MIA: Missing In Atlanta. Debby Giusti

I’m not interested in buying anything from you except some information. Do you know where I can find Viki Valentine?”

      The girl’s eyes swept past Jude, her face caught in a pulse of light. A car door slammed. Jude glanced over his shoulder and squinted into the bright glare.

      With a flash of motion, the young woman raced around the corner.

      A police officer stepped onto the sidewalk. “Hold it right there, sir.”

      The officer mumbled something into the radio on his shoulder. The dispatcher squawked a reply.

      Jude raised his right hand, palm out. “I was just talking to the girl.”

      “You gave her money.”

      “So she could get off the street and find a motel room.” Bad choice of words. “You’ve got it all wrong, Officer. I wasn’t making a buy or trying to pick up the girl. Besides, she couldn’t be more than fifteen.”

      “Since when’s that stopped anyone?” Sarcasm was evident in the cop’s voice. “Step to the car, sir. Put your hands on the hood.”

      “What?” The cop wasn’t interested in Jude’s side of the story. “I’m a captain in the army. I’ve been overseas for the last—”

      “Lonely and lookin’ for a woman, eh?”

      “Actually, I am looking for a friend of mine.”

      “Friend or not, solicitation’s against the law. Now, spread your legs, hands on the hood.”

      “Solicitation?” Jude let out an exasperated breath. “You don’t understand.”

      “I understand you’ll be cited with resisting arrest if you don’t move. Now, buddy.”

      How had he gotten into this mess?

      Jude clamped down on his jaw and held his anger in check as the cop patted him down. Arms, torso, both legs.

      “Put your hands behind your back.”

      “Officer, this is entirely unnecessary,” Jude said.

      Cold steel cuffs snapped around his wrists. The night had gone from bad to worse.

      On the opposite side of the street, a utility van pulled to the curb. The driver’s door opened and a black man—probably six-four, three hundred pounds, gold ring hanging from his left earlobe—dodged the traffic and hustled toward them.

      “Yo, Brian, my man. What’s up?” The big guy high-fived the cop.

      “Another john. Claims he was merely talking.”

      The newcomer eyed Jude. “What are you doing, boy? I told you we work outta the van. Last thing you want is to scare off the ladies.”

      Jude gave the guy a long, hard look. Who was he?

      The officer cocked his brow. “This dude one of yours?”

      “A little too zealous, but his heart’s in the right place.”

      “He gave money to a young girl,” the cop explained. “She ran off before I could talk to her.”

      The black man chuckled. “Now, Jude, how many times I tell you get ’em off the street before you go giving them handouts.”

      Okay. Jude shrugged. He’d play along. The last thing he needed was a solicitation charge on his military record. “I was trying to help.”

      “I hear ya. But right now, we need you back at the house.” The newcomer looked at the cop. “You mind undoing the cuffs?”

      He hesitated.

      “Come on, Brian,” said the big man. “My brother always said you were a good man.”

      “Not as good as he was.” The officer sighed, then slapped Jude’s shoulder. “Sorry, buddy. Guess I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

      “No harm done.” Jude rubbed his wrists, at last free of the metal restraints. Close call, to say the least.

      “Let’s go.” The big guy motioned him toward the van.

      On the opposite side of the street, Jude stopped short. “Look, I appreciate your help, but—”

      His rescuer eyed the cop, who had paused before getting into his squad car.

      “Best get in the van or Brian’ll think I’m a lying skunk. I can drop you at the next corner, if you like.”

      Jude glanced across the street. The police officer stared back at him.

      Didn’t take long to weigh his options. Jude stepped toward the van. Sliding open the side-panel door, he stared into the same green eyes he’d met earlier today.

      “Sarah?”

      

      “Get in,” she said between clenched teeth.

      Jude hoisted himself onto the rear bench, surprise written on his face.

      She scooted over, giving him more room. “Don’t hand money to anyone on the street.”

      His eyes narrowed. “Thanks for the advice. Like I told the cop, I was just trying to help.”

      “Which you weren’t. That isn’t what the girl needs. Every guy who wants her for an hour gives her money that ends up in the hands of her pimp. You’ve got to convince her to get off the street. Next time try a little Christian compassion.”

      Jude shook his head. “That’s not my area of expertise.”

      Sarah’s heart softened. “Look at it this way, Jude, there are rules out here on the street, just like in the military. You could get a girl killed by interfering.”

      “What about you?” he shot back.

      “I get them off the street. Away from this area, the rules change. They’re safe at the shelter.”

      “Until they run back again.”

      “You got that right.” The driver turned and extended his hand to Jude. “Name’s Benjamin Ulysses Lejeune. Folks call me Bull.”

      “Right time, right place. Thanks.”

      “Brian’s a good cop. Just a little quick with the cuffs. Best way to stay out of trouble is to try not to attract attention.”

      “I’ll remember that.”

      Bull shifted his focus back to the street and turned the key in the ignition. “Where’d you park your car?”

      “Next to an all-night doughnut shop, five blocks west of here.”

      Bull eased the van into the flow of traffic. Picking up his cell off the console, he punched in a number.

      “Antwahn, my man. How goes it?” Bull chuckled. “I hear ya. Listen, I need a favor.” He paused. “Friend of mine left his wheels in the parking lot across from your place.”

      Bull glanced back at Jude. “Make? Model?”

      “Red Toyota Tundra.”

      Bull relayed the information. “Got that, Antwahn? My friend would appreciate no misfortune befalling his vehicle until we get over there.” Bull chuckled again, this time a low rumble that carried more threat than humor before he slapped the cell shut.

      Sarah adjusted her seat belt and glanced out the front window, still mad at herself for sending Jude on a wild-goose chase that could have gotten him in serious trouble.

      The captain might be able to handle himself in combat, but life on the street was a different matter. Besides, she’d bet his commanding officer wouldn’t have appreciated a call from Atlanta Vice.

      Neon lights advertising forbidden pleasure flashed in the night. Sarah blinked at their perverse glare. Up ahead something caught her eye. She crooked