Justice For Abby (17 page)

Mary came around the corner, and Abby jumped, pressing her hand to her chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry, honey.”

“I’m ready,” she schooled her voice and breathing. “I grabbed the keys unless you need to go inside.” She prayed Mary didn’t need to go in.

“No. No. I’m all set.”

“Great,” she said with a punch of desperation, glancing over her shoulder, full-well understanding she was breaking the rules, but for once she didn’t care. She needed this break from Jerrod and the mess between them—from her life. She desperately wanted to be a normal woman for one afternoon.

They walked to the truck as Abby looked behind her once more and opened her door, hopping into the cab.

Mary buckled in and turned over the ignition. “I guess we should get this show on the road.”

“I guess so.” Abby wiggled her foot up and down, willing Mary to hurry before Jerrod figured out she was gone. He was going to be mad, but they were only going to the thrift store. He’d said himself she was safe here, and she planned to be careful.

Mary put the truck in drive, pressed on the gas, and they bumped down the long lane.

Abby sat back, sighing her relief, relaxing her shoulders, releasing her death grip on her purse when they reached the highway. If she was going to be free for a few hours, she was going to enjoy herself. “So, what do you think you’d like to wear to the dance?”

“Honey, I have no clue.”

“Well, I can help you with that.” She smiled, a genuine smile as Mary accelerated and they headed toward town.

~~~~

Jerrod climbed the stairs with the veggie sandwich he made Abby, trying to figure out what he should say when he handed over this latest peace offering. She said she would eat later, but ‘later’ had been over an hour ago. He’d waited a good thirty minutes, dawdling over his plate of last night’s baked chicken and creamy mashed potatoes, hoping she would come down so they could talk away any remaining awkwardness and move on, but as he took his last bite, he realized she was still avoiding him despite their handshake and plans for an evening movie.

He didn’t know how to make their situation better. Everything was so damn messy. Biding his time and giving her space didn’t work. Cornering her in the kitchen and forcing her into strained conversation hadn’t gotten him anywhere either. Their situation had only grown more complicated when Abby confessed to not-so-simple feelings, and he’d kept his mouth shut, giving her the impression he didn’t have any of his own. What else was he supposed to do?

His explanations had been the absolute truth. They would head to trial in less than three weeks. The relative safety and relaxed precautions they were enjoying here in Parker would be a thing of the past. Her security would heighten; safeguards would increase. It was more vital than ever to concentrate on procedures and protocols and forget the rest. Mixed up emotions and this new discord in an otherwise smooth relationship were liabilities neither of them could afford. Close protection worked best when agent and principal were on the same page. That’s why he never got involved with his clients—and had never been tempted to until Abby.

He reached the top step and walked to her room, slowing when he didn’t hear the radio, frowning at her open door. Abby always shut herself in as far as she dared. Now that he thought of it, he hadn’t heard a sound from upstairs since she went to get her Band-Aid. His concern vanished into a smile, and he relaxed, shaking his head. Maybe things
were
okay between them. She must’ve fallen asleep. Getting up at three-thirty every morning was finally getting to her. He proceeded forward, knocking on the doorframe and peeked in. “Abby?”

His brows furrowed for the second time as he glanced at the empty, undisturbed bed and her work clothes tossed over the armchair. Her dresser drawers were slightly ajar, and her watch lay on the side table. He stared at the pretty timepiece she always wore as the cloak of unease settled on his shoulders. “Abby,” he called louder, heading toward the bathroom, but the door was open and the light off. He took the stairs in twos to the living room, glancing at the vacant couch and loveseat. Where the hell was she? “Abigail?”

Picking up his pace, he popped his head in each room, calling for her as he wandered through the house, stopping as he passed a window, realizing the pickup was gone. She didn’t. She couldn’t have. But the lead ball in his gut warned him she did. “Shit.”

He dropped the plate, rushing out the door, running around the side of the house to the barn. She was in the barn. She had to be. Mom must have run errands, but Abby was still here. He yanked the door open. “Abigail,” he shouted.

No one answered.

“Fuck.
Fuck
!” Dread turned into outright fear as he sprinted back to the house and into the kitchen, picking up the landline, dialing Mom’s cell. Within seconds he could hear her ringtone echoing from her downstairs bedroom. “I can’t believe this.” He slammed down the phone, running trembling fingers through his hair. “I can’t fucking
believe
this.”

He picked up the cordless again and dialed Timmy’s cell, barely able to hear the ringing over his pounding heart.

“Hello?”

“Have you talked to Abby?”

“Not recently. I’m having lunch with Shelby—monthly police log bullshit. We just sat down a couple minutes ago.”

“She’s gone.”

“Who?”

“Abby, damn it,” he snapped, gripping the corner of the wall, trying to keep his cool as fear consumed him. How long had she been gone? Where the hell did she go? “Mom and the pickup are missing too. I tried Mom’s cell; it’s in her room.”

“I’m sure everything’s fine. They probably went to the market.”

“She knows not to go anywhere without me.” He slammed the side of his fist on the granite countertop, making the cookie jar rattle. “She knows that, Tim. And she’s not wearing her watch. She could be anywhere. They could have her.” He scrubbed at his jaw, trying to quell his helpless anger.

“All right. I’ll go check out some of mom’s typical spots and see if I spot the truck, then I’ll head out. If she doesn’t show up in the next hour we’ll call out a BOLO.”

He wanted to demand the BOLO now, but Tim was right. Abby was probably fine. Calling unwanted attention, putting her name and description out over the radio was more detrimental than waiting the hour, if Timmy didn’t find them first. “I’ll stay here in case they come back.” And make himself crazy. “Call me if anything turns up.”

