What she forgot could kill her

A heart-stopping True Blue K-9 Unit book

Injured by an attack she can’t remember, Abigail Jones knows someone’s after her, but she doesn’t know why or who. Now the man who rescued her, Officer Reed Branson, and his K-9 partner will shield her while she regains her memory. But unraveling the mystery surrounding Abigail leads to more questions than answers…and to a ruthless enemy who’s determined to take their lives.

VALERIE HANSEN was thirty when she awoke to the presence of the Lord in her life and turned to Jesus. She now lives in a renovated farmhouse on the breathtakingly beautiful Ozark Plateau of Arkansas and is privileged to share her personal faith by telling the stories of her heart for Love Inspired. Life doesn’t get much better than that!

Also By Valerie Hansen

True Blue K-9 Unit

Trail of Danger

Emergency Responders

Fatal Threat

Marked for Revenge

Military K-9 Unit

Bound by Duty

Military K-9 Unit Christmas

“Christmas Escape”

Classified K-9 Unit

Special Agent

Rookie K-9 Unit

Search and Rescue

Rookie K-9 Unit Christmas

“Surviving Christmas”

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Trail of Danger

Valerie Hansen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09735-2

TRAIL OF DANGER

© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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“We were attacked.”

“We were what? I thought this was an accident.” Abigail could tell by Reed’s expression that he hadn’t meant to reveal so much.

“I never looked at the faces of the men in the truck,” she said. “Maybe if I had, I’d have gotten over my temporary amnesia and recognized them.”

“Or maybe they had a beef with cops and wanted to take one out,” Reed countered. “You can’t be sure they intended to hurt you.”

“Hurt me?” Abigail gave a cynical chuckle. “If it was connected to the attack by the beach, I suspect somebody wanted to do more than just hurt me.”

She swallowed hard. “I think they hoped to permanently eliminate the threat. Namely, me.”

TRUE BLUE K-9 UNIT:

These police officers fight for justice with the help of their brave canine partners.

Justice Mission by Lynette Eason, April 2019

Act of Valor by Dana Mentink, May 2019

Blind Trust by Laura Scott, June 2019

Deep Undercover by Lenora Worth, July 2019

Seeking the Truth by Terri Reed, August 2019

Trail of Danger by Valerie Hansen, September 2019

Courage Under Fire by Sharon Dunn, October 2019

Sworn to Protect by Shirlee McCoy, November 2019

True Blue K-9 Unit Christmas by Laura Scott and Maggie K. Black, December 2019

Dear Reader,

Here we are again with wonderful K-9s and their capable partners in uniform. Because this series is a work of fiction, we have taken a few liberties with procedure and rules in order to make the complicated plots work. For instance, it is highly unlikely you would find siblings assigned to the same unit. In the case of this book about human trafficking, there would also be a more gritty background. Life on the streets is harder than any of us with warm homes and plenty of food can imagine.

On a lighter note, I ran away from home once. I packed snacks, hopped on my bicycle and pedaled off. Know what happened? I got to the street corner, remembered I was forbidden to cross by myself, and pedaled around the block until my snacks were eaten and I got hungry! My parents never even missed me.

I ran from my heavenly Father too, but he brought me back to Him. Remember, it’s never too late to turn around and pedal home. The door will be open.

I can be reached by email at Val@ValerieHansen.com.

Blessings,

Val

Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.

—Proverbs 22:6

Special thanks to my fellow authors Lynette Eason, Dana Mentink, Laura Scott, Lenora Worth, Terri Reed, Sharon Dunn, Shirlee McCoy and Maggie K. Black, as well as to our editor, Emily Rodmell. This was a wonderful group of women chosen to portray the courage and dedication of NYC officers and K-9s.

It was a true honor.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Introduction

Dear Reader

Bible Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

ONE

Abigail Jones stared at the blackening eastern sky and shivered. She was more afraid of the strangers lingering in the shadows along the Coney Island boardwalk than she was of the summer storm brewing over the Atlantic. Thankfully, the air wasn’t uncomfortably cool. It would be several months before she’d have to start worrying about the street kids in her outreach program during frigid New York weather.

Early September humidity made the salty oceanic atmosphere feel sticky while the wind whipped loose tendrils of Abigail’s long red hair against her freckled cheeks. If sixteen-year-old Kiera Underhill hadn’t insisted where and when their secret rendezvous must take place, Abigail would have stopped to speak with some of the other teens she was passing. Instead, she made a beeline for the spot where their favorite little hot dog wagon spent its days.

Besides the groups of partying youth, she skirted dog walkers, couples strolling hand in hand and an old woman leaning on a cane. There was no sign of Kiera. That was troubling. So was the sight of a tall man and enormous dog ambling toward her. As they passed beneath an overhead vapor light, she recognized his police uniform and breathed a sigh of relief. Most K-9 patrols in her nearby neighborhood used German shepherds, so seeing the long floppy ears and droopy jowls of a bloodhound brought a smile despite her uneasiness.

Pausing, Abigail rested her back against the fence surrounding a currently closed amusement park, faced into the wind and waited for the K-9 cop to go by. His unexpected presence could be what was delaying Kiera. Street kids were wary. Once he and his dog were far enough away, the teenager would probably show herself.

“Come on, Kiera. I came alone, just like you wanted,” Abigail muttered.

Actually calling out to the girl would be futile. Between the whistling wind and small groups of rowdy youth, there was no way she’d be heard. “Too bad I left my bullhorn at home,” she joked, intending to relieve her own tension.

Kiera had sounded panicky when she’d phoned. That was concerning. Ah, but she’s a teenage girl, Abigail reminded herself. They can be real drama queens.

“Here. Over here,” drifted on the wind. Abigail strained to listen. Heard it again. “Over here.”

