He was determined.
“One of these days, Nathan,” he said, his tone somber now, “someone is going to out you. Why let the enemy choose the time and place when you can take control and do that yourself? Right now.”
“Is that a threat, Addison?”
Nathan knew from the widening of his longtime friend’s eyes that fear had just trickled down his spine like a bead of sweat. That might just be a first. Maybe the boisterous PR agent could be intimidated. Nathan used that lethal air he’d been accused of having the same way he used his appearance—as a means of keeping the select few around him at arm’s length. Made them all wonder if he was friend or foe. Made them afraid to turn their backs—all except Addison, of course. Nathan usually had to settle for exasperating him.
Some sacrifices were necessary for keeping secrets…for survival.
“No. No,” Addison hastened to explain. “You misunderstand my meaning. I’m only saying that nothing stays secret forever. Why not give ourselves the advantage?”
“This conversation is over.”
Addison stood. He knew when he’d gone as far as he could. “All right. I’ll be in touch with you next week to review those press releases.”
Nathan saw no reason to respond to that comment. Idle chatter was not his style.
Addison picked up his briefcase. “Very well. Good evening.”
Addison saw himself out of the seventeenth-century mansion. Dead bolts slid into place behind him. Nathan had designed his own home-security system. Addison insisted that Nathan could make himself a new fortune if he decided to venture into that arena. But Nathan Tyler wasn’t interested. He had all he needed right here in Annapolis’s historic riverfront district. The harbor view was incredible. Despite being nearly four hundred years old, the house was wired with cutting-edge technology and furnished comfortably.
To Addison and the outside world, Nathan appeared to have it all. The only thing missing was the desire to appreciate those assets fully. Addison insisted that Nathan was wasting away behind these ancient walls. Then, each time he dared make such a comment, evidently fearful that he had crossed some unseen line, he would suggest that perhaps he did not understand the creative mind that was both a frightening and fascinating thing.
As long as this relationship continued to make a rich man out of Addison, what the hell was he complaining about?
Nathan picked up the remote on his desk and unmuted the fifteen-inch plasma sitting on the corner of his desk. As usual, the local news channel had overreported what he’d done.
The child was the important element in this story.
Why didn’t they focus on the child? On stopping the predators? Outrage whipped through him, setting his teeth on edge.
They would never learn.
It was when they weren’t looking, weren’t paying attention, that these travesties occurred.
What would it take to wake them up?
He was only one man.
He couldn’t save them all.
He closed his eyes and fought back the images. The horrors that still haunted him even after so many years.
No matter how many children he rescued, he couldn’t make the images go away.
The one he hadn’t saved tortured him the most. Lived inside him, a constant agonizing reminder.
He’d failed.
Even once was too often.
No drug, nothing, would relieve the pain. And he knew. He’d tried them all. He stared at the glass of bourbon waiting patiently on his desk. It didn’t actually relieve the pain, but it made him indifferent to its continued existence for a time. Oh, yes, he’d sampled every imaginable distraction. Nothing had ever given him real peace. Not even for a fleeting instant. Still, he emptied the glass, promptly refilled it, then repeated the process.
That was his cross to bear, as they say. He would just have to deal with it.
Nothing could get in the way of what he had to do. And maybe then, when he’d made the ultimate sacrifice, he would find some margin of peace.
The ongoing press coverage on the screen tugged at his attention once more. Special Agent Carson Bailey stepped up to the podium next. He recognized the man as head of Baltimore field operations. He’d seen him in the spotlight before.
Now this might actually be interesting. The Bureau was usually far less easily impressed with rumors and myths. He was sick to death of hearing the reporters wax on about heroes and saviors and shadows in the night.
He was neither. He was just a man with a mission.
Bailey provided an update on the Fear Factor case, which proved nothing more than a rehash of what the public already knew. Zilch. He reassured those within his jurisdiction that the Bureau would do all within its power to protect their children.
Nothing Nathan hadn’t heard before.
He almost changed the channel, but then a new face captured his attention.
The young woman was introduced as Ann Martin, no federal or local law enforcement rank included. He hadn’t seen her before. Luxurious long blond hair. Distracting green eyes. She stepped up to the microphone, looking a little nervous, and launched into a lengthy discussion of how important it was to generate community support during a time such as this. Even with her voice shaking ever so slightly, her words carried far more meaning than the words of those who had spoken before her. As she plowed onward with her statement to the press, the scope of her assertions went beyond the Duncan case, beyond the missing children in the Fear Factor case. She spoke with conviction, with fierce determination on how the parents of those children suffered.
His instincts roused further, pushing aside the warm alcohol haze he’d accomplished with the bourbon.
It wasn’t so much the words she said that held his attention. It was the explosive passion with which she spoke. As if she understood the horrendous fear the parents suffered. As if she could feel the pain of the children.
As if…she had personal experience.
He leaned forward…reached out and touched the screen as she hammered away at her audience—an audience of more than just the folks she wanted to reassure. She was speaking to those who committed crimes against children. She was speaking to him.
A surge of excitement flowed through his veins.
He traced the outline of her face, felt a knowing smile twist his lips.
“You know, don’t you?”
And then she did the last thing he expected. She asked for his help. Rattled off a number he should call anytime, day or night.
“Ann Martin.” He inclined his head and studied her face as she thanked the audience and the press. “What are you up to?”
Chapter Five
