me. Please? I don’t even know who you are.”

  “Officer Reed Branson.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a business card. “Hang on to this. It’ll help you remember me later. I’m part of the NYC K-9 Command Unit, not a det
ective, so I won’t be investigating your case, but you may have questions for me once you get your memory back.”

  “Canine?” She peered past him. “Where’s your dog?”

  A hand signal brought a panting, pleased-looking bloodhound to his side, where it sat obediently, staring up at him as if he were the most important person in the world. That tongue, those floppy ears, the drooling lips. Abigail almost gasped. “I remember him. I saw him somewhere.”

  “Out here. Tonight,” Reed said. “We passed you on the boardwalk. And it’s she. Jessie is a female.”

  “She found me?”

  “Yes. She heard your calls for help before I did. That led us into the park, where we found this.” He pulled a crumpled crocheted vest out of his pocket. “Is it yours?”

  “Yes!” Abigail was thrilled to recognize it.

  “Jessie used it to follow your scent. I’m a little surprised she was able to do it so well with this storm brewing. Wind can throw trackers off.”

  Abigail’s headache was intensifying to the point where it was upsetting her stomach. She knew she wouldn’t have ventured out at night, alone, without a valid reason, so what was she supposed to be doing?

  She tried to stand. The carousel and objects beyond began to move. At least, she thought they did. Given her undeniable unsteadiness, she wasn’t sure if the platform beneath was spinning or if her head was. Or both.

  Instinct urged her to reach out to the police officer, to draw on his strength. Instead, she covered her eyes with her hands. “I’m sorry. I get terrible headaches when a storm is coming but I’ve never had one this bad before.”

  Someone—was it her rescuer?—cupped her shoulders and guided her to the edge of the circular platform where other gentle hands lifted her down and placed her on a gurney. She could smell the bleach on the sheets. A bright beam of light stabbed into her eyes.

  Abigail tried to cover her face again but someone was restraining her. A wide strap crossed her upper torso and tightened. She began to struggle. Being held so still was frightening, although she couldn’t pinpoint a reason for her rising panic.

  “No! Let me go!”

  A low masculine voice cut through her protests and brought calm. Large hands gently touched her shoulder. “Easy, Abigail. It’s okay. They’re just trying to help you.”

  “Don’t let them strap me down! Please!”

  “All right.” She saw Reed casually wave the medics away. “I’ll be right here. Nobody will have to restrain you as long as you lie still. Understand?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Good. Now let them take your blood pressure and pulse, okay?”

  A strong urge to resist any involuntary movement of her arms arose as soon as one of the medics began to work on her again. Thankfully, this tech was a woman who made short work of checking her vitals, listening to her ragged breathing with a stethoscope and reporting to a doctor via radio.

  The numbers quoted didn’t matter to Abigail. All she cared about was having the police officer close by. It didn’t occur to her that he wouldn’t be able to climb into the ambulance with her until he stepped back at its door.

  She reached out. “Aren’t you coming?”

  “Can’t.” The attendants paused while he explained. “I have a responsibility to Jessie, not to mention my reason for being out here tonight. I was in the middle of a different search until you screamed.”

  No matter how logical his answer was, she couldn’t accept it. “Promise you’ll follow me? You’re the only one who has any idea what happened out here.”

  “You’ll be fine once you’re under a doctor’s care.” The way he patted the back of her hand as he spoke reminded her of a parent trying to soothe a child who was throwing a tantrum. That unfortunate comparison was hard to take, particularly since her head was still pounding and her vision blurred whenever she moved.

  Abigail jerked her hand away, turned her head and closed her eyes. “Fine. Go. Save the rest of the world if that’s what you want.” Tremors wracked her body. Nobody had to tell her she wasn’t herself. Her conscience was doing a good job of that without any outside help. Harsh words and snappy retorts were not her usual reactions to difficulties, nor was she sarcastic. People at work were always complimenting her on her even temperament.

  Work? Yes, work! She was an outreach coordinator for AFS, A Fresh Start, and helped homeless and troubled teens. That she remembered well. She could picture the tiny office in Brighton Beach, her desk stacked with file folders, and even the potted violet plant atop the bookcase beneath the window.

  “That’s better,” she whispered with a sigh, not expecting anyone to take notice.

  The female medic smiled. “Good to hear.” She held out a clear plastic mask fitted with a narrow tube. “Just let me give you a few breaths of oxygen and you’ll feel even better.”

