A woman alone in the dark with a stranger…

Hands in the air. Feet wide apart. She was prepared to fight if the need arose. She’d had nearly identical training as the federal agent cohorts she once worked with, but she wasn’t even close to the stranger’s level. His gaze skimmed her body. The formfitting T-shirt and jeans didn’t leave any room for concealing a weapon.

She certainly didn’t look like his idea of a private detective. But looks were often deceiving. After all, he was an expert at creating illusions. Perhaps she was an illusion designed to do exactly what she appeared to be trying to do: drawing him into a trap.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She began writing at the age of nine. Eventually, she met and married the man of her dreams, and tried various occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners and working in a factory, a day-care centre, a hospital and a department store. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and they finally moved to Tennessee, to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing again, looking to mystery and movies for inspiration. In 1998 her dream of writing came true. You can write to Debra at PO Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345, USA or visit her website at www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Guardian Angel – Is he really a saviour or merely a vigilante? And what of his alter ego, Nathan Tyler, the mysterious recluse with far too many secrets of his own?

Ann Linker Martin – A Colby Agency investigator with a deep, dark secret of her own. Will that secret prevent her from doing her job?

Victoria Colby-Camp – The head of the Colby Agency. Victoria has complete faith in all her investigators. She is certain that Ann will not fail her or the client.

Katherine Fowler – A mother who will go to any and all lengths to find her missing child.

Trey Fowler – The child’s father is terrified that the Colby Agency’s involvement will jeopardise his child’s life.

Kevin Addison – The top public relations agent in the business. How far will he go to put his boss in the limelight?

Owen Johnson – Will loyalty and ambition continue to outweigh any sense of basic human compassion he has left?

Phillip Kendall – Wealth and power are the only moral codes he follows.

Ian Michaels and Simon Ruhl – The top men at the Colby Agency.

Guardian Angel

DEBRA WEBB

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To all members of law enforcement, local,

federal or international, the true guardian

angels who protect our children.

Chapter One

Western Virginia Monday 8:35 p.m.

The girl was here.

He could feel it, could taste the evil in the air. His senses went on high alert.

Moving silently, he eased closer to the run-down shack that sat deep in the wilderness backing up against the George Washington National Forest.

An acrid chemical stench lingered in the September air. He recognized that solvent-laden stink. The remote setting provided the perfect anonymous spot. Most meth labs were found in trailer homes, old sheds, run-down motels and places exactly like this, where no one wanted to look.

It was too dark to see just now, but somewhere nearby there would be a mounting refuse pile that would tell the tale and would, all by itself, provide sufficient probable cause for a search warrant. But he wasn’t here about the classic lowlife-style meth lab.

He was here for the girl.

His heart rate remaining stable despite the anticipation coursing in his veins, he stole toward the east side of the shack. Light poured through the bottom portion of the single window on that end, its faint glow cutting through the darkness like a ray of hope.

Anticipation fueled his determination, limiting his patience; but before going in, he needed the number and location of the trouble he would encounter inside. He pulled the bill of the cap lower over his face and prepared to move closer.

The front door swung open and a lone man, maybe six feet, one-thirty or one-forty pounds, lumbered onto the ramshackle porch. He muttered what might have been song lyrics as he stumbled down the steps. Dark hair. Ragged jeans, T-shirt sporting what appeared to be the logo of some defunct heavy metal band. Not enough light reached beyond the door to determine whether or not he was carrying anything other than the sheathed knife on his belt.

The skinny degenerate lurched his way to the tree line and proceeded to relieve himself against the bark of the closest one. Too bad he’d chosen east over west. Probably didn’t know one from the other.

Less than five seconds were necessary to acquire his position. The silenced end of the weapon’s muzzle landed against the back of his skull, and the biological urge that had brought the scumbag to the tree halted.

“What the—”

“Don’t move.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” the man sneered. “Five-oh?” The metal-on-metal grate of his fly closing punctuated the cocky questions.

Grabbing a handful of the scumbag’s hair, he jerked his no-good head back and jammed the muzzle against his temple. “No one you want to know, trust me.”

The fool had the poor judgment to laugh. “Unless you’ve got some big-time backup, you’re a dead man—that’s who you are.” He tried to twist free, went for his knife. But he wasn’t nearly fast enough.

Unlucky for him.

One snap of his useless neck and he slumped to the ground. Another clump of meaningless DNA. From the smell of him and his clothes, he was hazardous waste anyway.

Acting quickly would be vital now. The dead man’s associates would be looking for their compadre if he didn’t come back inside in a timely manner.

Focusing on slowing his respiration and calming his pulse, he zeroed in on that one window on the east end of the shack that had been left partially uncovered. Without a single sound that might give him away, he stole into position. The exposed window was most likely an attempt at increased airflow. An unindustrious method of venting the dangerous chemical gases the illegal work inside produced.

The front portion of the shack appeared to be one rectangular room. A tattered couch and chair claimed the floor space closest to the open window. Beyond the sitting area was a makeshift kitchen. Piles of lithium batteries, hundreds of boxes of what was probably a popular allergy relief medication or one of its clones littered a table. A pistol—a.32 maybe—lay in plain sight.

