Justice For Abby (15 page)

She didn’t answer.

He knocked again. “I’m coming in.”

Silence.

He pushed open the door, stepping in, staring at Abby’s back as she sat at the desk he’d dragged in from the other room, listening to staticky Top 40 hits playing from the small AM/FM radio with tinfoil on its antennae. She was the picture of serenity, except for the frantic strokes of her pencil on paper. “Abigail.”

“This isn’t a good time,” she said quietly. “I’m busy.”

He walked closer, standing over her, watching the dark lines turn into a long skirt and some sort of fancy shirt. Her ability to make the difficult appear simple always fascinated him. “I think we should talk about…downstairs.”

“I don’t.”

They were going to anyway. “The whole thing was a mistake. That wasn’t what it looked like.”

“It looked like your lips were pressed against Shelby’s, kind of the way they were pressed against mine last night.”

He puffed out a breath. “Yeah.” He crouched down at her side, hoping she would look at him. “Shelby’s having a hard time accepting that we’re through.”

“I can only imagine.” She picked up a dark brown colored pencil, adding a belt to her sketch. “Mixed signals are usually confusing.”

He ran his tongue along his teeth. Abby’s cool indifference slapped at him more effectively than Shelby’s rants ever could. “There are no mixed signals where Shelby’s concerned.” He touched her hand. “There are no mixed signals, Abigail.”

She pulled away. “I’m not sure I agree.”

“Abby—” He clenched his jaw. “Will you look at me?”

She stopped drawing and met his gaze with unreadable eyes.

“Shelby and I are over.”

“I’m don’t know why you’re telling me this.”

“Because last night…” He stopped himself before he told her that he’d ached for her, craving her as he lay in his own bed. “Because I want to be sure you understand.”

“I understand everything just fine.”

He narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher what that meant. “Abby, last night in the kitchen,” he tried again. “You and me… My job… I got caught up.” He scratched at his jaw as he fumbled. “I can’t have a relationship.”

She leaned in closer, dropping her voice. “This is pretty personal stuff. Close Protection Agents probably shouldn’t discuss such private information with their principals.”

Jackson warned him long ago that she had a spicy streak. “Damn it, Abigail.”

She sat up straight, replacing the dark brown pencil with tan. “I really need to get back to work. We both have a job to do. You go ahead and be the bodyguard, and I’ll be the sex-trafficked fashion designer in need of your services.”

He snagged her wrist, holding firmly, preventing the next stroke to her paper. “I’m sorry.”

“Apologies aren’t necessary.” She tugged out of his hold, her eyes heating for the first time. “Go away, Jerrod. We have nothing more to say.”

He stood as she began adding depth to her creation, leaving as she’d asked, when he wanted nothing more than to stay.

Shelby stormed into her office, slamming the door,
throwing her purse to her desk as she took her seat. “Damn it!” Her breath rushed in and out as she stared at the pile of paperwork littering her blotter and shoved the messy stacks to the floor. “
Damn
it!” Today was not going the way she’d planned. Her trip to the Quinn farm was supposed to have turned out entirely different. Jerrod was supposed to have accepted her dinner invitation instead of turning her down; he was supposed to have kissed her back instead of freaking the hell out when he realized
Abigail
saw the whole thing.

She collapsed back in her chair with a huff. Why couldn’t she make Jerrod see that they belonged together? What did she have to do to make him
love
her? She wanted him and planned to have him, but he was too distracted by the blue-eyed city girl with her silky black hair and ultra trendy clothes. She chucked a pen across the room, ignoring the stirrings of envy.

What did he
see
in the little twit anyway? She was short and too damn perky. She’d watched Abigail grin and laugh on her way back from the hen house, spinning around like she was freaking Liesl Von Trapp from the
Sound of Music
. Huffing out another breath, Shelby stared at her wall of accolades, trying to think past her crushing disappointment. Why the hell did he bring the fashion plate to flipping Parker, Nebraska? He hated it here. If he wanted time away from the office with his luscious little package why didn’t he whisk her off to Tahiti or Aruba—anywhere but here… unless the situation was something else entirely, as she’d suspected all along.

She sat up with a start, flipping open her laptop, typing
Ethan Cooke Security, Los Angeles
into her search engine. Within seconds she searched the site, studying the picture of Jerrod among several hot, muscled men all duded up in black shirts, looking broody and intimidating for the camera. Interesting but not what she wanted. She clicked again, perusing credentials, contact information, so on and so forth, then she tried
Images
, hoping for random shots of the office staff. Instead pictures of the occasional movie star with one of Ethan Cooke’s guards popped up, along with more group shots.

She navigated back to the contact page and picked up her phone, dialing the number given.

“Good afternoon, Ethan Cooke Security, this is Amber. How can I help you?”