The summons seemed to be coming from inside the Luna Park perimeter fence. That was not good since the amusement facility was currently closed. Nevertheless, she cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the chain-link fence, trying to make out a human figure among the deep shadows. It was several seconds before she realized the gate was ajar. Uh-oh. Bad sign. “Kiera? Is that you?”

A disembodied voice answered faintly. “Help me! Hurry.”

Abigail’s heart was in her throat. If the teenager was inside the park, she was trespassing. Looking around nervously, Abigail gave the gate a slight push and it swung open on squeaky metal hinges. An icy shiver shot up her spine despite the muggy night. Something was definitely wrong. “Kiera?” Her mouth was cottony, her insides quivering. “It’s Abby. I’m at the gate. You shouldn’t be in there. Come on out.”

As an outreach coordinator for troubled teens, Abigail was basically charged with taking care of those who came into her office. However, her past had been rough enough to compel her to respond to the girl’s summons and venture out tonight. That was one of the reasons she was so successful. She was able to personally identify with the street kids she was trying to aid.

And this one sure sounded as if she was in trouble. “Kiera. Come out.”

“Help me.”

There it was again. A plea that Abigail could not ignore. She’d have to trespass herself in order to set the girl straight about respecting the law.

Checking to make sure the officer and his dog were far enough away to keep from spooking the girl, Abigail sidled through the gate. Although she could have enlisted his aid, she didn’t want to give Kiera the mistaken notion that she had broken her promise and called the police.

Lingering odors of popcorn and other food would have been a lot more pleasant fresh. “Kiera? C’mon, honey. We shouldn’t be in here. Let’s go back to the boardwalk.”

Pausing, Abigail listened. Thunder rumbled. Wind whistled. Paper trash that the cleaning crews had missed tumbled along the ground and began to pile up against the fences and bases of the silent rides.

Abigail couldn’t help feeling edgy. She, who took pains to never break the law, was currently doing so. Yes, she had a good reason, but that didn’t mean it was legal. She looked heavenward briefly and prayed, “Please, Father, show me what to do now?”

A noise to the far left startled her. She froze, straining to listen and peering into the shadows. Lightning flashed. In that instant she did see a person. Two people, to be exact. And they were men. Imposing men. Neither of them looked a bit like the slim young girl she was seeking.

Then, the men stepped apart and a third figure appeared between them. This person did resemble Kiera and seemed to be struggling to break away. Of all the situations Abigail had faced in her troubled past, this was the kind she’d most feared. The scenario that had given her untold nightmares.

Despite being unarmed and alone, she knew she had to do something. What? How could she possibly rescue Kiera, or whoever the smaller person was, without weapons? Fear urged flight. Duty insisted she act. Good sense demanded both.

How long had it been since she’d seen the police officer and his dog? Maybe she could return to the gate and call him back to rescue the captive.

But first, she had to distract the kidnappers, slow them down. Ducking behind a post, she took full advantage of the deep shadows, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Let. Her. Go!” It worked so well she almost cheered. The men froze and stared in the direction of her voice.

As she pivoted to make a dash for the gate, lightning illuminated the area around her like the noon sun. Someone shouted, “There she is! Get her!”

Oh, no! Abigail’s heart leaped. She stumbled and almost went to her knees trying to get a running start. Her pulse was pounding. Her body felt numb, as if it belonged to a stranger.

She gasped, nearly falling a second time. Shouts were getting louder, closer, more menacing.

Almost there!

A gloved hand reached past her and shoved the gate closed, blocking her exit. Someone had a death grip on the back of her lacy vest. She twisted and shed the garment. Her attacker flung it aside and grabbed her arm.

She ducked and wrenched. Pulled and flailed. It was no use.

Finally, she filled her lungs and screamed. High, loud and repeatedly. “Help!”

* * *

Officer Reed Branson’s K-9 partner, Jessie, stopped plodding along with her nose to the boardwalk, lifted her broad head and looked back.

“What is it, girl?” Reed also listened. Whatever his K-9 was hearing was too faint for human ears. Nevertheless, he trusted his partner and reversed their direction. They could try to pick up Snapper’s trail later, assuming the latest supposed sighting of the missing police dog was a valid lead. So far, none of the other tips had turned up the valuable and beloved German shepherd.

Jessie picked up speed, ears flopping, hips swaying beneath rolls of extra hide meant to protect her in battle.

He strained to hear despite the rushing wind and the dog’s panting. His demeanor as he passed small groups of teenagers this time was different enough to scatter them. Adults cast wary glances and shied away, too.

Jessie led him straight to a gate at Luna Park. The chain was unfastened, the padlock hanging open on the wire mesh. He reached for his mic and identified himself, then said, “Ten-thirteen at entrance C, Luna Park. Possible break-in.”

Dispatch answered in his earpiece. “Copy. Ten-thirteen. Requested assistance dispatched. Advise on a ten-fifty-six.”

Good question. Did he need an ambulance as well as police backup? He hoped not. Hot summer nights were notorious for mischief and simmering tempers, whereas cold weather kept many New Yorkers off the boardwalk, particularly when rain was threatening. This night was a mix of both. Unpredictable.

Reed tightened his hold on Jessie’s leash, pushed open the gate and undid the snap on his holster, just in case. The seasoned K-9 was on high alert, stopping to check out a small item of clothing crumpled on the ground. Reed picked it up. It was pristine, not like something that had been discarded when the park was last open. Instinct told him it was time to put Jessie to work. He presented it to her.

She was sniffing, showing eagerness to track, when a muffled noise in the distance put her hackles up and she gave voice as only a bloodhound can. Her mix of a growl, bark and then deep howl carried throughout the park, bouncing off the uneven surfaces to echo back as if a dozen hunting dogs were pursuing fleeing game.

The hardest thing for Reed, as a handler, was convincing the born and bred tracker to be silent. He laid a hand against the side of her muzzle. “Hush, Jessie. Quiet.”