  The plastic contraption hovered over Abigail’s face. There was a continuing urge to resist being treated, but now that she’d recalled more about her life, she’d settled down enough to control herself. “Okay.”

  Elastic straps held the mask in place. She took several deep breaths.

  “That’s it. Nice and slow.” The medic was hovering over her, looking directly into her eyes. “Now, the law says I have to secure you before we can hit the road, so here come the straps again. I’m sorry to have to do it but I could lose my license if I didn’t make sure you were safe.”

  Abigail inhaled more of the enriched air, then lifted the mask to speak. “I’ll try to behave. I promise. I don’t know what came over me before.”

  “Leftover trauma, if I had to guess,” the woman replied pleasantly. “I almost wouldn’t mind trading places with you if I could get Reed Branson to look at me the way he looked at you just now.”

  “That cop?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She chuckled as she tightened the safety strap. “What a hunk.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “Really?” The medic fitted her with an automatic blood pressure cuff and checked the flow of oxygen to the mask, then smiled. “Maybe you need your vision checked, too.”

  * * *

  Reed’s first duty was to notify acting chief Noah Jameson that he had diverted from his tracking assignment in order to intervene in a crime. Then he checked in with fellow police officers while they were still on scene. Some had dispersed to search the shadowy amusement park while others guarded the carousel and busy crime scene techs. The Coney Island boardwalk was relatively safe most of the time but it did draw a rougher element late at night, particularly in warm weather. A hot summer or fall day brought out every troublemaker in the state of New York at night. Or so it seemed.

  Adding to the foreboding atmosphere, wind-driven rain began pelting the rides and the ground as if bent on settling a score with humanity. Reed kept Jessie fairly dry under the canopy of the carousel while CSIs dusted the control booth mirrors for fingerprints and filled tiny plastic envelopes with dust and debris from the floor of the wooden turntable.

  “Needle in a haystack?” Reed asked a familiar crime scene investigator.

  “More like a needle in a stack of other needles. There’s virtually no chance we’ll scoop up usable clues. They’ve probably blown all the way to Flatbush by now.”

  Reed nodded. “Agreed. Sorry I didn’t get a better look at the guys who tried to grab the victim.”

  “Any chance this is connected to the rash of disappearing teens?” the CSI asked, pausing to glance up at him.

  “Remotely. This victim looked pretty young until I got up close. You’d think anybody who was after kids would be able to tell the difference, though.” He scowled. “I’m sorry she had to go through this, but she probably stood a better chance than an inexperienced kid would have.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “Not the way I know you and most of these others.” Reed indicated a
group of NYPD regular officers sweeping the area with flashlights and sloshing through puddles. “Going by what she told me after Jessie tracked her down, her name is Abigail Jones. That’s so common I didn’t believe her last name until the medics found ID on her.”

  “Jones? I wouldn’t have bought that, either.”

  “Are you about done here?”

  “Why? You got a hot date?”

  Smiling slightly, Reed denied it. “Nope. Just wondered. Chief Jameson released me and I thought I’d check on the victim before my shift ends.”

  The man chuckled. “Your car is going to smell like wet dog, Branson.”

  “Probably. It often does.”

  Reed had a standard-issue yellow slicker and a modified cover for Jessie, too. In his Tahoe SUV. Three blocks away. He sighed, waved goodbye to the friendly tech and stepped off the carousel.

  Big drops were still falling so close together it was impossible to stay dry. Jessie snapped at a few of them as if it were a game. “You’re thirsty, aren’t you girl? Hang in there. I’ll pour you a drink as soon as we get back to the car.”

  Because he was paying close attention to his dog, Reed noticed a slight change in her behavior as they walked up the street. That was part of being a K-9 handler. He and the dog were supposed to read each other without fail. And right now Jessie was acting as if she sniffed something familiar. Since Abigail was long gone, Reed could only surmise she was getting a whiff of the thugs.

  He delayed radioing his suspicion until he had walked a little farther, following his dog until she paused at a curb and turned in circles several times. When she looked up at him he could tell she was disappointed.

  “Well, you tried, girl,” Reed said. “And I forgot to reward you the last time, didn’t I?” Handing the K-9 her favorite toy, a piece of frayed mooring rope, he ducked into a doorway to call dispatch. “This is Branson, K-9 Unit. Jessie just led me to an empty parking space. It’s in front of a falafel stand on West Fifteenth almost to Surf Avenue. There’s a tourist trap with souvenirs next to it. We may see something on surveillance cameras if we pull up tonight’s recordings.”