Luck And a Prayer. Cynthia Cooke
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.
One more block to go.
The building’s door swung open and a platinum blonde in form-fitting purple spandex flew out the door and fell directly into the man with Tracey. Tracey jumped back.
“Blondie!” Jack yelled as the woman slipped through his grasp and headed toward Jeff. Jack followed, leaving Tracey alone and giving Jeff the chance he’d been praying for. He lifted a hand and waved. Tracey’s eyes widened as she saw him, her gaze locking on his. Come on, Tracey. Let me help you, he pleaded silently.
Something slammed into him, knocking him flat to the ground. The concrete packed a wallop to the back of his head. Bright stars of pain danced before his eyes and he couldn’t find his breath.
The stars receded yet still he couldn’t see. Something dry and sticky filled his mouth; something soft and curvy filled his hand. He jerked his hand off the silky spandex and spat out a mouthful of fake hair. “Get off me, please,” he groaned and at the same moment inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla and cream. He was breathing again and the woman smelled wonderful, not exactly what he’d expect from someone with her questionable taste in clothing.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, and quickly righted her skewed wig. Curly wisps of red hair hung down from her temples mixing with the acrylic platinum waves. As she shifted, he felt a tug in his back pocket before her hipbone ground into his stomach. He groaned again.
“Thank the Lord above,” he muttered, as she finally rose off him.
“Come on, Blondie,” a deep voice said. “We have some business upstairs.”
Jack yanked her to his side. “Sorry, Jack,” she said with a saucy smile. “But I can’t. I’ve already got an appointment and it ain’t with you.”
“It is now.” He pulled her arm up behind her back. She winced and leaned forward, but didn’t make a sound.
“Hey,” Jeff protested, and started to rise, then fell back, shaking the momentary dizziness from his head.
“Jeff, are you all right?” Tracey kneeled next to him, her big, brown still-innocent eyes full of concern.
“You know this guy, Tracey?” Jack asked.
She turned to him, biting her lower lip. “Um, yes, sir. He’s the pastor at my church.”
Brushing off the pain, Jeff rose to his feet and dropped a protective hand on Tracey’s shoulder.
“Church, heh?” Jack chuckled, though his eyes gleamed with menace as they took in Jeff’s gesture.
She nodded. “Uh-huh, in Pasadena.”
“You’re a little out of your neighborhood, aren’t you, Padre?”
“Just here to pick up my girl,” Jeff said, and turned away from him and made strong eye contact with Tracey. She had a hard time holding his gaze, but his didn’t waver. “We’re going backpacking, remember? Everyone is waiting for you.”
“You wouldn’t believe what I caught Blondie doin’ this time, boss.” Another man, huge and brooding, grabbed the woman’s arm.
“Take her upstairs and see that she doesn’t get away,” Jack growled.
The woman’s green eyes met Jeff’s, surprising him with their fiery determination. This was a woman who could take care of herself. And yet… “Do you need help, miss? I’d be happy to give you a lift anywhere you want to go. Anywhere,” he emphasized.
The brute holding her burst out laughing.
“She can’t make it and neither can Tracey.” Jack took a step toward them, his face set in stone. Jeff gave Tracey’s shoulder a protective squeeze. “I believe that decision is up to the ladies.”
“Not anymore. I’m taking care of Tracey now and I can do it a whole lot better than the rest of you hypocrites.”
Fury swelled in Jeff’s chest. This animal preyed on lost women and children and he wouldn’t get his filthy paws on one of his kids. He’d die first. He took Tracey’s small shoulders in his hands and faced her, blocking Jack from her view. “Give me a chance, Tracey. Please. I’ll make everything all right at home. I promise.” His gut wrenched as fear and confusion flashed though her eyes. Please, God, let me have the chance to make it right this time. Don’t let me lose another child.
“Come on, Jack. Let the kid go,” the woman interrupted. “I thought you said we’ve got business.”
Jack sneered at her. “Like you’re worth it, Blondie.”
With lightning speed, she pivoted and brought up her knee—hard. The brute holding her doubled over, releasing his grasp. She jerked free,