Slurping and drooling, she danced at his feet, mouth only temporarily closing. That was enough. Reed heard it now. A woman’s scream. He grabbed the mic again as he gave Jessie her head and broke into a run. “I’m ten-eighty-nine, foot pursuit, inside Luna Park. I can hear a woman screaming.”

The high-pitched protest continued, then broke off, then started again. Reed lengthened Jessie’s lead but kept a firm hold of her leash so she wouldn’t race into danger alone. She wasn’t trained as an attack or protection dog, meaning she was nearly as vulnerable as whoever was yelling for help.

Except dogs have big teeth, he countered. Judging by the tone and volume of the screams he’d heard, this victim was not only female but likely young.

Suddenly, the night went silent. Jessie slowed, tilted her head to the side and tested the air for odors. Reed strained to listen. Nothing.

He gathered up the extra length of leash and gripped the handful tightly, every sense keen, every muscle taut. His K-9 acted puzzled for a few seconds, then started to strain to the left. Their quarry, or victim, or whatever, was apparently on the move.

Reed presented the vest again, braced himself, commanded, “Seek!” and they were off like a shot.

* * *

Abigail kicked and clawed and threw herself from side to side, trying to break loose as the first man picked her up like a sack of potatoes and jogged through the park to where the other waited. Frantic, she searched the dimness for the smaller person she’d spotted earlier. There was no sign of her or him. That was some relief. Now she could concentrate on her own escape without worrying about collateral damage to anyone else. “Let go! You’re hurting me.”

Her captor set her on her feet, kept hold of her wrist, and focused on his partner. “What happened to the other one?”

The second man snorted. “Almost got away. I was tyin’ her to a post so I could go help you when she ran off. I caught her and locked her in the car trunk.”

“As long as that took you, it’s a good thing I didn’t need any help.” Shoving Abigail forward, he cursed.

The second man huffed wryly. “Hey, you ain’t the boss.”

“Neither are you.”

“Never mind that. What made you think it was a good idea to bring that one back here where she could see my face?”

“Your ugly face, you mean. I had to do something with her, didn’t I? She was watching us when we...”

“Shut your yap. You ain’t got a brain in your pinhead.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Abigail felt a slight lessening of his grip. The more the two thugs concentrated on each other, the less attention they paid to her. It took enormous effort to relax her arm and give the impression she was no longer struggling to break free.

“So, what’re we gonna do?”

“How should I know?”

“What about keepin’ this one? A bird in the hand?”

“Too old. See?” The captor released her arm and started to grab her shoulders, apparently intending to turn her around for his partner’s inspection. Before he could get a fresh grip, Abigail continued her spin, kicked one of the men in the side of his knee and punched the other in the stomach.

Neither blow was serious but together they were enough. Abigail ducked, dodged and sprinted away. Adrenaline gave her speed and made her feel invincible. For a few seconds.

Then they were after her again. Shouting. Cursing at her and at each other. Abigail had barely enough breath to keep going. Her initial burst of speed was waning fast. Where could she hide? How close were they? She didn’t dare look back.

The night became surreal. Surroundings blurred as if she were navigating a nightmare. An impressive antique carousel loomed ahead. Despite knowing the ride was closed, she imagined seeing its wooden horses prance and paw the air. Her brain whirling, her lungs fighting to fill, she made a critical decision.

After vaulting over a low decorative fence, Abigail gained the circular platform with a leap and made a lunge for the closest steed. Her arms closed around its carved nose and she used her momentum to swing past to the second row. The horses grew uniformly smaller as she worked her way toward the center control booth. It had a door she could close. Even if it wouldn’t lock, maybe her pursuers would overlook her in there.

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 detective, 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.”

“Copy. I’m showing you on West Fifteenth Street a little north of Bowery.”

“That’s affirmative. I’m about to head for the hospital to check on the victim, then I’ll be ten-sixty-one. It’s been a long night.”

“Copy that.”

Visions of Abigail’s pale blue eyes and ginger hair remained vivid, not that he was pleased to have noticed. His life was complete. He had the perfect job, a peaceful private life and the best tracking dog in the unit, maybe in the whole state. The K-9s and his fellow officers, which included his sister, Lani, as a rookie, were all the family he needed. Theirs was a dangerous profession. Just look at what had happened to his former boss, Chief Jordan Jameson, six months ago.

The entire NYC K-9 Command Unit was still mourning deeply, as were others. Losing Jameson had been hard to accept, especially for Zack, Carter and Noah Jameson, Jordy’s brothers. The glue of respect and friendship that had held their unit together had been sorely tried after Jameson’s murder and Noah’s interim promotion into his vacated position.

The killer had been clever, even leaving a suicide note, but Jordy’s team of officers hadn’t bought it. Between the four branches of the K-9 Unit—Transit, Emergency Services, Bomb Squad and Narcotics—they had all the expertise they needed to pursue the truth. To help homicide solve the crime, one way or the other. No one in his unit was content to sit back and wait for results from other divisions.

Yet life went on. It was true that New York City never slept. Reed knew what his duty was and did it to the best of his ability. Now and then, however, a puzzle came along that fascinated him enough to seek answers on his own time, such as, what had happened to Abigail Jones tonight.

THREE

“I just want to go home,” Abigail kept telling anyone who entered her hospital room. What was wrong with these people? Why were her wishes being ignored?

The graying patient in the other bed snorted as a harried nurse beat a hasty retreat. “Might as well save your breath, sweetie. You ain’t gettin’ out of here tonight.”

Desperate for someone who would listen, Abigail fought tears of frustration as she said, “I don’t understand why they won’t discharge me. They did a brain scan and the doctor told me there was no damage.”

“I believe he said, ‘No visible damage.’”

“Same thing.”

“Not hardly.” The other woman coughed. “I heard him asking questions. You didn’t have a lot of answers.” Another cough. “You hidin’ from an abusive man or avoidin’ the cops?”