A heavyset woman who looked to be about thirty monitored her latest concoction, a cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth. The cook. The dead guy was probably the shopper. Lots of supplies lying around. Too much so to be just a feed-my-habit operation. These dirt-bags were manufacturing with the intent to sell.

Rage tore through him at the idea that kidnapping had been added to their sick MO, obliterating the much-needed calm. He tamped down the rage, refocused on what he’d come here to do.

Get the girl.

That meant going inside.

The cook wore an MP3 player clipped to the waistband of her jeans, wires extended up to the buds in her ears. Several inches of dark growth revealed the true color of her stringy blond hair. She sang along with the tune playing in the mini headphones, belting out the words in rusty harmony.

He listened but couldn’t make out any other sound. Just the woman’s unpleasant off-key lyrics and the squeak of the floor beneath her exaggerated dance moves as she went about her dirty business.

No sign of the girl.

But she was here.

He could feel it.

He’d never been wrong. He wouldn’t be wrong this time.

There was at least one room other than this one. A door near the couch offered access. A bedroom, probably. And the most likely place to stash a hostage.

Fury contracted in his muscles despite his having banished it only moments ago. He kicked it aside again. Emotion had no place in what he was about to do.

Deciding to use the dead man as his invitation, he returned to the scumbag’s location and hefted him onto his shoulder, then headed to the front door. The woman inside continued to chant and sway to the music only she could hear.

The fingers of his right hand curled more tightly around the butt of the 9mm as he braced for a fight. He opened the door with his left hand and stepped inside.

Still humming, the woman turned. “I need you to go to the supply room and get—”

The cigarette dropped from her mouth. She grabbed for her weapon as he shoved her dead friend toward her, causing her to stumble back a step even as she pulled off a shot that went way wide of his position.

A muffled crack was the only noise his sound-suppressed 9mm made as he pumped one shot into her forehead. The woman’s finger failed to depress her own trigger a second time. For one extended beat she stood there staring at him before the weapon slipped from her hand and her sizeable bulk followed it to the floor.

Activity stirred beyond the only remaining closed door.

He crossed the room in three strides and flattened against the wall next to the couch.

The door swung inward and a man shuffled out. Forty, forty-five. A hairy beer gut hung over his boxers. A .38 was secured in his right hand.

“What the hell’s going on out here?”

Before the startled man could recover from seeing his cohorts dead on the floor, he found himself pinned to the door frame and his right arm wrenched over his head. After a few violent slams against the wall, the. 38 clattered to the floor.

The 9mm jammed beneath the scumbag’s sagging jowls kept him paralyzed. “Where’s the girl?”

The guy blinked as if he’d just awakened from a deep sleep. The craggy lines of his face, the redness of his eyes and the advanced decay of his teeth signaled that his slumber had been anything but natural.

“I dunno what the hell you’re talking about.”

“The little girl.” He jabbed the muzzle deeper into the scumbag’s filthy flesh. “Where is she?”

Realization appeared to dawn in the bastard’s expression. “I know who you are. I watch the news.” An evil light went on in his eyes as he started to laugh. “Why don’t you kill me, tough guy?”

“Where…is…she?” With each word he wedged the weapon deeper into the fatty tissue of that sagging jowl.

“Go ahead,” the bastard dared, a sadistic grin stretched across his lips, “pull that trigger. Save the courts a lot of time and trouble—if you’re man enough.”

The finger set against the trigger itched to do just that. The rage overpowered him briefly; the need to erase this mistake of nature from the planet made him shudder with its intensity.

The scumbag laughed louder. “I knew you wouldn’t. You don’t kill nobody unless they try to kill you first. I can just walk out of here and you won’t do a damned thing.”

Leaning closer, close enough that there would be no mistaking his words, he warned, “Don’t believe for a second that you’re going to get off that easy. I want you to rot in a six-by-nine cell for the rest of your stinking life. That’s the only reason you’re going to live. Now where is she?”

Too arrogant or too stupid to feel any fear, the scumbag bit out, “She’s in the next room.”

One shove sent him to the floor.

The idiot scrambled for the .38.

Two bullets to the brain stopped him cold.

He stepped over the sprawled trash and entered the other room. A stained mattress lay on the floor. No other furnishings. Only the discarded jeans and shirt the scumbag now decomposing in the other room had worn. Images of what had most likely taken place in this room made his guts knot in disgust.

He couldn’t think about it, had to find the girl.

His tension shifted to the next level, sent his heart smashing against his sternum as his gaze settled on the door on the other side of the room.

She was here.

He knew it.

The knob rattled as he clasped it with his left hand and turned. The hinges creaked with age as the door swung open.

Total darkness engulfed the room or closet that lay beyond. He reached for the flashlight on his utility belt, switched it on and pointed the beam of light into the room. His heart had started to pound in spite of his efforts to remain calm. This room was about the same size as the adjoining room but pungent with chemical odor. The one window had been boarded up.

Containers filled with necessities of the business being conducted here were stacked against a far wall. Drain cleaner, uniodized salt, coffee filters and anhydrous ammonia, a highly illegal and strictly regulated ingredient. This was the supply room. The idiots had their dangerous ingredients stored in the house with them. Too bad the stupid bastards hadn’t blown themselves to hell long ago.

