Justice For Abby (31 page)

The man stopped, opening a door, the hinges squeaking with a wretched, rusty protest. “You will wait here.” He grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her from his shoulder, letting her fall.

She landed with a bone-jarring thud, crying out as rocks bit into her hands and ripped at her jeans. The door squeaked again, slamming closed, and she immediately pulled off the hood, blinking in the dim light shining through the edges of the boarded-up windows high above her head.

Something scurried behind her, and she rushed to her feet, grimacing from the throbbing pain in her knees. She looked around at the chunks of concrete and graffiti in the filthy space, spotting a rusty chair in the rays of sunshine. She walked to it, giving the dingy metal a testing wiggle, and stopped dead, gasping as she noticed the cracks in the glass of the pretty watch. “No. Oh, god, no.” Her heart thudded in her chest as she pulled the piece closer, examining the second hand, which stayed frozen in the center of the clock face. “Please work.
Please
.” She slid a shaky hand through her hair and paced, caught in the clutching grips of outright panic.

When did it break? How would Jerrod find her? How would she go home? Frantic, she rushed closer to the filthy, broken windows, noting the rusted bars. She hurried to the solid door, pulling at the deteriorated knob, falling back as the piece gave way but the door held firm. “No. No. This isn’t happening.”

She spotted the old table by the wall, pushing it toward the grouping of windows, and climbed on, jumping, gauging the distance to her only chance at escape. They were too high.

Tears rained down her cheeks as she collapsed, sitting, sobbing away the worst of her terror.
Don’t give up on me.
Jerrod’s words echoed through her head as she attempted to shore herself up, trying to stay positive, but as she looked around at her no-win situation, she quickly lost hope.

Twenty-five agonizing minutes later, Jerrod hustled up
the subway steps two blocks east of the Riverside Apartments. The train ride had stretched on endlessly while he made his way to the Upper West Side, sick with helpless worry, praying desperately that somehow he was going to find Abby before it was too late. He jogged west, each step pure misery as the impact echoed in his throbbing head.

Grabbing his phone, he weaved his way through the crowds clogging the sidewalks, dialing Shane’s number. He’d wrestled with the risks of calling his old roommate, unsure of Shane’s allegiances. But he needed answers; he needed to know what side Shane was playing for once and for all.

“Hello?”

“Shane. It’s Jerrod.”

“Jesus, man. Where the hell are you? We’ve been looking for you. Adam’s been frantic.”

“I bet.” Adam probably shit his pants after he came home last night and found them gone. He clenched is jaw. “Where is he?”

“At the apartment. He looked like hell when I left.”

Jerrod grunted his response, glancing behind him, still uneasy, wondering if he had a tail. “Where are you?”

“On my way to work.”

“When did you leave?”

Silence hung on the line. “About fifteen minutes ago. Why? What’s up, Jerrod?”

He debated how much to tell Shane, but he had to say something. He needed information. “Has Adam been acting different lately?”

“Yeah. Some I guess.”

“How?”

“He’s been edgy. What’s up, Jerrod?”

“Is he gambling again?”

Shane sighed in Jerrod’s ear. “I was wondering the same thing. He got pissed when I asked. He says no, but he could be.”

Looking both ways, Jerrod crossed the street with dozens of other pedestrians. “How much do you know about Dimitri, and don’t fuck with me.”

“Dimitri who? Dubov?”

“Yeah.”

“I told you what I know yesterday. He hasn’t surfaced since November.”

“He has Abby.”

“
What
?”

The utter shock in Shane’s voice went a long way to convincing him he had nothing to do with any of this. “Dubov has Abby, and Adam knows where.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Quinn? I thought Abby was with you.”

“She was until some bastard bashed me in the temple forty minutes ago.” He absently brushed at the raw wound, trying his best to ignore the pounding ache radiating through his skull. Getting Abby back was all that mattered right now. “Adam’s dirty.”

“Bullshit,” Shane fired back.

A week ago he never would’ve believed it either. “It’s the truth, man. I wish to hell it wasn’t.” He picked up his pace, as the dark green awning came into view. “I’m trying to figure out if you are too.”

“Fuck you. Are you
on
something, Quinn?”

“Look, Adam e-mailed me Saturday night telling me Task Force was running surveillance on Dimitri. They had him pinned to two possible locations. He found out I was having some trouble and encouraged me to bring Abby to New York. He assured me we could hang low here and you guys would give me a hand. We come and you tell me the team hasn’t had anything on Dubov in months. I check with my boss. Turns out you’re right.”

“There’s gotta be some—”

“Six months,” Jerrod interrupted, not wanting to listen to Shane defend Adam. “Six months in Los Angeles and Abby’s fine until some bitch reporter messes it up. Three days in Manhattan and she’s gone.” He slid a hand through his hair, barely able to stand the thought of Abby out there somewhere alone.

