Trail Of Danger. Valerie Hansen
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instincts told her to trust this man even before she realized he was wearing an NYPD uniform. He had kind brown eyes and his expression showed concern. What struck her as odd was her sense of overall peace and security in his presence.
Looking past him, she saw elaborately carved wooden carousel horses that reminded her of the ones on the restored antique ride at Luna Park. Luna Park? What she was doing there? And why was a police officer acting as if he thought she needed help?
“Abigail?” he asked softly. “That is your name, right?”
“Of course it is.” Affirmation came easily.
“How about a last name?”
“Um...Jones?”
His lopsided smile made his eyes twinkle. It was clear he didn’t believe her. Thoughts solidified in her muddled mind and affirmed her choice. “It really is Jones. I’m sure it is.”
“Okay. How are you feeling? Are you hurt?”
Abigail worked her shoulders and rubbed her right arm. “I think I pulled a muscle.” Her eyes widened. “Did you see something happening to me?”
Reed shook his head. “Sorry. No. By the time I got here you had stopped screaming and were hiding. All I saw were shadows.”
He paused, studying her so intensely that it made her ask, “Shadows? Of who? What?”
“Don’t you remember?”
Her earlier peace was giving way to the uneasiness of the unknown. How much did she remember? And why did she feel a creeping fear when she tried to draw those memories out?
Head throbbing, she sniffled and pressed her fingertips to her temples. “I don’t know anything.” She concentrated on her rescuer. “Why can’t I remember?”
“Trauma can do that sometimes. It’ll all come back to you after a bit.” His radio crackled and he replied. “Copy. Tell them to pull as close as they can to the carousel. She’s conscious but disoriented.”
Abigail grasped his forearm. “What’s wrong with me?”
“The ambulance is on scene. Medics will look you over and take good care of you from here on.”
He leaned away and started to stand but she held fast. “Don’t leave me. Please? I don’t even know who you are.”
“Officer Reed Branson.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a business card. “Hang on to this. It’ll help you remember me later. I’m part of the NYC K-9 Command Unit, not a detective, so I won’t be investigating your case, but you may have questions for me once you get your memory back.”
“Canine?” She peered past him. “Where’s your dog?”
A hand signal brought a panting, pleased-looking bloodhound to his side, where it sat obediently, staring up at him as if he were the most important person in the world. That tongue, those floppy ears, the drooling lips. Abigail almost gasped. “I remember him. I saw him somewhere.”
“Out here. Tonight,” Reed said. “We passed you on the boardwalk. And it’s she. Jessie is a female.”
“She found me?”
“Yes. She heard your calls for help before I did. That led us into the park, where we found this.” He pulled a crumpled crocheted vest out of his pocket. “Is it yours?”
“Yes!” Abigail was thrilled to recognize it.
“Jessie used it to follow your scent. I’m a little surprised she was able to do it so well with this storm brewing. Wind can throw trackers off.”
Abigail’s headache was intensifying to the point where it was upsetting her stomach. She knew she wouldn’t have ventured out at night, alone, without a valid reason, so what was she supposed to be doing?
She tried to stand. The carousel and objects beyond began to move. At least, she thought they did. Given her undeniable unsteadiness, she wasn’t sure if the platform beneath was spinning or if her head was. Or both.
Instinct urged her to reach out to the police officer, to draw on his strength. Instead, she covered her eyes with her hands. “I’m sorry. I get terrible headaches when a storm is coming but I’ve never had one this bad before.”
Someone—was it her rescuer?—cupped her shoulders and guided her to the edge of the circular platform where other gentle hands lifted her down and placed her on a gurney. She could smell the bleach on the sheets. A bright beam of light stabbed into her eyes.
Abigail tried to cover her face again but someone was restraining her. A wide strap crossed her upper torso and tightened. She began to struggle. Being held so still was frightening, although she couldn’t pinpoint a reason for her rising panic.
“No! Let me go!”
A low masculine voice cut through her protests and brought calm. Large hands gently touched her shoulder. “Easy, Abigail. It’s okay. They’re just trying to help you.”
“Don’t let them strap me down! Please!”
“All right.” She saw Reed casually wave the medics away. “I’ll be right here. Nobody will have to restrain you as long as you lie still. Understand?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Good. Now let them take your blood pressure and pulse, okay?”
A strong urge to resist any involuntary movement of her arms arose as soon as one of the medics began to work on her again. Thankfully, this tech was a woman who made short work of checking her vitals, listening to her ragged breathing with a stethoscope and reporting to a doctor via radio.
The numbers quoted didn’t matter to Abigail. All she cared about was having the police officer close by. It didn’t occur to her that he wouldn’t be able to climb into the ambulance with her until he stepped back at its door.
She reached out. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Can’t.” The attendants paused while he explained. “I have a responsibility to Jessie, not to mention my reason for being out here tonight. I was in the middle of a different search until you screamed.”
No matter how logical his answer was, she couldn’t accept it. “Promise you’ll follow me? You’re the only one who has any idea what happened out here.”
“You’ll be fine once you’re under a doctor’s care.” The way he patted the back of her hand as he spoke reminded her of a parent trying to soothe a child who was throwing a tantrum. That unfortunate comparison was hard to take, particularly since her head was still pounding and her vision blurred whenever she moved.
Abigail jerked her hand away, turned her head and closed her eyes. “Fine. Go. Save the rest of the world if that’s what you want.” Tremors wracked her body. Nobody had to tell her she wasn’t herself. Her conscience was doing a good job of that without any outside help. Harsh words and snappy retorts were not her usual reactions to difficulties, nor was she sarcastic. People at work were always complimenting her on her even temperament.
Work? Yes, work! She was an outreach coordinator for AFS, A Fresh Start, and helped homeless and troubled teens. That she remembered well. She could picture the tiny office in Brighton Beach, her desk stacked with file folders, and even the potted violet plant atop the bookcase beneath the window.
“That’s better,” she whispered with a sigh, not expecting anyone to take notice.
The female medic smiled. “Good to hear.” She held out a clear plastic mask fitted with a narrow tube. “Just let me give you a few breaths of oxygen and you’ll feel even better.”
The plastic contraption hovered over Abigail’s face. There was a continuing urge to resist being treated, but now that she’d recalled more about her life, she’d settled down enough to control herself. “Okay.”
Elastic