Where was the girl?

His heart rate continued to rise traitorously.

He wasn’t wrong. She would be here. Left amid all this poison.

A faint whimper tugged his senses to the opposite corner of the room, where what appeared to be discarded boxes were piled high. He eased in that direction, not quite ready to put his weapon away. Not quite certain of the sound he’d heard.

He moved first one box and then the other. Some contained evidence of more of the accoutrements essential in this illegal operation. Others were empty, their former contents anyone’s guess.

Halfway through the mound he saw her.

Curled into a fragile ball of arms and legs and pressed as far into the corner as the rough wood walls would allow. She peered up at him, her eyes wide with fear.

“Don’t be afraid,” he assured as he pushed the last of the boxes aside and crouched down in front of her. “No one can hurt you now.” Anguish chewed at his insides. Damn these bastards.

He scooped her trembling body into his arms and strode out of that hellhole of a shack, his anger building all over again.

This had to stop.

He had to do all he could, but he feared it would never be enough.

She started to cry, her sobs racking her small body.

“Don’t cry, Jesse,” he whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. They can’t hurt you now.”

Chapter Two

Chicago The Colby Agency Wednesday 2:10 p.m.

Seated at the small conference table in Victoria Colby-Camp’s office, Ann Linker Martin’s full attention remained glued to the monitor on the credenza as a previously recorded newscast played. The reporter’s grim tone sent shivers spilling across Ann’s flesh even before the words penetrated her brain.

“According to Front Royal’s chief of police, little Jesse Duncan insists a man wearing a baseball cap took her from the house where she’d been held, then dropped her off at her own front door. As of this hour, the location where Jesse was held is still unknown. No official confirmation has been given, but residents of Front Royal are convinced that Jesse Duncan was rescued by the East Coast’s own Guardian Angel.”

Victoria pressed Off on the remote. “I’m sure this isn’t the first you’ve heard of this so-called Guardian Angel.”

“I’m very familiar with the story,” Ann confirmed. She’d grown up in the Baltimore area, had worked as a consultant to Baltimore’s FBI field office. Anything that went on in that territory was of specific interest to her. Six “Guardian Angel” rescues over the past two years had taken place in her hometown. “Considering the airtime this guy is getting,” she added, “it would be hard not to have heard of him.”

As happy as she was to hear that little Jesse Duncan had been rescued, promoting this man’s agenda was just wrong. Whoever he was, he was no Guardian Angel. Since when did angels wear baseball caps? And leave murder victims behind? He was a vigilante, pure and simple.

Guardian Angel was an unidentified suspect who had reportedly rescued around a dozen children in the past four years. Possibly more, possibly going back as far as ten years. The reports were scattered and inconsistent. But they all had one thing in common: the perpetrators of the crimes against the children were, more often than not, discovered dead in one manner or another.

The guy was probably nothing more than an urban legend, a story that picked up momentum after being aired by the media repeatedly. These so-called rescues could be the work of several people or even the original perpetrators of the crimes who’d had a change of heart, prompted by fear, and who hoped to avoid being caught. The one thread of consistency—the baseball cap he supposedly wore—could be an element the police unwittingly introduced to recently rescued victims. The whole world wanted to believe in a Guardian Angel…especially when it came to missing children.

But Ann, the weight of tension crushing down on her shoulders, knew from personal experience that no such creature existed. There were no Guardian Angels. Far too often it was luck of the draw whether a child was recovered after abduction. Without enough evidence, luck was all law enforcement had. Too many times that luck was bad. The odds of finding missing children grew slimmer with every passing hour after the abduction. A great many variables played a part in whether a child was recovered safely or not, but none of them included a Guardian Angel.

Despite this so-called hero’s intended good deeds, the man—if he even existed—was nothing more than a murderer himself, in her opinion. He’d get caught one of these days. Or he’d get dead when he encountered a more intelligent criminal. Justice should be left up to those carrying the official credentials.

“You don’t see this man as a hero,” Victoria suggested candidly.

Ann had her own reasons for finding that line of reasoning exasperating. But she wasn’t going there. The past was the past—far better left exactly there. “You want my honest opinion?” she asked just as candidly. When Victoria nodded, Ann admitted, “Based on what I’ve seen in the media, he’s just another killer, not a hero.”

Victoria glanced at the blackened monitor. “I’m certain the parents of those rescued children feel differently.”

Ann wouldn’t argue that point. She was immensely grateful that the children in each of these instances had been saved. But what kind of message were the man’s actions sending to the public? And what about all the other children? How did their parents feel? Why were some children rescued by this so-called angel and others not?

The only way to maintain civil order was to have laws. Vigilante justice was not the answer. Prevention was the key. More stringent laws, stronger punishments.

The apprehension started to tighten uncomfortably around her chest. She wasn’t in law enforcement, hadn’t really ever been. A consultant, as she’d learned the hard way, didn’t count. The sooner she stopped allowing her past to influence her decisions, the sooner she would get on with her future. She had to stop obsessing on things that didn’t matter anymore, had to focus on the reason she had been called to Victoria’s office this morning. It usually meant she was about to be assigned a new case.