“Yes, good afternoon. Can I speak with Abigail please?”

“Abigail?”

“Yes, Abby.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know an Abby, ma’am.”

“I think I must have the wrong number. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.”

Shelby disconnected, her eyes narrowing as she smiled. “Gottcha.” Abigail didn’t work for Ethan Cooke Security, so who the hell was she? And what the hell was her last name?

Her cell phone rang, interrupting her thoughts as she glanced at the readout. Timmy. The Chief of Police would have to wait. She was busy. She pushed her phone aside and wiggled in her seat, getting comfortable as her fingers flew over the keys. It was time to piece together the story behind Jerrod’s mysterious Abigail.

~~~~

Margret clenched her teeth, biting back her whimpers as Aleksey’s fingers dug into her bicep. She quickened her pace as they walked down the long hall, hoping he might let up on the pressure if she stayed by his side. She glanced in the empty old rooms of the abandoned hospital, shuddering as Aleksey yanked her along. This place was way scarier than the filthy strip clubs and stinky stash houses she’d been bounced around in since the raids in July. Surely it was haunted or something. For the first time since her kidnapping she wished to be in a brothel.

“Let’s go!” He gripped her tighter, pulling her faster passed the endless rooms, opening the last creaky door on the left. “In.” He shoved her into the dingy space, and she careened forward, slipping, catching herself before her knees connected with the scarred, cracked tiles.

Brushing off her stinging hands, she righted herself, her eyes going wide as she focused on Dimitri standing in the center of the room, smoking his cigarette. He flashed her his cruel smile, and her heart froze.

“Ah, Little Mouse, have you missed me?”

She swallowed as fear clogged her throat, glancing around, looking for some place to hide or a way to escape. He was evil. He always hurt her when he raped her.

“You look different, Little Mouse.”

Her shoulders tensed as he tossed his cigarette to the floor and walked toward her, looking at her through narrowed eyes.

“Your hair is thin and dull.” He slid his spidery fingers along the arms of her t-shirt, brushing her skin, making her cringe.

“You are too skinny now.” He clucked his tongue, pulling on the waist of her ill-fitting jean skirt. “This life is getting to you.” He squeezed her jaw with painful pressure and kissed her cheeks, as if they were long-lost friends. “It gets to all of you eventually.” He moved his face closer to hers. “The drugs make this better. Do you like to take them?”

Her heart quickened as she stared at him, wondering whether or not she should answer.

He pinched her chin. “I asked you if you like to take the drugs?”

“No,” she whispered. She’d promised Abby she wouldn’t touch the pills and whatever else they liked to push on them. She couldn’t get away if her mind wasn’t clear.

“Why not I wonder?”

She jerked a bony shoulder.

Luka burst through the doorway, carrying a large bag of fast food. The scent of greasy fries and grilled meat immediately filled the room, making her mouth water and stomach growl. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything more than the stale peanuts and pretzels she pilfered from the bowls at the bars.

“I hear your stomach talking, Little Mouse. Do you want to have a meal?”

“Yes,” she answered, careful to keep her voice steady and level. If he knew she wanted that burger more than her next breath, she wouldn’t get it.

“Well, come on.” He gestured to the card table in the corner. “Let’s have some of this delicious food.”

She hesitated, then followed, trying to figure his angle.

“Go ahead. Take a burger. Enjoy.”

She reached in the bag, grabbing the warm wrapper, salivating like a dog. Hurrying, she unfolded the paper, taking a huge bite, fearful they would rip it away before she had a taste. Biting in again with an over-full mouth, she savored the globs of mayo and ketchup, the salty pickle and pungent onion, melding with charbroiled meat. Heaven.

“Do you like it?”

She nodded, ready for another sample as Dimitri slapped her arm, knocking the sandwich to the table. She glanced from him to the burger, tempted to reach for it despite the consequences.

“Would you like to finish and have fries too?”

She nodded again, her sheer desperation for food making her careless.

“What will you do for the rest of your meal?”

The delicious flavors soured on her tongue as she met Dimitri’s eyes.

“Take a seat, Little Mouse. I don’t want to fuck you right now; later, but not now.”

She stared at the chair.

“Sit.” He shoved her to the folding chair and took a carton of fries from the bag, setting them in front of her. “Eat.”

“No thank you.”

“
Eat
.”

She picked up a soggy, cooling potato and put it in her mouth, then another and another, relishing the starchy taste, hating that fried food could sink her so low.

“While you eat you can tell me what you know about The Bitch.”

She stopped chewing, darting him a glance, and looked at the table, knowing that The Bitch was Abby.

“What do you know about her?”

She gripped her hands together in her lap, unsure of what to say.

“What do you
know
?” he shouted, making her jump.

“I—I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