“Of course not!” I’m not my mother.

“Okay, okay, don’t get your jammies in a twist. I was just askin’. What happened to you, anyway?”

Abigail chewed on her lower lip before admitting, “I don’t know. I remember getting ready to leave the office. The next thing I knew it was dark and I was looking up at a stranger.”

“Did he hurt you? If he did, you gotta report it, you know. We can’t clean up these streets if we don’t all do our part.”

“I know,” Abigail said sadly. “I work with homeless teens all the time.”

“So what really happened to you? You can tell me. I won’t breathe a word.”

Frustration took over. Her voice rose, then cracked. “I don’t know! I can’t remember.”

As she took a shaky breath there was a knock at the open door and a man in a dark blue uniform entered the room. No, not a man, the man. She might not recall anything else from her ordeal but she’d never forget Reed Branson. Or his dog.

He smiled, dark eyes twinkling. “Good to see you awake and recovering.”

“Yeah. I’m pretty happy about that, too.” Abigail mirrored his expression. “They tell me there’s no brain damage but they won’t let me go home.”

Approaching her bed, he pulled up a chair and sat. “Do you know where you live?”

“Of course I do. I have an apartment in Brighton Beach.”

He held up his hands, palms out. “Okay, okay. Just asking. What else have you managed to remember since I found you?”

“Not a lot.” Abigail sobered. “I was just telling my new friend here that it’s a blank.”

“I heard part of that before I came in.”

“You were eavesdropping?”

“Not exactly. You’d be surprised how often we overhear a lot more than people are willing to disclose officially. I’m not the enemy, Ms. Jones. We really are sworn to protect and serve.”

Sighing, she nodded at him. “Well, at least you know I’m not holding back. I’d give almost anything to remember what made me walk over to Coney Island at night. I’m usually more cautious. Any big city like ours will rise up and bite you if you’re not careful, I don’t care whether you’re a native or not.” Studying his face, she noticed a small scar on his chin and wondered if he’d gotten that in the line of duty. Rather than spoil his looks it gave him a rugged edge.

“Will you be all right when you do go home? I mean, do you live in a secure building?”

“Why?” She inhaled sharply when she fully grasped his implication. “You don’t think anybody will come after me there, do you?”

“Probably not. I wish I knew more about the guys who were manhandling you tonight, though.”

“So do I.” Mulling over her predicament, she added, “I can only hope I’ll recognize them soon enough to protect myself if I see them again.”

“Tell you what,” Reed said. “I’ll go look your place over on my own time if the department doesn’t send another officer to do it. How’s that sound?”

Abigail frowned at him. “Why are you being so nice to me? You don’t even know me.”

“I’m not real sure,” he admitted with a grin. “Maybe because my being in the right place at exactly the right time to rescue you seems like such an odd coincidence. Plus, I had Jessie with me. She did all the tracking. I just followed her lead. That strikes me as providential, if you get my drift.”

“Why did you say were you down on the boardwalk?”

“Jessie and I were sent to follow up a tip on a missing K-9 that means a lot to the department, to my unit. Snapper is a highly trained German shepherd who used to be the chief’s partner.”

The flash of grief she saw pass over Reed’s face took Abigail by surprise. She could understand missing a dog as if you’d lost a friend, but the officer’s emotions seemed stronger than that. She had to ask. “What happened?”

When Reed swallowed hard and said, “Chief Jordan Jameson was murdered by a person or persons unknown. Snapper was his K-9 and has been missing since,” her stomach knotted. He wasn’t merely looking for a lost dog, he was searching for a cop killer. That made all her troubles pale in comparison.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

Before Abigail could decide what to say next, the handsome K-9 officer got to his feet. “You take care. I’ll get your address off your file, then speak to your super and make sure your apartment is safe before you’re discharged. I promise.”

He wheeled and was gone before she had time to decide to stop him. Pride urged her to object to having her privacy violated but good sense intervened. There was nothing secret in her life, nothing that anyone could hold against her.

Except my childhood, she added. Those records had been expunged but she hadn’t hidden her past when she’d applied for the job at A Fresh Start. If anybody could understand street kids, it was her. Success proved it.

The image of a pretty blonde teen popped into her mind. Kiera Underhill was one of her toughest cases, a girl with a chip on her shoulder the size of Lady Liberty’s torch.

Abigail shivered despite the warm room. Thoughts of Kiera were unduly disturbing for some reason. A sense of foreboding had settled over her like winter fog, yet the harder she tried to access her locked mind, the more blank it became.

She scooted down in the bed and pulled a sheet over her head, blotting out the world the way she had as a little girl.

Irony brought unshed tears. If she was going to forget something traumatic and painful, why couldn’t it be her childhood?

* * *

It had been several days since Reed had visited Abigail in the hospital. Why was he having so much trouble getting the pretty redhead out of his thoughts? They had no actual connection other than their accidental meeting at Luna Park, unless you counted the city’s problem with homeless kids and Abigail’s job assisting them. He’d had more than one difficult encounter with young teens along the boardwalk and in nearby neighborhoods like hers. Many were victims who put on a show of being capable and happy while hiding their true situation. They found safety in numbers, yes, but get one of them alone and you could often glimpse the fear lurking behind a facade of bravado and arrogance.

When he tried to phone Abigail at home and got no answer, he left messages, which she apparently ignored. Checking with her place of employment didn’t help either. She’d been put on medical leave.

Consequently, he decided to visit in person, parked as close as he could, about three blocks west, and walked over with Jessie. Reed let her sniff along the narrow sidewalk because she wasn’t on duty. Street-side trees that had once enhanced the old neighborhood crowded the four-and five-story brick apartment buildings as if in a battle for dominance. Eddies of sand and trash waited against the curbs for city trucks to sweep away.

