Trail Of Danger. Valerie Hansen

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      Reed and Jessie had detoured past the Shoot-the-Chutes when the calliope music had begun to play, starting low and winding up to quickly gain intensity. During the day when the park was crowded and other attractions were operating, the distinctive tunes blended in. Tonight, the solo music was deafening. And eerie, particularly since the rest of the ride wasn’t lit or moving.

      Jessie would have tried to climb the sides of the water ride and plunged through the cascading stream if Reed had not guided her around. The screaming had stopped. As painful as it had been to hear someone in that much distress, this was far worse. Silence could mean the danger had eased, but he knew it was more likely that things had worsened. A screeching victim was a breathing victim. It was as simple as that.

      Reed approached a low fence that kept riders from cutting the line. A hand signal sent Jessie leaping over and he followed. Man-sized shadows shifted on the opposite side of the wide, round platform. Reed looked to his dog, read her body language and drew his sidearm. “Police. Freeze.”

      The figures froze all right—for a heartbeat—then parted and dashed off in opposite directions. Not only could Reed not pursue them both, he still didn’t know where the screaming victim was or how badly she may have been injured. Finding out came first.

      “Seek!”

      Jessie led him in a weaving pattern between horses while Reed radioed his position and circumstances. The K-9 went twice around the center pole of the carousel before stopping and putting her enormous paws up on one of the beveled mirrors.

      “Sit. Stay,” Reed commanded. The door release was cleverly hidden but he found it. “Police,” he announced, his gun at the ready.

      The hair on the back of his neck rose and perspiration trickled down his temples. He pulled open the narrow door and struck a marksman’s pose with his gun and flashlight.

      Instead of the panicking, wild-eyed victim he’d expected, he saw a small figure curled up on the cement floor. His light panned over her. She had long, reddish hair that made him think she was a teen until he took a closer look.

      He’d seen that face. Tonight. She’d passed him on the boardwalk not more than a few minutes ago. She was no kid but she wasn’t middle-aged either. Reed guessed her to be younger than he was by five or ten years, which would put her in her twenties. What in the world was she doing out here in the middle of the night in the first place?

      Holstering his gun, he bent and lightly touched her arm. Her skin was clammy. “Ma’am? Are you hurt?”

      There was no reaction. The woman didn’t even act startled when he held her wrist to take her pulse but he did notice that the fair skin looked irritated. “Can you tell me what happened?”

      Still nothing. He could hardly hear himself speak over the rollicking pipe organ music. A quick scan of the control panel showed one switch out of place, so he flipped it to kill the noise. Propping the narrow door open for ventilation he stood with one booted foot outside and radioed in the details as he knew them. “That’s right. She’s really out of it. I don’t see any serious signs of physical trauma but I can’t get a response, so you’d better start medics. The victim may have internal injuries or be drugged. I’m pretty sure she was the one doing all the screaming.”

      He paused and listened to the dispatcher, then stated his case. “Jessie acts like this is the same person she was tracking before, and I have no reason to doubt my K-9. Put a rush on that ambulance? I don’t want my victim to code while I wait, okay? I’m going to take a chance and move her out onto the carousel floor where she can get more air. Tell backup to hurry.”

      One more check of his surroundings and a long look at his dog assured Reed the area was clear. He bent and gently lifted the victim in his arms. She was lighter than he’d imagined. “Take it easy,” he said, speaking as if to a frightened child. “I’m a police officer. You’re safe now.”

      She stirred. Her lashes quivered.

      Reed placed her carefully on one of the chariot bench seats. It was too short for her to lie down all the way so he propped up her feet and lowered her shoulders, bringing more circulation, more oxygen to her brain.

      She blinked and stared directly at him. He had expected at least a tinge of leftover panic but there was none. The woman didn’t even flinch as she studied him.

      He gave her a minute to process her thoughts, then asked, “What happened to you? Why were you screaming?”

      “Screaming? I don’t think...” She coughed. “My throat hurts.”

      “I’m not surprised,” Reed told her. “What’s your name?”

      The blue eyes widened and filled with tears. “It’s—it’s Abigail. I think.”

      * * *

      Abigail’s 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 СКАЧАТЬ