“I don’t know what to say, Quinn.”

He pulled open the glass door of the building. “There’s not much to say. I’m here at the apartment.” This right here would tell him whose side Shane was on. If he tipped Adam off that he was in the building, he would have his answer. “If I don’t get her back, I promise he won’t live to see another day.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Jerrod.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.” He hung up, stopping next to the elevator, punching the ‘up’ button repeatedly, impatiently waiting. The door finally slid open, and he stepped in, pushing the button for the twelfth floor. He dialed his phone again, pacing away his restlessness during his twelve-story ride.

“Cooke.”

“Did you pick up Abby’s signal again?” He kept hoping there had been a momentary glitch.

“No.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “What about the police? Do they have anything?”

“Not yet. They’ve issued a city-wide BOLO.”

He fisted his hand, tempted to punch his helpless frustration away, which would solve absolutely nothing. “Goddamn.” The elevator stopped with a jolt and ding, and the door slid open.

“I just got off the phone with Stone. He’s on the ground. Where do you want him?”

“I’ll let you know in about five minutes.” He stopped in front of apartment 12-3. “I’ll call you right back.” He hung up and pulled his gun from his holster, settling it in the back of his jeans as another wave of adrenaline surged through his veins. This was it. Abby would live or die based on what Adam had to say. Adam was going to spill one way or another. He desperately wanted to pound on the door, but instead he knocked three times.

Adam opened the door dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt for a day at headquarters, his eyes widening a fraction before he smoothed himself out and smiled. “Hey, Qui—”

Jerrod rushed him with a hand to Adam’s throat. He let his rage flow free as he slammed him against the wall, pulling Adam’s gun from the holster at his hip, pressing the weapon under Adam’s chin. “Where are they taking her?”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Adam’s breathing quickened as he stared at Jerrod. “I—”

“
Where
?” He jammed the barrel up harder.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sweat beaded along his forehead as his eyes darted about. Adam had never been a good liar.

“They have her, goddamn it.” He rapped Adam’s head back, growing angrier by the second. “You fucker, they
have
her.”

“Jerrod—”

Shaking his head, Jerrod held his gaze, planting his heel down on Adam’s bare foot.

Adam hollered in pain. “Goddamn. You just broke my fucking
toes
.”

Jerrod smacked Adam’s head against the wall for the second time. “You’re lucky it wasn’t a bullet.”

“I don’t—”

He brought, his elbow up into his ‘friend’s’ nose. “Wrong fucking answer.”

“Son of a bitch,” Adam groaned, pressing a hand to his nostrils as blood poured. “I don’t know where they took her. I don’t.”

The front door burst open. Jerrod pointed the gun at Shane as he pressed his arm into Adam’s windpipe.

Shane stared, his eyes huge. “Quinn, have you lost your mind?”

“Drop your gun and kick it over here.” He pressed harder on Adam’s throat, making him gasp and choke for each breath. “Now!”

The gun fell with a clatter. Shane kicked it in Jerrod’s direction.

“Shane—” Adam choked out.

“Shut up,” he said to Adam as he looked at Shane. “Come sit down where I can see you. Adam’s about to tell us where Abby is.” He loosened the pressure on Adam’s windpipe.

He coughed violently. “I don’t
know
.”

Jerrod plowed his fist into Adam’s stomach, growing more impatient with each denial. “Tell me
now
, you fucker!” He yanked him up, shouting in his face. “Next it’ll be your balls!”

“Jerrod.” Shane got to his feet.

“Sit
down
,” he said through clenched teeth.

Shane sat.

“They’re going to kill her if they haven’t already.” Jerrod shoved Adam to the floor, grabbing him by his sweat-soaked hair, yanking his face up to his.

“They’ll hurt Samantha.” Tears raced down Adam’s cheeks.

“You son of a bitch.” Shane rushed to his feet. “You fucking son of a bitch.”

Adam shook his head. “I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t.” Adam’s eyes pleaded with Jerrod’s. “I got in some trouble. I was supposed to help them elude capture; that’s it. This wasn’t supposed to have gotten so out of hand.”

He didn’t care about the whys. He just wanted Abby back. “Where
is
she, Adam?”

“They said something about a warehouse or an abandoned building.” He wiped at his eyes.

“Be more specific.”

“In Harlem.”

He grit his teeth. “It’s a big fucking place. East Harlem? West? Central Harlem? Where?”

“They said something about the abandoned row houses on 140
^th
where they had the riots a few months back. They also said something about an empty warehouse on 142
^nd
by the river. They don’t tell me much. They just threaten. God.” Tears poured again. “I didn’t want to do this, man.”

Jerrod shook his head. “But you did.”

“For Sam. She’s going to have the baby.”

“Innocent people have died because of you. The Stowers girl is dead because you’re an asshole.”