Victoria rose and crossed to her desk. She retrieved a file folder, then returned to her seat at the small conference table. “Katherine Fowler and her family,” Victoria began as she opened the file, “live in an intimate upper-class community called Edgewater, an hour’s drive outside Baltimore.”

Ann wasn’t familiar with that particular neighborhood, but she knew the general vicinity. Very upscale.

“Four days ago,” Victoria continued, “her only child, Caroline, was abducted from the yard where she was playing not a dozen meters from her mother.” Victoria placed a photograph of a little girl on the table in front of Ann. “The FBI and the Arundel County deputies are working around the clock to solve the case. Unfortunately,” Victoria said as she placed a report next to the photo, “Caroline appears to be the sixth child in a string of abductions aptly dubbed the Fear Factor case. So far not a single child has been recovered.”

Definitely not good. Ann had read numerous articles on Fear Factor. The perpetrators watched for the perfect opportunity, preying on the mother for the ransom in each case.

“Did they use the bank scam for the money transaction?” It amazed her that these guys continued to get away with the same exact ploy. Were the local banks watching for this sort of transaction? Had they briefed their personnel as to what to look for in a stressed customer? Ann didn’t see how such a simple maneuver could continue unchecked. Obviously it had.

“According to the chief of police, it’s the same MO, down to the mother being left to wait for a call that never comes,” Victoria said, her own disbelief evident.

Ann studied the picture of the blond-haired child. No doubt this little girl’s mother had seen the news and on some level had recognized her daughter was a victim of the same perps as the other abductions in this case. But how did a mother risk her child’s life and go against the pattern? Say no to the kidnappers and go straight to the police?

She didn’t. And that was the one unwavering instinct the perps were banking on, no pun intended.

The worst part about this series of kidnappings was that so far the children hadn’t been recovered, period. No bodies. No nothing. Only an empty promise to deliver. One theory mentioned by the Bureau’s press representative was that the bad guys took the ransom and then sold the children for even more money. Why give up a negotiable asset? Why waste it? The prevailing thinking was that the perpetrators were not pedophiles. To the contrary, they appeared to be savvy businessmen. With an intimate knowledge of how the banking system worked and a burning desire to cash in on the world’s leading black-market trade—human trafficking. A shudder started deep down inside her, but Ann bullied it back into submission. Not going there.

“There’ve been no evidentiary discoveries to date?” Ann asked as she glanced over the report prepared by Arundel County.

“Not a single shred,” Victoria confirmed. “Nor is there anything that ties the different victims or their families together other than tax bracket.” Victoria’s gaze settled heavily onto hers then. “This is your specialty, Ann. You’ve worked with the Baltimore Bureau office. You’re the perfect choice for this assignment. Katherine Fowler wants her daughter back and she’s scared to death that the usual channels are not going to get the job done.”

For several seconds after Victoria stopped talking, Ann sat there unable to make an appropriate response.

Yes, she possessed the electronic-banking expertise and the experience with the Baltimore authorities. Those were the very skills that had gotten her noticed by the Bureau. The same Bureau that had ignored her warnings on that final case and caused the death of a child. Ann had sworn that she would never feel that helpless again. That was why she was here working in the private sector, away from all the bureaucratic crap. Working with the Colby Agency had helped her regain her self-confidence, her sense of purpose. It had made her feel capable of going out on that emotional limb of trusting her instincts once more.

Until now…maybe.

“You have a problem with taking this case, Ann?”

“No.” Ann laid the report aside and ordered a smile into place to cover the lie. “Absolutely not.” Even as she said the words, her stomach clenched.

“This is the highest-profile abduction yet,” Victoria noted with a pointed glance at the photo of Caroline Fowler. “That says one significant thing to me—”

“They’re getting braver,” Ann finished for her, resisting the urge to shift restlessly in her chair. Damn her inability to stop this infernal response. This was a case. Just a case. It wasn’t about her or her past.

“None of the law enforcement personnel already involved is going to be happy about your presence,” Victoria offered. “You’ll be treading into their territory, stepping on their toes.”

“I understand.” Ann folded her hands on the table in front of her. She particularly understood that she’d made a few enemies at the Bureau when she’d walked away. “What exactly does Mrs. Fowler want me to do that she believes the Bureau can’t?”

Victoria was a very elegant woman. Her dark, all-seeing eyes and coal-black hair streaked silver spoke of wisdom and years on this earth. She had built this agency with her own sweat and tears and a great deal more heartache than she would likely care to confess. But she never asked one of her investigators to do anything she wasn’t prepared to do herself. And yet somehow today she looked uncertain of the assignment she was about to give.

She couldn’t possibly know Ann’s secret. No one did.

“Six children have been wrenched away from their homes and not a single piece of evidence has been found. Katherine Fowler has every right to be concerned that her child will not be found. So—” Victoria exhaled a deep, worrisome sigh “—Mrs. Fowler has retained our agency to find the one man she is certain can rescue her daughter.”

