Luck And a Prayer
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Grunting, he doubled over. She reached down, grabbed the pen, then clattered as fast as she could out the door and down the hall toward the stairs. She had to get the pen to the captain. It was the only way to stop Jack, to save that young girl and to save herself another night of knowing that animal was still out there spreading his poison and infecting everything he touched.
He’s finally going to pay, Daddy. Just like I promised.
She ran toward the staircase at the end of the hall, pushing herself harder, faster. One spiked heel caught an uneven board. She slipped, twisting her ankle as she fought for balance. Through the fog of pain, she kept moving. It wasn’t bad enough to stop her. For that, she’d have to be dead.
“I’m going to kill you, woman!”
If only she had time to lose the stilettos. They’d make a mighty fine weapon in her hand, but on her feet they were downright deadly. A door two apartments down opened. If she could reach it and lock herself in, she might have enough time to call for backup.
Betty Jones, one of Jack’s oldest pros, stepped into the hall. “Hey, Blondie! What’s up?”
Without a word, Willa raced past her, slammed shut her door and threw the bolt. She dashed for the phone and dialed 911.
“Blondie, open up!” Betty yelled, her feeble fists hitting the door.
“Nine-one-one emergency,” the voice on the line answered.
“I need help….”
With one earth-shattering kick, the door flew open, slamming against the wall, shredding the plaster. She had to find a weapon! Dropping the phone, Willa slipped around the counter into the kitchen and yanked open the drawer she kept her knives in back in her apartment. She stared blankly at potholders and dish-towels. “Blast!”
“Give it up, Blondie. You’re mine now.” With slow deliberate steps, Carlos walked into the kitchen, cornering her against the sink. “Take a walk, Betty,” he called without checking to see if she listened. He knew she would obey, and so did Willa. His gaze locked on hers. The expression on his face was downright animalistic.
All her years of training on the force scattered right out of her mind. This man was pure demented evil. He wrapped his hands around her waist, picked her up and threw her across the kitchen counter. She landed on the floor, the impact jolting every bone in her body. Within seconds, he was on her.
She groped blindly around her and with splayed fingertips, felt the telephone she’d dropped to the floor. With white-knuckle ferocity, she grasped the phone and swung it against his head. He clutched his temple and fell to the side. It was the second she needed. She was up and running again. Her only hope for safety was to reach the boulevard cluttered with people, traffic and cops.
“Run, little girl! Faster or you’ll never escape me!” His bellow echoed down the hall as he sprinted after her. She didn’t look back. Didn’t have to. His labored breath bounced off the walls in the narrow stairwell, his heavy boots clobbered the stairs behind her, all signs that he was closing in fast.
The door to the street loomed ahead of her. Sunshine filtered through dirty glass—her light at the end of a dark tunnel. Ten feet. Seven.
If she could just make it out that door…
She felt his hand brush her shoulder and wrap itself in her hair. Her bleached-blond wig shifted, but held, the pins digging mercilessly into her scalp.
Five feet. Three.
His growl, bubbling like toxic laughter in his throat was close, too close. Panic swallowed her. She hit the door with all her strength, swinging it open. Sunshine burned her eyes. She’d made it! Her heart soared. Carlos’s hand closed on her shoulder, pulling her off balance.
She tripped, falling, reeling into the white-hot sun, into safety. Strong arms roughly caught her before she hit the pavement. She looked up at her savior and stared into the reptilian eyes of Jack Paulson.
Jeff MacPhearson’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel of the church van as he turned right onto Sunset Boulevard. The knot sitting in the bottom of his stomach grew as he took in the familiar sights of the street. Six blocks down, hang a right, then a left, and he’d be back at the old parish—his first parish, the parish of his greatest accomplishments and his biggest failure.
He pushed down the anger burgeoning within him. Tracey wasn’t Dawn. This situation was completely different. He would find Tracey and bring her back home. He would not lose another child to these wicked streets, and yet, here he was, back in the place he’d fought so hard to get out of. Back on the dirty streets he’d struggled night after night to push from his mind by moving to a cleaner parish, a safer city. Back on Sunset Boulevard staring his personal demon in the face.
The swish of long brown hair caught his eye. He hit the brakes, ignoring the horn blaring behind him and stared at a familiar-looking brunette in a ridiculously tight miniskirt. She turned at the commotion and gave him a beckoning smile. He blew out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t Tracey, though she wasn’t much older than Tracey and he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her, for all the girls that ended up on the strip.
He drove another block, then two, scanning the sidewalks on either side, searching every face, every lithe form for the missing thirteen-year-old. “Please, Lord, please help me find her,” he prayed, and then he spotted her, standing at the mouth of an alley, talking to a man who looked slimier than a used-car salesman at a clearance sale. Jeff did a double take. Jack Paulson! The old goat wrapped a meaty arm around her slim waist and led her toward the entrance of a two-story apartment building. Jeff stiffened his grip on the wheel, gathering the strength to stop himself from steering the van toward them and running the cretin down. The man deserved that and so much more.
“Keep your filthy hands off her,” he hollered at the windshield, while desperately searching for a parking place. Careful not to lose sight of her, he pulled into a parking lot a quarter-mile down the street, jumped out of the van and ran toward them.
He could see the man’s hand cupping Tracey’s little elbow, could see his white teeth gleaming as he smiled down at her. Jeff pushed harder, fighting back the urge to call her name, to stop her from entering that building.
He couldn’t imagine what had happened to make her choose the ungodly boulevard over her family home, but whatever it had been he could fix it. And whatever it was, he’d make it right this time. He had to, or what was the point? God hadn’t chosen him to work with kids just to play volleyball. He was here to make a difference, to reach these kids, to show them the way to God’s love and a healthy life.