He yanked her face close to his. “The Bitch. Fawn. Abigail. You know who I mean.”

“I don’t remember her,” she lied. She thought of Abby everyday, holding on to the comforting memories of her hugs and pretty smiles and the promise that she would find a way to set her free.

Dimitri’s huge hand plowed into her face.

She cried out in pain, pressing her fingers to her split lip, whimpering as blood trickled into her mouth.

“Do you remember now?”

She shook her head. “No.”

He took aim again, knocking the chair backwards with the force of his fist to her cheekbone.

She screamed as her head hit the unforgiving floor, and she moved her bloodied palm from her tender mouth to her throbbing cheek.

“Get her up!” Dimitri yelled, pounding his hand on the table.

Aleksey rushed forward, yanking her to her feet.

The room spun in dizzying circles. Dimitri’s face blurred in front of her as she fought to keep her balance.

“Sit and tell me or I will make the pain intolerable.”

The pain was bad enough, but she was certain he could make it worse.

Aleksey shoved her back in the chair.

“Where
is
she?”

“I don’t know,” she sniffled, forming her words carefully, trying to minimize the discomfort to her lip. “I’m not sure where she is.”

“What did she tell you all those times she took you into her room?”

Abby had taken care of her, risking punishment by sneaking extra peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from the kitchen. Abby had entertained her, telling her stories of college and walking the runways, of the exciting career she would have when they finally got away. Not once had Abby ever let her believe that she wouldn’t go home. Somewhere deep down, she still held out hope. “That she wanted to go home.”

“Home to where?”

“To Maryland.” She hated sharing any part of Abby with him; she hoped Abby would understand.

“She is not there. Where else would she go?”

Abby’s career would take her to Los Angeles, but she would die before she told him so. “She never said anything else. She always said she wanted to go home to Maryland. That’s all.”

Dimitri made a grumble in his throat as his eyes turned fierce. “You lie!” He brought his elbow down on the back of her hand resting on the table, cracking something, making her moan in agony. “You lie, little cunt!” He pushed her off her chair as she cradled her swelling fingers, crying, wishing Abby were here to hold her close and sing songs next to her ear the way she used to when the girls were being beaten and raped in the next room.

“Stand up!”

She stayed where she was, in too much pain to do as Dimitri demanded.

“Stand up!” He dragged her up by her hair, pummeling his fist into her stomach, sending her sprawling as she coughed, gasping for her breath. “You want to lie to me? You want to keep her secrets while she leaves you behind to live her life?” He kicked her in the ribs, causing her to jerk with the radiating ache. “Now I will fuck you, bitch. Now you will pay.” He pulled his pants down and got to his knees, tossing her to her back, yanking her skirt up, slamming himself into her.

She closed her eyes, blocking out his cruel, agonizing thrusts, letting her mind float as she always did when Dimitri or any of the others used her.

“
You’ll come visit me in LA. We’ll go shopping, and you can be my special guest at the Lily Brand Fashion Shows.”
Abby wiggled her brows, making Margret smile after she’d been crying, missing her mother.

Margret flashed to another moment when Abby forced her to dance and sing quietly until they both collapsed to the bed, laughing, despite the life they lived
.
And to the one and only time she saw Abby sob in despair
. “I’m so sorry, Margret. I’m so sorry I had to send you to that man. I tried to go instead, but Renzo wouldn’t let me. I tried,” she repeated, and for once Margret got to be the comforter instead of the other way around as she hugged the woman who had become her big sister. “I know, Abby. I know. Tell me about the fashion shows. Tell me about the dresses you’ll make me when we’re free.” Abby’s crying quieted to jerky inhales and exhales as they huddled together in the corner of the room. I’ll make you something strapless. Probably blue to play up your eyes. We’ll do an A-line to accentuate your tiny waist…

Dimitri finished himself off with a sickening laugh and pulled her up to sitting, her ribs screaming, her head throbbing, forcing her back to reality. “I will give you one more chance to tell me what you know, Mouse. What do you know about Abigail Harris?”

“I—I don’t know anything.” Her lips trembled as tears ran down her cheeks.

He glared, grabbing her hair, shoving her back to the broken tiles as he shouted something in Russian, slamming her skull against the floor.

She tried to protect her head but it was no use. He was too strong. He rapped her head again, and she saw stars. He punched her face relentlessly, until she no longer fought to shield herself from each unbearable blow.

Dimitri’s hollering faded and the pain vanished as she thought of Abby’s big blue eyes.

“I’m going to take you away from this, Margret. I don’t know when or how, but I’m going to free us both. Promise me you believe me. Promise me you’ll never give up hope that I’m going to take you home.”

Abby’s gentle words and sweet smile filled her mind as Dimitri’s cruel hands stole her last breath.