“You know I will.”

Jerrod hung up, carefully, slowly, returning the phone to its base, certain he might crack the plastic into several pieces. How could she do this? Abby had known from the very beginning that she was never, ever to leave without him. Parker was probably safe, but her seekers could be anywhere.

Abby drove up the lane, avoiding the worst of the juts
marring the dirt road as she sang along with Lady Antebellum, belting out
We Own The Night
with plenty of gusto. She grinned, thrilled when Mary joined in and eased off the gas as the house came into view, not wanting the afternoon to end. The last two hours had been
perfect
—shopping, laughing, lunch out. Girl time!

She slapped her hand against the steering wheel in time with the beat, high on sheer happiness. It had been
months
since she’d wandered through stores without a babysitter by her side or enjoyed a late-afternoon meal in public without watching her bodyguard watch everyone else around them. For the first time since her kidnapping she drove instead of taking the passenger’s seat—just in case there was a tail and need for a quick getaway. She’d had her ‘normal’ and wanted plenty more. Just a few more weeks and she would have her life back.

She pulled up to the spot where Mary typically parked, threw the transmission into park, and twisted up the volume, jumping out of the cab. She hurried around to Mary’s side, pulling Mary out of her seat.

“Abby, honey, what are you doing?”

She moved to the music, in full groove-mode, laughing. “Dancing. Dance with me, Mary.” She shook her hips, tossing her hands over her head, laughing harder when Mary actually wiggled about. She wanted to bottle up this snapshot of pure joy for the next time she was stuck in some dark place, dealing with the consequences of a situation she’d never asked for.

“So you really think you’ll be able to make me something with the pile of clothes we bought?” She took Abby’s hand and turned in a stiff circle.

Abby grinned. “Absolutely. I already know what I’m going to—”

“Where the
hell
have you been?” Jerrod shouted, booking it around the corner of the house, his eyes smoldering as they met hers.

She froze, her shoulders automatically tensing as she braced against Jerrod’s angry tone. She’d expected him to be upset, but this was several stratospheres into furious.

“You mind your tone, son.” Mary stepped closer to Jerrod. “Abby helped me with some shopping for the barn dance.”

Abby glanced at Tim and Shelby as they walked around the house. Tim reached in and turned off the truck.

Jerrod’s ragged breathing filled the air as he seared her with another look. “What were you thinking?” He kicked a rock, sending it careening across frozen dirt. “What the hell were you thinking, Abigail?”

She would not apologize for taking what she needed. “That I’m suffocating.”

“You know better, damn it! You
know
better.” He shook his head, his jaw clenched.

“Jerrod Quinn,” Mary scolded. “That’s enough.”

He turned away, shoving his hands in his pockets, and pulled them out, jamming a hand through his hair. “Goddammit!”

“Abby,” Mary took her hand. “I’m so sorry, honey. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

She swallowed the lump of emotion, squeezing Mary’s fingers as she stared into her questioning gaze. How could she tell Mary that Jerrod had every right to be angry without breaking her cover? “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry.” Mary wrapped her up in a firm hug. “It’s been ages since I’ve had such a fine time. Thank you for lunch.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears. “I just needed to be,” she whispered, giving the woman who had become her friend the only explanation she could.

Mary drew away. “Everything’s going to be okay, honey. Trust me on that.” She tossed a nasty look her son’s way.

She nodded, unable to speak as her lips trembled. Everything was
not
okay, nor would it be anytime soon. She grabbed the bagful of treasures they’d discovered at the thrift shop, looked at Tim, Shelby, and Jerrod’s stiff stance as he still stood with his back to them, and walked toward the house.

Jerrod turned, following hot on her heels. “We need to talk about this.”

She picked up her pace, her heart accelerating with the sensation of being chased. “Later.”

“No. Now.”

She dashed up the front steps, trying to gain distance.

He snagged her arm as they reached the porch. “Abigail—”

“Don’t touch me!” she screamed, whirling, shoving at his chest.

He dropped his hands and immediately backed off. “Take it easy,” his voice gentled.

Her body trembled and her breath tore in and out as she glanced at everyone staring at her from the driveway. Humiliation stained her cheeks as tears began to fall. “I said later,” she repeated on a shaky whisper, trying to find her composure.

“Okay.” He studied her with measuring eyes. “I’m sorry I grabbed you. I shouldn’t have.”

She wasn’t interested in his apologies as she met Shelby’s smirking stare. Anger quickly replaced embarrassment as she looked at Jerrod again. “You might have a job to do, but I’m still trying to live my life. Somewhere along the way you forgot that.”

“Abigail—”

She walked into the house and up the stairs, closing herself in her room, locking the door. She gripped the knob, her breath rushing out, and dropped her hand, then opened the door just as quickly. She laughed humorlessly as more tears fell, hating her weakness, but did it really matter if the lock was in place? A closed door symbolized choices and freedom she didn’t have. She was a prisoner whether the door was opened or shut. Jerrod could walk in at anytime, just like Dimitri or Renzo or Victor had. She wasn’t free anywhere she went—the stash house, the condo in LA, or the pretty farmhouse in Nebraska. There was no place she could go to escape the reality that her life was not her own.

The trial would come and go and hopefully her testimony would keep Renzo in jail, but what about Victor and Dimitri? They could stay under the radar for years. Was this
her
sentence? Would she live like this indefinitely?

Hopelessness consumed her as she walked to her sketch pad and grabbed her pencil like a lifeline. She sat at her table, frantically drawing her ideas for Mary’s new dress, understanding for the first time that she might never have an opportunity at ‘normal’ again.