After reaching Abigail’s building, he found her name on the tenant list and pushed the worn brass intercom button. “Ms. Jones? It’s Reed Branson.” There was no answer, no buzz to unlock the front door. He tried again, speaking more slowly and identifying himself as a K-9 officer. The result was the same.

Not good. Even off-duty he needed to watch his professional image, so he hesitated before randomly pushing other buttons. A tenant leaving solved his problem. Reed grabbed the edge of the exterior door before it could close behind the other man, nodded pleasantly and slipped inside with Jessie.

Reed chose to take the stairs to the third floor rather than chance riding an elevator that was probably older than his grandfather. The halls were swept clean, which was a plus, but the ancient building exuded an aura of age and use. Cooking odors seeped into the hallways, reminding him of the street fairs he’d attended around the city.

His knock on Abigail’s door was not demanding—until he got no response.

He called to her. “Ms. Jones? Abigail? It’s Reed Branson. And Jessie. Are you all right?”

Still no answer. He knocked again. Louder. Called out to her. “Abigail?”

Frustration made him want to force his way in but what if she simply wasn’t home? A quick trip back downstairs and he was knocking at the superintendent’s door.

An apartment dweller across the hall stuck her graying head out of her own apartment and gave him a scathing look. “Hush. You’re spoiling my show. I was about to find out if Reginald really murdered his half brother.”

It took Reed the space of several heartbeats to realize she was referring to the plot of a daytime soap opera. “Sorry. But I can’t get the tenant in 312 to come to the door and I’m worried. Do you know if she’s gone out?”

“Not likely. She would have said. Does she know you?”

“Yes.” Since he was in civilian clothes he flashed his badge wallet. “Officer Reed Branson. I was the one who helped her when she ran into trouble a couple of nights ago.”

“Well, in that case, thank you.” She stepped out. “I’m Olga Petrovski.” A ring of keys jingled in her hand as she locked her door behind her. “That poor girl’s a basket case and nobody seems to care. She’s turning into a worse hermit than she was before. Doesn’t even have a cat for company. Can you imagine?” The woman led the way up the stairs, surprising Reed with her ease of movement in broken-down shoes that looked as if they were about to fall off.

“You have keys? I thought Mr. Rosenbaum was the super.”

“He is. But he’s in Jersey visiting his daughter. When he’s gone, I handle the building.” She squinted at Jessie. “That dog better be house-trained.”

Reed paced her. “She is. Jessie’s a police officer, too, K-9 unit. We’re just not in uniform today.”

They reached Abigail’s door. The woman knocked gently. “Abby, honey. It’s Olga. You need to open up so we can check on you. Please?” Casting a worried look at Reed, she spoke aside. “Like I said, I look after her and she never goes out these days. She has to be in there. You didn’t scare her, did you?”

He shrugged. “Not purposely. She seemed to be doing pretty well when I saw her in the hospital right after the incident but she’s not returning my calls.” Glancing at the woman’s fisted hand he said, “I think you should use your key.”

She did. The door swung open slowly. “We’re coming in, dear. It’s Olga and...”

“Officer Reed Branson,” he called. “I brought K-9 Jessie, too. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

Still there was no reply, no sign of the apartment’s occupant. Heavy drapes were pulled, shutting out most of the available daylight. The odor of pizza or something equally spicy lingered, although he couldn’t spot takeout containers. Abigail Jones’s home was spotless yet unwelcoming. She had created her own dungeon and locked herself away in it.

Reed unclipped Jessie’s leash and quietly ordered, “Seek.”

Seeming to sense the need for finesse, Jessie didn’t give voice to her quest. She merely snuffled along the carpet, clearly on the trail of something or someone. Reed came next, followed by the acting super.

The K-9 entered a bedroom and circled the bed, then barked once at a closet door. Reed moved in. “Abigail? Ms. Jones? It’s the police. Your friend Olga from downstairs is here, too. She let us in.”

He eased open the door.

* * *

Abigail pulled her knees closer. Instinct warred with the part of her mind that knew there was no real danger. She wanted to stand up and act more normal, but some inner power refused to let her move.

A clicking pattern on the bare floor jarred her. She heard heavy breathing and her heart stopped for a moment before she realized the noise was a dog’s panting. A broad wet nose poked through a crack in the door. The bloodhound!

Jessie panted against Abigail’s cheek, then slurped her ear with a tongue wide enough to cover it. That was enough stimulus to snap her out of her fugue.

She focused first on the affectionate hound and rubbed her droopy, velvety ears, then forced herself to look up at Reed and Olga. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Reed said.

Olga followed with, “Are you all right, hon?”

The ridiculousness of her location triggered Abigail’s wry wit despite feelings of unease and embarrassment. “Fine and dandy. I always sit on the floor of my closet. Doesn’t everybody?” When Reed offered his hand, she took it and let him pull her to her feet. “In other words, no.”

“I get that,” he said. “How about coming out here with us? I’d like to have a talk.”

Abigail managed to overcome lingering reluctance by keeping one hand atop the dog’s broad head. “I’m sorry I caused worry. It’s just... I don’t know. For some reason I couldn’t make myself come to the door when you buzzed and then knocked.”

“How about my phone calls? I left messages. Did you get those?”

“I—I must have. I probably didn’t recognize your number and I didn’t listen to anybody who had a deep voice.”

“I’ll go make some coffee,” Olga offered. “You two have a seat and visit.”

Abby chose the sofa, relieved as the police officer took an easy chair. Even in jeans and a polo shirt instead of his uniform, he had the bearing of someone in command. Someone to trust and lean on in times of trouble. Beyond the fact that she found him handsome, there was an unexplainable attraction. That, she attributed to his heroic actions. Why wouldn’t she admire somebody who had rescued her the way this K-9 cop had?

To her delight, Jessie jumped onto the couch and plopped her enormous head in Abigail’s lap. It was a relief to rhythmically stroke the tan fur. “I think she likes me.”

“No doubt. Are you feeling better now?”

