MIA: Missing In Atlanta. Debby Giusti

The world could use more Jude Walkers.

      “Give me a minute to look up those records.”

      She stepped into the house’s warm interior and pulled the door shut behind her. For a moment she leaned against the hardwood frame. Something about the man tugged at her heart.

      The accounting problems could wait. She’d give the captain a few minutes of her time before she sent him on his way. That was the least he deserved.

      

      Jude tapped his foot and let out a frustrated breath. He appreciated the shelter worker’s help, but he had expected Nicole to be the woman answering the door.

      Not Sarah Montgomery.

      Tall and fair-skinned with golden-brown hair. Around thirty. His age or a year or two younger. For all her attempts to be authoritative, she missed the mark. Compassion was what he saw staring back at him from her green eyes.

      He scanned the sleepy neighborhood of older homes. Seemed like a safe environment. Not a bombed-out hovel in the lot of them. No bullet-scarred walls, no worry of land mines or IEDs or rocket launchers in enemy hands.

      Hardly seemed to warrant a shelter.

      Yet every city had areas where bad things happened. Inner-city crime. Street drugs. He may have been deployed for thirteen months but the facts of life remained. Every country had its problems.

      Why had Nicole given him this address? Nothing made sense.

      Jude glanced at his watch.

      What was keeping Ms. Montgomery? Maybe she was calling the police and telling them about the weird guy in a rumpled uniform who had taken up residence on her front step.

      A dull thud pounded in the deep recesses of his brain. Chalk it up to the worry that continued to eat at his gut.

      Jude closed his eyes and thought of the way the dimples in the corners of Nicole’s cheeks appeared when she laughed.

      They had laughed so much. Deep, turn-your-world-topsy-turvy laughter that wiped away the past and gave him hope for the days ahead. Days he wanted to spend with Nicole.

      The door creaked. He rose as Sarah stepped onto the porch.

      “I checked the overnight log. A young woman named Viki Valentine stayed here for a couple weeks, six months ago. She left just a few days after I arrived.”

      “But what about Nicole? Perhaps she was a volunteer?”

      “Not in the last six months.”

      Jude sighed. Nicole had mentioned a younger sister, although he couldn’t remember her name. As much as he hated to think of someone in Nicole’s family ending up in a shelter for wayward teens, even good kids made bad decisions that got them in trouble. “Do you know where I can find Viki?”

      Sarah shook her head. “I’m afraid she left without telling anyone.”

      “You must keep records,” Jude pushed.

      “Of course, but only if the kids give us information.”

      The breeze blew a strand of hair across Sarah’s cheek. She tugged it back into place and tilted her head as she stared back at him. “You’ve got to understand, Jude. Usually the kids who stay here have no place else to go. They run away from a bad life at home and run into a worse situation on the street.”

      “You’re saying this Viki Valentine came from a troubled home?”

      “More than likely. And for whatever reason, she didn’t want to accept the help we offered.”

      “Any idea where I should start looking for her?”

      Sarah hesitated, her face clouding for an instant. “Viki may have gone back to where we find a lot of the girls,” she finally said. “The area’s about six blocks from here. Head to Moreland Avenue and go south. At the fourth light make a right. You’ll see a series of run-down motels. Some of the girls work the streets in that area.”

      “Work the streets?”

      “That’s right. Like so many of the girls we rescue, Viki Valentine is a prostitute.”

      TWO

      A streetlight glowed in the cold night air, throwing shadows across the faces of the people Jude passed. An empty cigarette pack littered the sidewalk along with fast-food wrappers and the want-ad section of the newspaper, all strewn like rubble across the cracked cement.

      Rap music blasted a message of violence and despair from the stream of motorists who cruised the streets, looking for…?

      Jude could only imagine.

      A plastic bag of powder? Enough crank or ice or speed to drown out the reality of life on the street.

      And what was Jude looking for? He’d pounded the pavement for hours, lost in his own world of unanswered questions. Did he really think he could find Nicole?

      She was probably far from this area of unfulfilled dreams, living the good life that didn’t include an army guy she’d met by chance at a coffee shop six months ago.

      He let out an aggravated breath. Had he deluded himself, thinking fate had brought them together?

      Nicole’s take had been less romantic and more realistic.

      “Baby, it’s just that our paths crossed for a moment in time.”

      And then she’d moved on?

      Is that why she’d given him the wrong address?

      And what about her e-mail and disconnected phone service? Surely that was overkill.

      Unless she was running away. From what?

      A two-week relationship filled with the promise of developing into something more?

      Jude tugged at his Windbreaker. The temperature had dropped significantly with the setting sun.

      At least he’d changed into civilian clothes. No reason to advertise he was military. Plus he doubted people would be forthcoming talking to a man in uniform.

      Up ahead two women leaned against a brick storefront, the display window covered in a protective web of wrought iron.

      The taller of the two tapped her boots to ward off the cold, the tasseled suede covering more leg than the miniskirt that stopped midthigh. The other stood on red stiletto heels, legs wrapped in fishnet stockings. A thin slip of a dress hung on her bony body. She clutched a denim jacket around her shoulders and shivered in the night air.

      Couldn’t be more than fifteen. Pretty mocha face. Shoulder-length hair. Big eyes that turned as Jude approached.

      Someone Sarah needed to take home to her shelter.

      A late-model sedan pulled to the curb. Two guys, wearing sport coats and ties. The front-passenger window lowered.

      Jude fisted his hands and hustled forward, realizing what the men were hoping to buy.

      Not the young one.

      The older woman climbed into the rear seat, and the car sped away into the night.

      The girl left behind stared at Jude.

      He dug in his back pocket and fished out his wallet. The least he could do was help. Palming three twenties, he cautiously approached the teen.

      Doubtful she’d take the money without encouragement. Maybe he could trade for information.

      “Miss?” Jude pulled Nicole’s picture from his pocket. “I’m looking for someone.” The girl glanced nonchalantly at the photo he held up to her.

      Jude fingered the bills. “Have you ever seen this woman? Or someone named Viki Valentine?”

      A flicker of recognition swept over her face.

      “Do