~~~~

Jerrod sat at the kitchen table with a full plate in front of him but didn’t bother to pick up his fork. His stomach ached and his head throbbed. He didn’t have an appetite for beef brisket and scalloped potatoes no matter how many times his mother eyed him across the table.

He pushed his meal away and rested his forehead in his hands, rubbing at his pounding temples. Abby was home and out of harm’s way, but overall, today had sucked ass. From a security standpoint, everything turned out a-fucking-okay, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that Abby had rushed to her room crying and his mother kept shaking her head in disapproval.

Sighing, he squeezed the back of his neck, regretting the way he’d handled the entire afternoon. Protocol had flown out the window when he heard the loud blast of music and Abby’s laughter in the driveway. His relief had been huge when he’d rushed around the house and spotted her safe—so had his anger. He shouldn’t have shouted; he definitely shouldn’t have grabbed her arm when she told him to back off, but she shouldn’t have left.

“You need to eat,” Mom said quietly. “It will help with your headache.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Mom set down her fork, her mouth firm with displeasure. “I imagine not.”

He barely suppressed a groan as he rubbed at his chin. He’d been waiting for her verbal ass kicking since she glared at him in the driveway. “Mom—”

“I’m disappointed, Jerrod. I didn’t raise my men to treat women the way you treated Abby today.”

“Mom—” he tried again.

“I know your father was hard. I know we don’t show much affection, but land sakes, Jerrod, what happened to my sweet son?”

He squirmed in his chair as he had when he’d been a boy. No one brought on a bought of guilt and shame they way his mother could. “I overreacted.”

“You had no right to come down on her the way you did.”

“I agree, but—”

“I don’t want excuses.” She pointed her finger as her voice grew even sterner. “I heard my son being a horse’s ass. I saw you grabbing that tiny little thing. You’re not too old for a firm hand to the butt, sir.”

He looked down at the table, trying not to smile despite the lecture. He was twenty-eight and outweighed his mother by a good hundred pounds, yet he had no doubt mom would make good on her threat. “No, ma’am.”

“So, what do you have to say for yourself?”

He met her gaze. “I acted like a jerk, and I’ll apologize to you and Abby for that, but this whole situation isn’t as simple as it seems.”

She crossed her arms. “I’ll take an explanation.”

He studied his mother’s strong, steady eyes, debating how much he should tell her. “Abby’s not Ethan’s office manager. She’s in hiding.”