“Yes. Thanks. I don’t know what came over me.”

Reed sobered. “Have you seen a doctor since you left the hospital? It’s normal to be uptight after a traumatic event, but it’s troubling to see you so fearful. I think you should seek professional help.”

Her hand stilled. “You think I’m crazy?”

“No, no.” Reed leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees. “What I’m trying to say is that sometimes we need to talk it all out, to try to make sense of whatever has happened to us. Posttraumatic stress can hit anybody. Surely you’ve seen it in some of the homeless kids you work with.”

She nodded.

“Then you know it’s not a sign of weakness, Ms. Jones, it’s a manifestation of your mind’s self-defense mechanism. We all get scared sometimes. It’s when we get stuck in that emotional state that it becomes a problem.”

Abigail’s fingers slipped under Jessie’s collar and she wiggled them. Pure bliss filled the dog’s soulful brown eyes and she actually sighed in contentment. Searching for a smidgen of similar peace, Abigail asked, “So why don’t I remember my attackers?”

“Short-term amnesia, I assume. A health care professional can tell you more.”

“No way. I can’t afford to be judged mentally unstable. It might cost me my job. I won’t abandon those kids. It’s bad enough that I’ve stayed home as long as I have.”

“Surely no one holds that against you.”

Abigail huffed. “I do. I haven’t been able to push myself to set foot out of this apartment all weekend.”

“The trip home from the hospital went all right?”

“Yes, but I thought...”

He leaned closer. “What? You thought what?”

“You’re going to think I really have lost my mind. I thought I heard the voice of one of my attackers on my way home in a taxi.”

“The driver?”

“No, no. Passing on the sidewalk. A man yelled and he sounded so menacing I almost jumped out and ran.”

“Where was this? What street?”

“I’m not sure. I covered my eyes.”

“I can take you over the same basic route, if you want. Maybe he lives or works around there.”

She was so astounded by his suggestion, she was temporarily speechless. Finding her voice, she finally said, “Do you think I want to find him? No way. If I never run into him again it will be too soon.”

Even as she was speaking, Abigail somehow knew a repeat encounter was possible. It didn’t matter how big the city was or how carefully she moved through it, she could meet her attacker again. And until her memory recovered, she was a sitting duck for any evil he had planned. If only she could remember more. Put faces and descriptions together and help the police.

But those memories were all gone, sunken into an abyss of her own making and leaving her a prisoner in a cell with invisible bars.

FOUR

Watching Abigail unwind while petting Jessie gave Reed an idea. If she continued to refuse to see a doctor about her mental hiccup, perhaps he could help her another way.

“Jessie sure took to you. You must be a dog lover, too.”

He noted a flush of her cheeks. “I don’t really know. I mean, I’ve fed strays before but I’ve never had a pet of my own.”

“Not even when you were a kid?”

The warmth he’d sensed was swept away by a scowl and a shake of her head. “Sometimes I wonder if I was ever a child.”

Concerned, he regarded her soberly. “You’re serious.”

“Very.”

“Care to explain?”

“Not really.”

Although Abigail rested her hand atop Jessie’s head, Reed noticed that she had ceased stroking. The friendly bloodhound did her best to encourage further attention, finally rolling onto her back, all four paws in the air, tail thumping the sofa cushions.

Reed waited for Jessie’s antics to relax Abigail again before he mentioned his idea. “Since you’re so naturally good with dogs, how about volunteering to foster one of our extra pups.”

She scowled at him. “Do what?”

“We received an amazing working dog as a gift from the Czech Republic. Unfortunately, there must have been a miscommunication because Stella delivered a litter soon after she arrived.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Abigail looked so astonished he decided to play up the underdog, literally.

“After her pups were weaned and tested for various abilities, most of them qualified for our training program and are being fostered.” Reed paused for effect. “One little female is right on the cusp of flunking out and we’d like to find her a new foster home to see if lots more one-on-one attention helps. I’m not asking you to commit to giving her a permanent home but it will help her develop to her full potential if she’s well socialized and loved while she’s young.”

Abigail was shaking her head. “I have enough problems without adding a puppy.”

“You wouldn’t have to keep her. Just get her off to a good start.”

“Me? I can hardly handle my own life these days and you want to add an impressionable youngster to it?”

Shrugging, Reed blew out a breath that was so evident it even caught Jessie’s attention. “I just figured, since you were so good at rescuing needy kids, you might be willing to do the same for an innocent animal.”

Judging by the way Abigail was looking at him, Reed could tell she wasn’t totally buying his analogy. “It’s true. All of it,” he insisted. He pulled out his phone and paged through the photo files, smiling and holding it out for her to view once he located the shot he wanted. “This is Midnight. Look at those sad eyes. How can you refuse to help her?”

The instant Abigail saw the picture, her whole body reacted and she pouted. “Oh, poor thing. She looks so lonely all by herself.”

Reed let her take his phone so she could study Midnight in detail. She may have told him no but her body language said otherwise. All he had to do was be patient.

“What a sweet face. And those floppy ears. Will they stand up like a German shepherd’s when she’s older?”

“No. We did genetic testing on the litter. They’re purebred Labs like their mama. The only difference is, Stella’s coat is yellow. That’s going to be another problem in placing Midnight if she doesn’t make it through our program. Black dogs are statistically the last to be chosen at the pound.”

“You’re not sending this poor baby to the dog pound!”

“Well, I hope not, but...”

It was all Reed could do to keep from grinning. When her eyes met his he could tell she realized he’d been leading her on.

Abigail began to smile and slowly shook her head. “You’re good. I could use somebody with a smooth technique like yours at work. You could charm those wild kids into shape in no time.”

His grin escaped with a quiet chuckle. “Does this mean you’ll take the pup?”

“No.” She handed his phone back to him. “But I will agree to meet her, no guarantees. You could fill a book with all the things I don’t know about raising a dog.”

