Justice For Abby (18 page)

Dear god, this was as bad as he was afraid it was going to be. “I’m not in love with Abby.”

She shrugged. “Maybe you are and maybe you aren’t. It would be a shame to let such a sweet, beautiful person slip right through these fingers of yours because you’re afraid.”

He sunk in his chair. “I’m not afraid. I just can’t. I have an obligation to keep her safe.” He huffed out a breath. “We kissed a couple times.” He shook his head, hardly believing he was having this conversation. “Everything’s fucked up.” He winced when she glared. “Sorry. Screwed up.”

She nodded, letting his slip of the tongue slide. “And what about after she’s safe?”

“It’ll be awhile before Abby can get back to a normal life. Especially after that hits the shelves.” He gestured toward the magazine. Once
Trendy
’s March issue hit the newsstands, Dimitri and Victor would have a good idea of where they could find her.

She squeezed his fingers. “Just think of all the time you’ll have lost. And she’s been right here the whole time.”

He grunted as his mother’s comment hit home. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think she and Timmy—”

Mom shook her head. “Timmy’s not for Abby, honey.” She pushed her chair back and stood. “We have the barn dance coming up. Abby has her heart set on going. Bless that sweet little thing. Maybe you could bring her as your date.”

Somehow the idea was tempting. “I think it’s better to leave things alone.”

She pressed her lips firm. “I guess that’ll have to be up to you. I’m going to take this fancy magazine to my room, get in my pajamas, and give it a read. I’ll hand it over to Abby in the morning. Hopefully you two can straighten today out a bit. And try to get her to eat something.”

“I’ll bring her something, but she doesn’t have much of an appetite when she’s upset.”

She
tsked
her disapproval. “She’s going to waste away as it is. She’s so tiny.”

He smiled. Abby had a small frame, but she wasn’t a skeleton by any means. “She’ll be all right.”

She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Night, son.”

“Good night.” He slung an arm around her waist, hugging her tight. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She walked away, and he sighed, picking up his fork, sampling a bite of cold, cheesy potatoes. He forked up more as his cell phone rang. He glanced down, looking at the readout. Ethan. Ethan wasn’t supposed to call unless there was a serious problem. Grabbing his phone, he pressed ‘talk’ and pushed back from the table, starting up the stairs. “Yeah?”

“Hey, I have some news.”

His shoulders tensed as he quickened his pace, ready to grab Abby’s hand and be gone.

“They found Margret Stowers.”

He paused mid-step and veered toward his room instead of Abby’s. “Where?”

“She’s dead, man.”

His heart sank as he closed the door behind him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. News has been traveling through the precincts out east. Jackson got a call from his friend, Doug, on the Pittsburgh PD. Margret’s parents were notified this afternoon.”

Jerrod sat on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes. “Damn.” This was going to rip Abby apart. She’d been searching for the pretty blue-eyed girl since the night of her rescue.

“A homeless man found her in Houston Monday morning. It took the ME’s a few days to identify her. She was in rough shape. They beat the fuck out of her—massive head and facial trauma. They raped her and left her naked and stuffed in a dumpster.”

“Fucking bastards.” Anger burned in his gut as he ached for the girl as much as the woman in the next room. Abby spoke of Margret often enough that somewhere along the way he’d lost the ability to distance himself from her case. Months ago, he’d stopped thinking of the fifteen year old as just another missing person waiting to be found. “She loves that kid.”

“I’m sorry, man. This is tough.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed at his temple. “I’ll talk to her. I don’t know what the hell I’m going to say.” No matter how he told her, he was going to break her heart.

“Shitty situation.”

“Doesn’t get much worse.” He stood. “I should probably go.”

“Good luck, man.”

“Thanks.” He hung up and tapped his phone against his chin as he expelled a deep breath, trying to figure out how to handle this. Telling Abby would’ve been hard if they were on good terms, but now? She had lived with the mantra that finding Margret was only a matter of time. She’d fully expected to bring Margret home, safe and alive. How many times had she spoken of blue dresses, shopping trips, and the fashion shows she’d promised her young friend?

He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Damn it.” Margret was finally going home, but not the way she should have. “Damn it,” he said again, drowning in helplessness. What was this going to do to Abby? How was this going to set her back?