Ann knew even before Victoria could say the words. “How am I supposed to do that?” This was a desperate mother grappling at straws. What she was asking would take days or weeks or longer—if it was even possible to lure this so-called Guardian Angel out of seclusion. Little Caroline Fowler probably didn’t have hours, much less days or weeks.

“I’m certain you’ll find a way,” Victoria insisted.

All Ann could do was give it her best shot. Even as the thought formed in her mind, she realized a dozen reasons she would fail before she even started. Her thoughts wandered to the guy with the baseball cap who rescued children from the worst possible situations. Not the guardian-angel persona the press had created but the man himself. No matter how you looked at it, the guy was still a murderer. She’d seen the sketches of him. The baseball cap and the ponytail of long hair were about all any of the kids ever remembered.

How did he choose the missing kids he intended to rescue? Was it about the ones he could find or did he have some sort of method or inside track even the police didn’t have?

The better question was, how the hell did she find him? What if it wasn’t one guy? Resolving that question could take weeks. Determination fired inside her. She would have to operate under the assumption this was indeed a lone perpetrator. If so, he definitely wasn’t a ghost or a phantom. He existed. Ate and slept like everyone else. Someone somewhere knew something. She didn’t believe in angels or spiritual guardians of any sort. Criminal or heroic, people were the ones who made things happen. And people made mistakes.

All she had to do was look for his mistakes.

Or maybe she’d just issue him an invitation.

Chapter Three

Fowler home Edgewater Thursday 12:05 p.m.

Katherine Fowler was devastated. Her physician had prescribed a heavy-duty sedative, but she refused to take it. The distraught woman considered her daughter’s abduction to be entirely her fault, and no one was going to convince her otherwise.

“If she’s…dead,” Katherine murmured, “I don’t think I’ll…” Her feeble voice trailed off.

“Mrs. Fowler.” Ann took a deep breath in an effort to subdue the adrenaline throttling through her veins. With genuine understanding in her eyes and compassion in her tone, she attempted to relay whatever assurances she could. “I’m sure the Bureau has told you that there is every reason to operate under the assumption that your daughter is still alive. Until there is evidence indicating otherwise, that won’t change. It’s important that you hang on to that.”

Special Agent Frank Lewis was on the back patio, speaking to the father. There had been a time when Ann had worked closely with Lewis. They’d been friends. Still were, she supposed. That old connection had gotten her past the father, who wanted nothing to do with what he called his wife’s ridiculous scheme.

The father, Trey Fowler, a member of a special Homeland Security council, had been out of the country at the time of the abduction. He knew nothing, but there was always the remote chance that his daughter’s abduction had something to do with his work. That possibility couldn’t be ruled out at this stage in the investigation no matter how much the MO of this case resembled that of another. Lewis had been kind enough to bring Ann up to speed on the way from the airport. But she understood that he’d told her what the Bureau wanted her to know.

Katherine Fowler shook her head. “There’s nothing else they can do. They won’t be able to find her.” A fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks. “They haven’t found even one of the other five.” She scrubbed at her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “That’s why we have to find him. He’s our only hope.”

Ann recognized and understood the feeling of being completely alone and helpless. She wished there was something she could do to assuage that horror. But there wasn’t. All she could do was attempt to distract her for a little while. “Before we move into that phase of my investigation,” she began, “I need you to understand a few vital facts.”

Katherine Fowler nodded eagerly. “Whatever I have to do. Anything.” She grabbed a wad of tissues and swiped at her nose.

Ann moistened her lips and went for broke. “First of all, you need to be fully aware that the perpetrators in this case watched your family for days or weeks. Every move you made was under a microscope. Intense planning and strategizing went into the decision as well as the move to take your little girl. I’m certain the Bureau emphasized that these people would have found the right opportunity one way or another, it was only a matter of time once the decision to take your daughter was made. Nothing anyone could have done would have stopped them.”

Katherine’s worried gaze clouded with confusion, and her head moved slowly from side to side. “No. I wasn’t watching her closely enough. Then I let them fool me into not calling the police. This is my fault.”

Ann ordered her heart rate to slow when it stubbornly continued to increase. The annoying constriction around her chest wouldn’t abate. She could not let the tension and panic gain so much ground so quickly. She hadn’t allowed that to happen in years; she wasn’t about to start now. Where was her objectivity? Focus, she ordered. Focus and stay that way.

“You had no reason to believe your daughter wasn’t perfectly safe in your backyard.” Ann tried again to reach past the blame Katherine Fowler had heaped onto her own shoulders. “The people who took your daughter are professionals. You have to understand that before we can move forward. This is an essential step, Katherine.” She used her first name for emphasis. “I need you to stop fixating on what you should have done and focus on what we can do.”

The neighborhood where the Fowler family resided was premiere. There was no reason at all to suspect trouble. The family’s feelings of security had been bought and paid for with top dollar. But no amount of money could erase the idea that if she had watched more closely, been more careful, her daughter would not be missing. Still, Ann had to try.

The confusion cleared from Katherine’s eyes and she looked directly into Ann’s. “I want you to do a press conference for me. Plead with him to help my daughter.” She shuddered visibly. “My husband won’t let me do it. And, quite honestly, I’m in no shape to get in front of a camera.” Hope glittered in her eyes for the first time. “But you can do it.”