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you.” He stood before she could change her mind and called out to Olga. “I’ll take a rain check on the coffee, ma’am.”

“You’re leaving?” the older woman asked, peeking around the corner from the kitchen.

“Not for long. I’ll be back ASAP. I promise.”

Already thinking ahead, Reed signaled to Jessie, clipped her leash to her collar and headed for the door with a brief wave goodbye. His intention was to leave before Abigail thought it through and had time to change her mind. Once she met Midnight he was pretty sure she’d fall in love.

With the dog, he added to himself when a stray thought intruded to remind him how attractive the young woman was.

Reed shook off any whispers of impropriety. He had not come there looking for romance. He’d sought out Abigail because of a sense of duty. When he’d rescued her he’d stepped into her life enough to care, which was not necessarily a wise reaction. Nevertheless, he was determined to do what he could to help. This was a win-win situation. A needy pup would help Abigail heal as well as benefit the less than stellar young dog.

He jogged down the stairs with Jessie at his side. Midnight might still blossom in the right foster home even though she’d done poorly so far. As long as he stuck around long enough to get Abigail and the pup off to a good start there was a chance of redemption. He could already see her taking Midnight to work with her when she was ready to go back. A loving puppy would help reach the street kids, too, and perhaps show aptitude as a future service dog. They needed the nonjudgmental acceptance K-9s provided.

Together, Reed and Jessie broke out into the sunshine and headed for his SUV. There was a spring in the dog’s gait and she almost looked as if she was smiling.

Reed empathized. He was pretty happy, too. If the narrow sidewalk hadn’t been so crowded he might have jogged back to his vehicle instead of settling for a brisk walking pace.

Suddenly, Jessie gave a tug on the leash that jarred Reed out of his reverie. He paused. Looked behind him. Heard the bloodhound growl and saw the hackles on her back bristle.

“What is it, girl?”

Jessie never took her eyes off the people who had just passed. Reed scanned the group. There were too many for him to pick out which one had excited his K-9.

Given the probability that someone nearby was carrying drugs, he wasn’t too surprised. Even though Jessie wasn’t trained to sniff out illegal substances, she had smelled them often enough on subjects she had tracked.

But that didn’t mean he was on board with the uneasy feelings Jessie’s behavior was bringing out. The sooner he picked up Midnight and returned to Abigail Jones’s apartment, the better. For everybody.

* * *

As far as Abigail was concerned, Olga’s presence was a plus. She would never have asked her friend to keep her company, but since she was already there, she hoped she’d stay.

The older woman emerged from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs. “That one has a lot of nerve.”

“He promised he’d be back.”

“I hope he’s happy. He made me miss my soap.”

“We can watch it here,” Abigail offered, blowing on the hot coffee before chancing a sip. “My cable box lets me run programs back to the beginning. You won’t miss a thing.” She reached for the remote. “What channel?”

“You want I should stay? I don’t want to bother you.”

“Yes, please. It’s no bother. I—I don’t like being alone all the time.”

“So get yourself a fella,” Olga said, taking the remote from her and quickly locating the correct TV channel. “Girl like you shouldn’t have any trouble attracting a decent man.” She smiled. “What about the one that just left?”

A shiver raced up Abigail’s spine and prickled the nape of her neck. “I’ve seen enough bad relationships to stay away from all of them.” She blushed. “I’m not letting any guy move in on me the way...”

“The way what?” Olga asked.

Abigail lowered her gaze. “The way my mother used to. That was almost as bad as her insisting I call every one of them Daddy.” Embarrassed beyond words, she wished she hadn’t spoken so bluntly. So truthfully. Yet now that she’d started to bare her soul she yearned to go on.

“What about your real papa?”

“I don’t even remember what he looked like. My mother got mad at him once when I was little and destroyed every picture. I have nothing to remember him by.”

“Did you ask her? Maybe she kept some for herself.”

Shaking her head, Abigail took another sip before continuing. “I haven’t seen Mama since I was sixteen. I have no idea where she even lives.”

Olga began patting her free hand. “All right. I’ll stay.” She lifted her own mug as if in a toast to the soap opera. “Now we watch my show. I know some people say I’m foolish to want to see what happens, but you can learn a lot about life this way.”

“I wish my life was as easy to understand,” Abigail said softly. “I thought I was on the right track, helping homeless teens and doing good for society. Now I wonder.”

“Nobody ever said doing the right thing was easy. That doesn’t mean it isn’t still right.” Olga paused until the drama switched to a commercial, then said, “You keep the dog your friend is going to bring you, Mr. Rosenbaum will probably raise your rent.”

Abigail hadn’t thought of that but it fit with the way her days had been going lately. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. She had just about decided to tell Reed to take Midnight back where she came from when Olga added, “Of course, there’s nothing like a big dog barking to scare off thugs.” She chuckled. “Might not be such a bad idea after all.”

* * *

Three flights of stairs and a frightened, gangly puppy were a bad combination, Reed mused, breathing hard as he carried wiggly, floppy, excited Midnight up to Abigail’s. Before he had time to put his furry burden down, Jessie barked. The door was jerked open.

He set the pup on its big feet and smiled as he straightened. The look of astonishment on Abigail’s face added to his amusement.

Eyes wide, she snapped her jaw closed and pointed. “That’s a puppy?”

“Uh-huh. She’s about five months old. They grow pretty fast at first.”

“Yeah.” Remaining in the doorway, Abigail held her hands apart to demonstrate something about the size of a domestic cat. “I was expecting, you know, a puppy. Little? Fluffy? Cuddly on my lap?”

“Midnight will cuddle you. Give her a chance.”

Although she did step back, Reed could tell she was anything but sold on his idea even before she said, “All right. Come on in. But this is not going to work.”