He walked to his door, stopping when a vehicle pulled up to the house. He moved to the window, glancing out as Timmy got out of his pickup. He turned and made his way across the hall, raising his hand to Abby’s mostly closed door, and dropped it.

How the hell should he start the conversation? With an apology? He clenched his jaw, remembering his harsh words. If he could go back…he would probably handle the situation exactly the same way, minus the grab as he chased her up the front steps. Abby had been reckless, putting not only herself but his mother in danger.

You might have a job to do, but I’m still trying to live my life. Somewhere along the way you forgot that.

He hadn’t forgotten. He’d done everything in his power to keep her security as low-key as possible, but the fact of the matter was she needed twenty-four-hour protection.
I’m suffocating
. Her eyes had pleaded with him for understanding. And he did, but keeping her alive came before everything else—even her happiness. He hated that for her. Abby deserved all the happiness in the world, but he was about to knock her back another step.

He raised his hand once more. It was time to get this over with, despite how his stomach sank. He knocked, hoping she would invite him in without having to invade her space. “Abby. We need to talk for a minute.”

The staticky music grew louder.

“Abigail, please.”

No answer.

“Abigail, I got a call from—” Screw this. He wasn’t going to stand here and yell over her music. “I’m coming in.” He opened the door and stepped in, stopping as he stared at the mess of denim and pale blue plaid scattered around the floor. “Wow, this is some project,” he tried.

She didn’t acknowledge him as she sat in the office chair, cutting along the seam of a very large pair of jeans, her foot tapping along with the beat of the catchy song. She’d taken off her sweater and twisted her hair into a loose bun, leaving her long graceful neck and smooth shoulders exposed in her black spaghetti strap top.

“We need to talk, Abigail.”

“So talk.” She set the long strip of the once-pant leg on the floor and got back to work, starting on the other leg.

“Can you set that down for a couple of minutes?”

“Nope.” She continued with her task.

He rocked back on his heels, unsure of how to deal with this side of Abby. This was the second time he’d seen it, and the first time hadn’t gone well. He blew out a deep breath and walked to the radio, switching it off.

She reached up and turned it back on.

He flipped it off.

She moved to turn it on, and he grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

“I’m sorry, I thought this was my room.” She tossed him a nasty look.

“It is.”

“My door was closed—or mostly.”

“Yeah, I know. We need to talk,” he said for the third time.

“If you’re expecting an apology, I can’t give you one.” She lifted her chin. “I had fun today. Your mother and I…” Her lip wobbled and she looked down. “I needed to go,” she mumbled.

“Abby—” He crouched down in front of her. “You have to
talk
to me if you’re feeling like you’re suffocating.” He took a chance and touched her knee. “We could’ve figured something out.”

Her miserable eyes met his. “You would’ve let me go to town on my own?”

“No, but—”

“Then what’s there to work out?” She huffed out a breath and stared at the floor.

“Today could’ve ended so differently. You know that as well as I do. You didn’t have your watch. There was no way for me to find you.”

“I was fine.”

“
This
time. Thank god everything worked out.” He touched her chin, wanting her to look at him. “We’re a team. This doesn’t work if we can’t communicate.”

She pulled away from his grip and stood, walking to the window. “I don’t feel like a team. I feel like I arrived with my pal from Los Angeles, but somewhere along the way he vanished.” She turned, facing him. “Where did he go, Jerrod?”

He got to his feet. “I’m right here.”

She shook her head. “No, you’re not. Everything’s different. I don’t know how to be around you anymore. I don’t know how to pretend that our relationship is simple the way you can.”

She wasn’t telling him anything he wasn’t struggling with himself. He jammed his hands in his pockets. “It isn’t simple for me either. So how do we fix this?”

“I don’t
know
.” She sat on her bed, her face in her hands. “I don’t know if we can,” she said wearily.

He walked to her, standing over her, staring down at her slim, slumped shoulders. How could he tell her about Margret now? It was tempting to wait until tomorrow. One day wasn’t going to change the facts. She looked up at him, lost, and he knew he couldn’t keep the truth from her, even for a few hours. “Abigail.” He crouched in front of her again, taking her hands. “Abigail, I have to tell you something.”

She swallowed. “What?”

