Guardian Angel. Debra Webb
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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