Ann definitely hadn’t seen that one coming. “Do you realize how that will expose you and your family to every freak in the state? Maybe even the country?” This was not a sound idea.

“Couldn’t we have one of those hotlines?” Katherine straightened her back and lifted her chin ever so slightly in defiance of the paralyzing emotions glittering in her eyes. “There has to be a way to make this happen, and going to the media is the most efficient method I can think of.”

Ann wouldn’t argue that. She’d already considered that issuing a personal invitation would be the quickest route to getting this guy’s attention. The debate revolved around whether or not this so-called Guardian Angel would respond to the invitation. An attempt to summon him in this manner didn’t feel right. There were other means—the classifieds, online chat rooms.

“This is what I want,” Katherine urged. “Please say you’ll help me. There is no one else.”

Ann glanced at the French doors and the man pacing restlessly on the other side. Tragedy was already tearing this family apart. As much as Ann wanted to help, this was so not a good idea. But if summoning this man the world called the Guardian Angel was the point, she damn sure couldn’t immediately call to mind a more time-efficient way of reaching out to him. “Let me take some time to think about it,” Ann offered. “I’ll discuss the option with Agent Lewis.”

“And he’ll shoot it down,” Katherine rebutted. “I want this done. Today. Before it’s too late.” Tears welled in her eyes all over again. “Don’t let me down, Ms. Martin. Please.”

“I’ll do everything possible to get your daughter back,” Ann assured her as she stood. “I’ll be at the Hilton. You have my cell number.”

“You could make the six-o’clock news,” Katherine pressed as she pushed unsteadily to her feet. “We could have a response by morning.”

“I’ll call you at five,” Ann promised. “We’ll either be doing a press conference at six or I’ll have another option on the table for your consideration.”

That was the best she could do. She offered her hand, but Katherine ignored it. Instead she grabbed her and hugged her hard. “Please,” Katherine whispered. “You’re my only hope.”

The return drive to the city left Ann feeling damned helpless. As if she’d left something back at the Fowler home. Maybe a little piece of herself. She’d thought she had put these extreme anxiety reactions behind her a long time ago. But today had proven that she still had a good deal of work to do before the past was really behind her. Hell, maybe it never would be.

Agent Lewis wasn’t sure his SAC—special agent in charge—was going to be happy about the press-conference proposal. Except for the part about where they might lure the Guardian Angel into a trap. Apparently the Bureau wanted him almost as much as they wanted the people responsible for the Fear Factor abductions. Ann supposed that wasn’t so surprising considering a number of people were dead by his hand.

“What’s your take on the father?” She and Lewis hadn’t really talked about the father yet. The mother was the primary person of interest in the case at this point. But right now Ann needed to know just how much trouble this guy was going to give her. The man was really put out by the involvement of the Colby Agency—Ann in particular. In his opinion, her presence undermined the Bureau’s ability to get the job done.

Lewis considered her question a moment as he took the exit to Aris T. Allen Boulevard. “The man is definitely in a position to generate some unpleasant moments for you. He claims he knows of no one who would want to hurt his family like this. But, hey, you don’t get that high up the food chain without making some powerful enemies. We’re following that avenue as enthusiastically as any other.”

She doubted the latter, but that wasn’t her problem. Leaning her head back, she tried to relax. Speaking frankly with Lewis wasn’t a hardship. She had trusted him when she consulted for the Bureau. She trusted him now. “I’m not sure how I feel about this press conference.” It was not going to go over well with local law enforcement and certainly not with the Bureau.

Lewis shrugged. She took his brief pause as an excuse to study his chiseled profile. They had attempted the dating thing a few times, but work always got in the way. The story of her life.

“I think it could be an excellent strategy.”

That surprised her. “Really? I doubt your superiors will feel the same way.” That was an understatement if she’d ever made one.

Another of those careless shrugs lifted his navy-clad shoulder. He wore the nicer suits, the ones that couldn’t be bought right off the rack.

“A press conference might very well draw the Guardian Angel out of seclusion,” he submitted. “He might just decide to help. And there’s always the chance an announcement like this could scare the unknown subjects who took the girl. If they feel threatened, they might decide Caroline Fowler is too much of a liability to proceed. Anything’s possible, Ann.” He shot her a sidelong glance. “If you tell anyone I said this, I’ll deny it. We’re pretty damned desperate at this point.”

Ann’s tension eased fractionally at his forthrightness and because he didn’t take an immediate stand against the notion of a press conference. Maybe the press conference wasn’t such a bad idea. She could handle it. All she had to do was take this one step at a time and keep that damned looming panic at bay.

Lewis’s cell buzzed.

Ann didn’t have to hear the other side of the conversation to know it wasn’t an enjoyable one. The term dressing-down came instantly to mind. With a firm “yes, sir,” Lewis ended the call.

“Let me guess,” Ann offered. “They’ve heard I’m in town and someone isn’t happy.”

He flashed her a smile that was far more patient than it was amused. “Bingo.”