Her eyes softened with concern as she folded her hands on the table. “What’s she hiding from?”

“I can’t give you all the details, but she’s in trouble.” He sat up further in his seat. “She was abducted a few months ago—went through hell. Luckily a couple of my colleagues and the FBI were able to track her down. She’s going to testify against her abductors.”

“That poor, sweet thing.” She cast a worried glance toward Abby’s room. “Is she going to be okay?”

“I’m trying to keep her that way.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you weren’t doing WITSEC anymore.”

“I’m not. Abby refused to give up her identity. She has family she’s close to. Ethan was aware of my background, so he assigned me to her protection.”

“My word. That poor girl,” she said again.

A vehicle rolled up in the driveway, honking twice. Mom frowned. “What on earth is Merl doing here? I don’t have any deliveries coming until the end of the week.”

Jerrod glanced toward the dark beyond the windows and stood as his mother did. “Are you sure that’s Merl? It’s a little late for the mail.”

“As sure as I can be. Merl gets around to things in his own time. You know that.”

The doorbell rang, and moments later, the vehicle drove away.

“Why don’t I get it?” After today he wasn’t taking any chances. He walked to the door, peeking out the side of the glass, noticing the large yellow envelope addressed to Jerrod. Not Jerrod Quinn, just Jerrod and the Los Angeles address in the left-hand corner. Ethan must have sent him something. He opened the door and grabbed the mysterious package, pressing his fingers around the outline of what felt like a book.

Frowning, he carefully opened the parcel, unsure of what to expect, and pulled a magazine free, staring at Abby grinning on the March cover of
Trendy
. She was so damn beautiful with her perfect smile and big blue eyes. Her dress fit like a glove, showcasing her flawless body. Curious, he turned through the pages, finding several shots of Abby in different outfits—the red dress, jeans and a fancy black top, a business-like skirt and blouse. Zenn was right; the camera loved her.

Flipping some more, he stopped on the picture of him and Abby on the swing. Barefoot, sleeves rolled, chest exposed, he grinned with his arm around her as she leaned back, laughing. He studied the happy couple enjoying a sunny spring day and continued his search until he found the two-page spread of him and Abby in bed. On the left page, she sat on top of him in her underwear, their fingers clasped while she smiled down at him. On the right, she lay mostly naked, his arm covering the majority of her breasts, his fingers in her hair, while they stared in each other’s eyes, their connection and chemistry unmistakable.

His gaze trailed over her gorgeous body as he flashed back to their make-out session in the kitchen. He’d molded that soft warm skin beneath his palms. Throaty purrs had escaped that long, graceful neck as her pretty mouth answered his demands.

“What are you looking at?” Mom stepped up to his side.

He closed the magazine with a snap, clearing his throat as he turned and started back to the kitchen, trying to get his hormones under control. “Ethan sent along an advance copy of the magazine Abby’s featured in.”

“A model?”

“Actually she’s a fashion designer, but she’s spent plenty of time in front of the camera—or used to anyway.” He leaned against the counter.

“Let me see.” Mom pulled the thick copy closer, smiling. “She’s such a beautiful girl.”

“Mmm.” He stared at Abby in the barely there red dress.

“Do you mind if I take a look-see?”

“No.” He handed over the proof copy.

The glossy pages slipped through mom’s hands, landing open on the picture of him and Abigail lying among the sheets. She gasped, looking from him to the magazine and back. “Jerrod, what on earth? Since when are you a model?”

He rubbed at his chin, not loving the fact that his mother was staring at him and Abby in bed. It was too damn weird, especially after she’d just interrupted his thoughts. “I’m not.”

She reached down, grabbing the magazine. “Looks like it to me.”

“I was helping Abby out. The guy she was supposed to work with never showed up for the shoot, so I gave her a hand.” He avoided eye contact, crossing his arms as he felt his mother staring at him.

“Jerrod, look at these pictures. Look at the two of you.” She whistled through her teeth. “I’d wondered...”

He scratched his head, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s nothing.”

She glanced at him. “It’s certainly something.”

“It’s not.”

“I think you should take a closer look, son. Come talk to me.” She walked to the table and sat.

He took the seat next to her, hating the thought of dissecting his feelings for Abby with his mother. He could deny whatever he wanted, but somehow she always knew the truth.

“Jerrod.” She took his hand.

“Yeah.” He steamed out a breath.

“You know I love you. I loved your father too. You two were as opposite as can be, but honey, on this one point, you’re exactly the same.” She pointed to the picture of him and Abby.

He frowned, loathing being compared to dad in any way. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to speak up. Women like to hear the words from time to time.”