“I got in over my head at the tables. There were some guys that were going to do me in.”

“I guess it sucks to be you.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Jerrod seared him with a disgusted look.

“Roll him over,” Shane said as he pulled out a pair of cuffs.

“You don’t have to cuff me.”

Ignoring him, Jerrod tossed Adam over to his chest and slid the cuffs in place. “How did they find us today? Is someone following me?”

“No. Surveillance. They traced the cabs using the cameras around the city. It took them all night…”

“They definitely had to work harder than just coming here for a quick pick up.” He’d heard enough. He took the piece of duct tape Shane tore from the roll and slapped it over his mouth harder than he needed to.

“Get his legs, Quinn.” Shane gave him the roll.

He wrapped his legs at the ankles. Adam wouldn’t be going anywhere or saying anything any time soon.

“She better be there, Adam,” Shane warned. “If she’s not they’ll never find you.”

Adam mumbled, nodding his head.

Jerrod stood, shoving Adam’s gun in his own holster.

“Here, man.” Shane handed him a damp towel and two Tylenol. “Wipe your face. That’s one hell of a gash.”

He impatiently swiped at the throbbing along his temple and tossed the towel down, dry-swallowing the pills. “Let’s go.”

They hurried out the door leaving Adam where he lay. “I’ll take the warehouse,” Jerrod said as he hustled to the elevator.

“I’ll give the row houses a look.”

He nodded, looking at the man he was relieved to still call his friend. The door dinged, and they stepped inside as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “One of my co-workers is here from LA. He’s waiting for instructions. I don’t want any backup—just you, me, and Stone. I don’t know who the hell to trust anymore. We’re looking for a blue work van if they haven’t moved it already, New York plates, first three numbers 3-5-5, one bullet hole in the right corner of the bumper.” He dialed Stone’s number.

“MacCabe.”

“Stone, it’s Jerrod. I need you to meet me up in Harlem at the 145
^th
Street subway stop.”

“I’m on my way.” The phone disconnected.

The door slid open, and they booked it two blocks back to the tunnels, hopping the train seconds before the doors closed.

“I’ll get off at 135
^th
Street and grab a cab.”

“Sounds good.”

“I’m sorry, Quinn.” Shane huffed with a shake of his head. “I had no idea.”

“Neither did I until yesterday. I apologize for questioning you.”

He shrugged. “Can’t blame you. We’re going to find her.”

His heart ached with the possibilities that it was already too late. Abby disappeared almost an hour and a half ago. “I hope to god you’re right.”

“We’ll find her,” he said again.

Eventually the train slowed, and Shane moved toward the exit as they stopped at 135
^th
Street.

“Call as soon as you know. She’s more than my principal.”

“I know, Quinn.” The doors opened and Shane stepped out, hurrying through the crowds as he made his way to the stairs.

Eight excruciating minutes passed before the train finally slowed. Jerrod got off, running up the steps, looking around for Stone’s dark brown hair and tough build. He wasn’t here yet. “Screw it.” He took off, gaining speed, knowing he was mere blocks from where Abby might be. His phone rang as he moved closer to the grouping of old, abandoned buildings. “Quinn,” he said out of breath.

“I’m pulling up to the row houses now,” Shane said. “I don’t see anything. These places are burnt up rubble. There’s no one here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, man. No one’s hiding in the bricks and trash.”

“Then she’s here.” He glanced from one old mill building to the next—three in all, each a mess of broken glass and graffiti. “If Adam was telling the truth.”

“I think he was being straight with us. He knows it’s over.”

“I hope to Christ so.” He needed to hold Abby in his arms again and see those big blue eyes. He shook the thought away, knowing he had to concentrate on finding her, as he ducked among old mattresses and abandoned tractor-trailer beds decorated in gang signs. He inched his way closer to the first building as he assessed his surroundings in the bold daylight. The lack of cover in the winter sun was a major disadvantage. If Abby was here and her captors were keeping watch—which they would be—they would see him before he did them.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“I’ll see you soon.” Jerrod hung up and dialed Stone.

“McCabe.”

“It’s Jerrod. Come to the warehouses by the river on 142
^nd
Street. You can’t miss them.” He moved toward a set of windows, glancing in at the uninhabitable space. The roof had long since caved in. No one was here.

Stone muttered something to the cabbie. “We’re almost over the bridge. I should be there in about five minutes.”

“I’m heading to the second building now. There’s hardly any cover.” He used the gutted Oldsmobile to his advantage, ducking behind the stripped vehicle, keeping his eyes open, straining to hear over the honks and traffic rushing by a block away. He inched his way toward one of the rusty barred windows, glancing in through layers of dust and grime. The place was disgusting but in better shape than the last one. He scanned the area, his heart accelerating as he caught sight of the bumper of the van he’d put a bullet through. “I see the van. She has to be in there somewhere.”