“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