Jessie was first through the door and already on the couch by the time Reed was able to coax Midnight inside. Instead of compliantly trotting along on the end of the leash as she had at the training center and coming up the sidewalk from his SUV, she threw herself down, splayed out on her belly, and was sliding across the wood floor, inch by inch, while he tugged and cajoled. Astonishing! If she’d been trained to resist he’d have understood, but this was a puppy who was supposed to be leash-trained.

Abigail began to laugh. “Well, that’s good if I need my floor dusted. What other tricks does she do?”

“She’s pretty good at eating,” Reed joked, knowing he was blushing. “I promise you, she was behaving perfectly when I picked her up at the kennel and put the harness on her. This is very unusual. Working dogs need to be confident and unafraid.”

“Maybe she senses my moodiness,” Abigail offered. “Don’t judge her by one incident. I’m sure she’ll be fine once you take her back to where you got her.”

“Mind if I catch my breath first? She wasn’t crazy about climbing stairs, either.”

Laughing, Abigail said, “What? A big, strong guy like you can’t carry a puppy up three flights without getting winded? Does your chief know how out-of-shape you are?”

Reed started to argue, then realized she was teasing. “She was hard to hang on to,” he said. “I almost dropped her a couple of times until I figured out she liked her front legs draped over my shoulder.”

Abigail laughed again. “Can I get you a cup of coffee now, or would you rather have a sports drink?”

“Plain water’s fine, thanks.”

Eyeing Jessie and realizing the bloodhound wanted to follow Abigail, Reed unsnapped the pup’s leash and gave Jessie a release command.

Off they went in Abigail’s footsteps, one after the other, as if they were both tracking. Curiosity moved him to continue watching. He circled an easy chair and walked softly across the hardwood floor toward the kitchen.

What he observed was a Rockwell picture of Americana. Abigail was standing with her back to the refrigerator door, a bottle of cold water in each hand. The dogs were sitting politely at her feet, tails sweeping arcs on the floor, and acting as if their favorite human was about to serve the tastiest treats they’d ever eaten.

He waited to see what would happen. He wasn’t disappointed. She began to speak to the dogs as though they were hers.

“What do you girls want, huh? A drink of water? I can probably manage that, but I’d better ask the officer first.”

Jessie stayed in place. Midnight, excited by the kind tone of voice, wiggled and circled at Abigail’s feet. Then she glanced over at her canine buddy and managed to resume a seated position without quivering too badly. The pup was smart, all right. She’d learned to beg after one impromptu lesson.

Waiting to see what happened next, Reed was startled by the loud ringing of a cell phone. He watched Abigail pale as she set the water bottles aside, reached for her phone and looked at the number. It must have been familiar because she quickly answered.

“Hello?”

Whatever the caller said caused her to lean against the counter. Was she shaking? Perhaps it was bad news and she needed moral support. Convinced he was right, Reed joined her and the dogs.

“I—I can’t. I’m not ready,” Abigail said, listening to the caller’s reply before she added, “Are you sure?”

Apparently the answer was affirmative because her tight grip on the phone began to whiten her knuckles. He gently cupped her elbow and mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

Distracted, she lowered the phone. Her eyes were wide and moist, her lower lip quivering slightly. “It’s one of my kids. A girl I’ve been working with for several months. She insists she has to talk to me in person.”

“Where?” Reed asked.

“She’s at the AFS office where I work. That stands for A Fresh Start. It’s only about six blocks away, right here in Brighton Beach. I usually walk, it’s just that...”

“I understand. How about if we go with you?”

“You’d do that? Really?”

“Of course.”

Abigail lifted the phone to her ear again and agreed to the rendezvous. “All right. I’ll manage. Tell her to meet me there in thirty minutes.”

Her blue eyes were still wide and misty when she ended the call and looked at Reed. “I hope that’s enough time.”

“It will be if we drive instead of dragging this pup on a leash. I’d like to see her relate to teens.”

“Some of them are very troubled,” Abigail told him.

“All the better for temperament testing.”

“Right.”

He saw Abigail standing very still and eyeing a purse that sat at the end of the kitchen counter. Clearly, she was far from over the trauma of nearly being abducted.

“Tell you what,” Reed said, keeping his voice light and pleasant, “I’ll go get my car and come pick you up. How does that sound?”

The smile she gave him showed great relief. “Sounds good. That way we won’t have to drag Midnight and get her all dirty from the sidewalks.”

He matched her smile with a wider grin. “I’ll leave them both with you so Jessie can help influence the pup.” After snapping short leashes on his K-9’s collar and Midnight’s harness, Reed handed the opposite ends to her. “You’re in charge.”

“Hey! Wait. I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s easy. You just stand where you are or sit back down on the couch. They’ll follow you.”

“Like this puppy followed you up the stairs, you mean?”

Reed chuckled. His ploy had worked. Abigail was concentrating on handling the dogs instead of dwelling on her pending trip outside. Anything he could do to relieve her angst was a plus. It was likely that her healing would depend upon taking baby steps, such as initially venturing out with him as her companion and the dogs for distraction. She was certainly acting less afraid than she had when she’d first taken the phone call.

He gave Jessie the hand signal to stay, turned, and was almost to her door before Abigail called, “Hurry back.”

That sounded so much better than the state in which he’d found her when he’d first visited, he was thrilled. The sooner she got over her fright and regained her memory of the incident at the carousel, the sooner the NYPD would be able to locate and arrest her assailants. At least, he hoped so. No matter how much he enjoyed the young woman’s company, he was going to have to back off soon. His official duties didn’t allow for much of a social life, not to mention the inadvisability of spending free time with the victim of a crime.

Jogging along the narrow sidewalk and dodging pedestrians, Reed realized he felt the absence of his K-9 partner. Jessie was so much a part of him, on and off duty, it was as if a critical element was missing. He could count times like this when he’d left her behind on the fingers of one hand.

The faster he moved the stronger his sense of foreboding grew. He had to get back to Abigail—and to Jessie—as fast as possible.

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