As Victoria had said, this wasn’t going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination. The Bureau wouldn’t want her involved in any aspect of their investigation. Certainly not in the public eye amidst all the negativity related to law enforcement’s failure to solve a single one of the Fear Factor cases. Not to mention that the Bureau would remember well the last case with which she’d been involved—not one of the associated memories would be pleasant.

“We have a command performance,” Lewis informed her, “with the director.”

Well, well, it sure hadn’t taken Katherine Fowler’s husband long to get the ball rolling. When he’d said he didn’t like this, he’d really meant it.

Chapter Four

Annapolis, Maryland 5:20 p.m.

Kevin Addison was the best public relations agent on the East Coast. But even he, as he had repeated three times in the past half hour, couldn’t perform outright miracles. He needed a face to go with the name quickly becoming a megabuzzword in the electronics world.

Tough luck. That wasn’t happening.

Addison heaved a breath of frustration and settled his gaze on Nathan’s. Nathan Tyler sat behind his big desk, looking exactly like a character from a pirate movie—again, this was according to Addison himself. He loved throwing phrases like that around. Nathan was weary of his attention to this detail.

Addison didn’t get it. This was who Nathan was. Addison would be better served if he would simply get used to it. Nathan wasn’t changing. He wore his shoulder-length dark hair gathered at the back of his neck. His unyielding jaw (as Addison would put it) was shadowed by a day’s beard growth. Nathan dressed as he always did: well-worn jeans and white button-down shirt. All he needed was the eye patch and he would look exactly like a ruthless pirate—again, according to Addison. Every bit as crafty, as well, some would say. And that was exactly the way he liked it. This persona kept the world at bay…which was the point.

“Think, man,” Addison railed. “Those dark, almost forbidding good looks could prove an immense marketing tool. Women love that stuff. A big, strong warrior to keep them safe. Hell, some guys like it, too. We should capitalize on those assets. You’re the top security software creator on the planet. Everybody wants you. That you look as enigmatic as the concept of what you do only makes you more marketable.”

Nathan didn’t allow so much as a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. He sat there, surrounded by his books. This was what he did when he wasn’t flanked by a dozen computer monitors: research. All sorts—people, places, things, activities—and all a waste of time, in his agent’s opinion.

Addison shook his head at his client’s continued silence. “You’re not listening to me.” He rested his hands at the waist of his designer trousers. “It’s almost freaky, Nathan. You don’t have the first hobby other than these damned books and not a single friend, discounting the few employees allowed access to this—” he gestured magnanimously “—fortress. You need to get out. Take advantage of all your wealth affords you.”

Nathan almost laughed at that. If Addison only knew. He had a hobby, all right. One that kept him very busy but that was his secret.

“You can’t hide from the limelight forever,” his agent went on. “The name Nathan Tyler is synonymous with impenetrability. Nothing gets past your systems. Your company just bagged a multimillion-dollar government contract. They’re going to want to see your face, man.”

“No.”

Addison threw his hands up. “That’s perfect. One word. A single gruff syllable.” He pointed an accusing finger at Nathan. “I know you can command a better conversation than this. You don’t do all your talking with computer keys.”

“The answer is still no,” Nathan reiterated, using multiple words and syllables in an effort to convince the man. Or not.

Addison let his chin drop to his chest and swore softly. “Nathan…” He leveled his gaze on his client’s once more. “You have a lame-duck CEO running your company. You have me seeing after your best interests in the media. You have a butler, for Pete’s sake, who does your shopping. Give me a break here. The whole world wants to know the answer to one question—who is Nathan Tyler?”

“Go away, Addison. I won’t change my mind.”

If Addison were an easily intimidated man, Nathan would have had him running for his life with just that laser-beam stare. Addison had told Nathan many times that his icy blue eyes could cut through steel. But Addison was in PR. Sticking his head into the lion’s mouth was a survival skill. He wouldn’t be where he was today if he let the occasional lead-filled gaze or overbearing tone get the better of him. 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

Baltimore City Hall 6:40 p.m.

The press had finally started to filter out of the lobby. Dozens of agents and police officers lingered, discussing the case, talking about the good old days. This one had been an all-employees press conference—Bureau personnel as well as every uniform available. The powers that be had wanted a show of force. They’d gotten their wish.

Ann tried to act interested in the discussion she’d been dragged into by a former colleague, but one thought kept pounding in her brain: she had to get out of here. Now.

The overwhelming sense of doom had started to press in around her a mere sixty seconds after she’d walked away from the podium, following furiously on the heels of the raging adrenaline that had taken complete control of her brain the second she opened her mouth in front of the cameras. She should never have let herself get so worked up. When she’d started to launch her statement, simple and to the point, something had gone wrong. She’d gone off on a damned tangent, and years of buried history had spewed forth as if she’d lost total influence over her tongue.

Dread congealed in her gut. God, she’d lost it completely. On camera, at that. The whole city—the nation—had been watching. It would be a miracle if she was allowed anywhere near the peope press conference had been conducted. The Bureau would be outraged and Victoria Colby-Camp would be utterly confused. Where was the cool, controlled investigator she had hired? That would be merely one of many questions Victoria would ask herself. j

“Good job, Martin.” Bailey patted her arm. “I liked the passion you put behind your plea. I’m certain there wasn’t anyone watching who didn’t feel it.”

