case. The seasoned K-9 was on high alert, stopping to check out a small item of clothing crumpled on the ground. Reed picked it up. It was pristine, not like something that had been discarded when the park was last open. Instinct told him it was time to put Jessie to work. He presented it to her.
She was sniffing, showing eagerness to track, when a muffled noise in the distance put her hackles up and she gave voice as only a bloodhound can. Her mix of a growl, bark and then deep howl carried throughout the park, bouncing off the uneven surfaces to echo back as if a dozen hunting dogs were pursuing fleeing game.
The hardest thing for Reed, as a handler, was convincing the born and bred tracker to be silent. He laid a hand against the side of her muzzle. “Hush, Jessie. Quiet.”
Slurping and drooling, she danced at his feet, mouth only temporarily closing. That was enough. Reed heard it now. A woman’s scream. He grabbed the mic again as he gave Jessie her head and broke into a run. “I’m ten-eighty-nine, foot pursuit, inside Luna Park. I can hear a woman screaming.”
The high-pitched protest continued, then broke off, then started again. Reed lengthened Jessie’s lead but kept a firm hold of her leash so she wouldn’t race into danger alone. She wasn’t trained as an attack or protection dog, meaning she was nearly as vulnerable as whoever was yelling for help.
Except dogs have big teeth, he countered. Judging by the tone and volume of the screams he’d heard, this victim was not only female but likely young.
Suddenly, the night went silent. Jessie slowed, tilted her head to the side and tested the air for odors. Reed strained to listen. Nothing.
He gathered up the extra length of leash and gripped the handful tightly, every sense keen, every muscle taut. His K-9 acted puzzled for a few seconds, then started to strain to the left. Their quarry, or victim, or whatever, was apparently on the move.
Reed presented the vest again, braced himself, commanded, “Seek!” and they were off like a shot.
* * *
Abigail kicked and clawed and threw herself from side to side, trying to break loose as the first man picked her up like a sack of potatoes and jogged through the park to where the other waited. Frantic, she searched the dimness for the smaller person she’d spotted earlier. There was no sign of her or him. That was some relief. Now she could concentrate on her own escape without worrying about collateral damage to anyone else. “Let go! You’re hurting me.”
Her captor set her on her feet, kept hold of her wrist, and focused on his partner. “What happened to the other one?”
The second man snorted. “Almost got away. I was tyin’ her to a post so I could go help you when she ran off. I caught her and locked her in the car trunk.”
“As long as that took you, it’s a good thing I didn’t need any help.” Shoving Abigail forward, he cursed.
The second man huffed wryly. “Hey, you ain’t the boss.”
“Neither are you.”
“Never mind that. What made you think it was a good idea to bring that one back here where she could see my face?”
“Your ugly face, you mean. I had to do something with her, didn’t I? She was watching us when we...”
“Shut your yap. You ain’t got a brain in your pinhead.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Abigail felt a slight lessening of his grip. The more the two thugs concentrated on each other, the less attention they paid to her. It took enormous effort to relax her arm and give the impression she was no longer struggling to break free.
“So, what’re we gonna do?”
“How should I know?”
“What about keepin’ this one? A bird in the hand?”
“Too old. See?” The captor released her arm and started to grab her shoulders, apparently intending to turn her around for his partner’s inspection. Before he could get a fresh grip, Abigail continued her spin, kicked one of the men in the side of his knee and punched the other in the stomach.
Neither blow was serious but together they were enough. Abigail ducked, dodged and sprinted away. Adrenaline gave her speed and made her feel invincible. For a few seconds.
Then they were after her again. Shouting. Cursing at her and at each other. Abigail had barely enough breath to keep going. Her initial burst of speed was waning fast. Where could she hide? How close were they? She didn’t dare look back.
The night became surreal. Surroundings blurred as if she were navigating a nightmare. An impressive antique carousel loomed ahead. Despite knowing the ride was closed, she imagined seeing its wooden horses prance and paw the air. Her brain whirling, her lungs fighting to fill, she made a critical decision.
After vaulting over a low decorative fence, Abigail gained the circular platform with a leap and made a lunge for the closest steed. Her arms closed around its carved nose and she used her momentum to swing past to the second row. The horses grew uniformly smaller as she worked her way toward the center control booth. It had a door she could close. Even if it wouldn’t lock, maybe her pursuers would overlook her in there.
Abigail jumped down and landed with both palms against the mirrored center pillar. Circled looking for the camouflaged door. Found it. Threw herself inside and pulled it closed behind her, stumbling backward as she did so and landing against a bank of switches.
Suddenly, calliope music began, slowly rising in speed and volume until the air vibrated. Had she bumped something? Accidentally flipped a switch? Was her hiding place useless? Undoubtedly. And it was already too late to stop the music. The damage had been done.
Stunned, she clamped her hands over her ears, pressed her back against a side wall and began a slow-motion slide to the floor as sheer panic began to dull her senses and render her helpless.
The walls pressed in on her. Reality receded as her mind shut down, and she gladly accepted the enveloping darkness of unconsciousness.
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.”