“Ethan called.”

Her fingers tightened against his. “Alexa?” she whispered as the pulse pounded in her throat.

“Alexa’s fine.”

“Olivia?”

He shook his head. “Your family’s fine. It’s—it’s Margret.” Damn he didn’t want to do this.

“They found her?” She stared at him with such cautious optimism, he almost looked away.

“Abigail, she’s dead.”

Her hands went limp in his. “No,” she whispered as her eyes filled.

“They found her in Houston.”

She shook her head. “No.”

He gripped her fingers, willing her to take the strength he offered. “I’m so sorry, Abby.”

Tears fell down her cheeks. “When?”

“A couple days ago.”

“What did they do to her?”

He held her gaze, running his thumb along her knuckles, not wanting to say. “Abby—”

“I need to know.” Her voice broke. “I need to know what they did to my poor, sweet Margret.”

“Abigail.” He pressed her palm to his cheek, wishing he could vanish her pain.

“Please.”

He sighed. “They beat her.”

A moan escaped her throat as she closed her eyes and more tears fell.

“Abby.” He moved to the bed, sitting next to her, wrapping his arm around her.

“I promised her I would save her. I promised.” She sucked in several shaky breaths and rushed to her feet. “It’s too hot. I have to—I have to get out of here.” She hurried into the hall and down the stairs. The back door opened and closed.

Sighing, he stood, grabbed her jacket, and followed her down the stairs. They were at odds, but he wasn’t going to let her deal with this on her own. He moved to the back door, stopping with his hand on the knob, tightening his grip as Timmy leaned against the fence, holding Abby close, his Parker PD jacket draped around her shoulders while she wrapped her arms around him. Her powerful sobs muffled through the glass as Timmy pressed Abby’s face to his chest.

Jerrod dropped his hand and turned away, going back upstairs as he struggled to absorb the crushing blow. Mom said Abby wasn’t for Timmy, but maybe she was wrong.

~~~~

Shelby sat curled up on her couch, her laptop resting on the plush arm of the sofa as she entered the monthly ‘crime’ report she and Timmy had been discussing before their lunch was so interestingly interrupted. She rolled her eyes as she typed the details of Mr. Hannigan’s second drunk and disorderly and the Bohaken boys’ brush with the law regarding a bat and Ms. Tilly’s mailbox. Life in Parker was intense.

Pausing, she lifted her glass, savoring the pinot noir on her tongue, then stopped typing all together, settling back against cozy cushions, remembering the one-sided phone conversation she overheard Timmy having with his brother and the frantic way Jerrod had searched for his lady love…or client.

She’d had plenty of time to revaluate the whole Jerrod/Abigail situation. Maybe he
didn’t
have feelings for her. But there was certainly something going on. Timmy had mentioned a BOLO, and Mr. Cool had been ruffled in a way she’d never seen before—not even when he walked into his own home to see the love of his life in another man’s arms.

Shelby narrowed her eyes as she pursed her lips. What were they hiding? It had to be something big. Jerrod never yelled, and he’d shouted at his city princess plenty. Poor, defenseless Abby had been terrified.
Don’t touch me!

At first she thought Abby’s quivering lips and waterworks had been an attempt to get out of the hot seat—she used the trick herself all the time—but the trembling and wild-eyed fear appeared to be genuine. And Jerrod sure as hell backed down quickly enough.

So what was up? Why was Abby so afraid? Shelby’s instincts had hummed every time she was around the beauty queen. She’d smelled a story all along—once she was wise enough to put her insecurities aside and concentrate on a potential upswing in her career. But she needed Abigail’s last name. Jerrod had been very guarded with it, and so had Timmy. Baby brother almost slipped at one point, but he caught himself, glancing her way, then at Jerrod, shutting his mouth as she followed them back from the barn.

Jerrod was going to get her out of this town after all. Eventually he would figure out that she was the best damn thing that ever happened to him and come running to wherever she decided to settle. She could wait him out for a little longer. While she waited she might as well add another plaque to her wall at the office, but in order to do that she needed to figure out who the mysterious Abigail really was. Everything would come together after that. She was going to have to find a way back into Jerrod’s good graces and invite herself over for dinner. Clues to her big break were somewhere at the Quinn Family Farm.