She managed a rigid smile in spite of the shock his words evoked. “Thank you, sir.”

“Publicly appealing to the Guardian Angel was a stroke of genius,” Bailey added. “We need that vigilante off the streets.”

Somehow Ann managed to hold that stiff expression in place while he congratulated her once more. When SAC Bailey had moved on to interface with far more distinguished guests, she sucked in a shaky breath. Maybe she hadn’t blown it completely. Maybe she hadn’t gone off track as badly as she’d thought. Time would certainly tell.

Lewis appeared next to her. He grinned. “You had the crowd mesmerized.”

“Thanks.” That dread she’d felt thickening in her stomach started to churn in spite of the compliments. Her palms had begun to sweat. She needed to get out of here before the symptoms became visible. “You know…” She struggled to keep her voice even as she spoke. “I think I’ll call it a day.” She looked around for the best escape route. She wanted out of here without running into anyone from the press…or anyone else, for that matter. She hadn’t even checked in to her hotel yet.

As if reading her mind, Lewis angled his head to the right. “They keep the west corridor closed off during these things. Go that way and you won’t have to worry about being chased by the press.”

She nodded jerkily. “Good idea.”

Thank God Lewis headed off another agent who called her name. Ann walked as fast as she could without breaking into a dead run. She gulped in another deep breath, tried to hold it as long as possible before releasing. Deep breath, hold, release. It was supposed to work. Wasn’t doing any good this time, though.

As Lewis had said, the west corridor was blocked off, but the guard recognized her and allowed her to pass. She saw the exit doors in the distance, but somehow they kept getting farther and farther away.

No matter how fast she walked, she just wasn’t getting closer.

Her heart thundered, racing for a finish line only her hysteria recognized. Her skin felt cold and damp. Bile rose into her throat.

Oh, God.

Ladies’ room on her right.

She glanced behind her. No one coming. She ducked into the ladies’ room and braced her trembling body against the wall.

Slow, deep breaths.

The ragged sounds echoed as if she were suffering from an asthma attack.

Slowly inhale. Count to ten. Slowly exhale.

She closed her eyes and tried to relax. Ordered herself to stop fighting the terror…to roll with it and let it pass. Her fingers clenched, but she consciously unclenched them. Relax. Calm down. Deep breaths.

Her heart thudded so hard she could barely hear for the blood roaring in her ears. Her limbs tingled as if they’d gone to sleep with her standing up.

The pressure on her chest increased, felt like a ton of bricks stacked one by one until she couldn’t breathe. Fear wrapped around her every thought, wouldn’t let go.

Relax, Ann. Just relax.

She’d been through this before. But it had been years. She reminded herself she wasn’t in actual danger. All she had to do was reclaim control, calm down and let this thing go.

Four whole years. She hadn’t had a full-blown panic attack in four years.

“Damn it.”

That first case she’d consulted on for the Bureau she’d suffered an episode, but she’d caught it in time, had headed it off. No one had been the wiser when it was over. But this…this had sneaked up on her.

Today she’d lost all control.

Today the adrenaline had taken over.

She knew the cause. She’d suffered with panic attacks for a dozen years. But then, her last year of graduate school, they’d abruptly stopped. Granted, she’d worked hard to recognize the aura before the full-blown attack hit, but her life had done a major turnaround and that had been the significant factor in moving past those debilitating episodes.

She’d taken charge of her life.

No way was she going to let the irrational fear take over again. Not now. She’d only just gotten started in her new career. This was right where she wanted to be. She had to regain full authority over her emotions.

Starting this minute.

She pushed away from the wall and took a moment to splash cold water on her face. Her reflection told her just how much power this episode had wielded. Even now the terror lingered in her eyes, attempted to steal the air right out of her lungs.

“You have to be stronger than this. Don’t let those old demons back in.”

Squaring her shoulders, she looked again, deep into those jade eyes she’d inherited from her father. There was her confidence. It hadn’t deserted her. This case had tipped the scales against her, but that wasn’t what had started this whole plunge into the past.

It was those damned reports about the Guardian Angel. He had haunted her dreams for weeks now, though she had refused to admit it. She’d tried to block the crazy fixation developing, but she’d lost that battle. On a purely intellectual level she understood her interest in this so-called hero. But on all other levels she resented his intrusion into her life.

He represented the loss of hope and the major disappointment that motivated far too many of the fears she had suffered so long ago; all that he stood for fueled the bitterness she still felt at times even now. None of which was completely rational.

“No living in the past,” she told the woman looking back at her. “No obsessing. No fear. Encounter, learn, overcome.”

That was her motto. Life wasn’t always kind. But she wasn’t the only one who’d suffered. Not by a long shot. In fact, she was damned lucky to have survived the worst fate had thrown in her path.

All she had to do was remember her motto. No matter how bad things got as she adjusted to the evolving demands of her new career path. No matter how terrifying the case she was assigned. She could handle anything that came her way.

Encounter, learn, overcome.

It was the only way to defeat the demons.

Past and present.

It was the only way to move on.

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