Sanctuary

Don’t worry about later, about consequences or payment. He never hurt anyone but himself.”
    It was vitally important that she understand that. Just as important, Nathan realized, that he understand it himself. “Kyle just preferred the easy way, and if the easy way had a shortcut, all the better. He had a lot of charm, and he had talent. Dad was always saying if Kyle would put as much effort into his work as he did his play, he’d be one of the top photographers in the world. Kyle said Dad was too critical of his work, never satisfied, jealous because he had his whole life and career ahead of him.”
    He paused, listened to the words replay in his head. And suffered their implication. Was it competition? A twisted need for the son to outdo the father? His head began to pound again, hard beats at the temples.
    “I’ll make the calls,” Nathan said flatly. “If we can eliminate that possibility, we can concentrate on others. Kyle might have gotten drunk, showed the photos to a friend, an associate.”
    “Maybe.” It wasn’t an area Jo wanted to push just then. “Whoever is responsible has a solid knowledge of photography, and quite a bit of skill. It’s inconsistent, occasionally lazy, but it’s skill.”
    Nathan only nodded. She’d just described his brother perfectly.
    “He would have to be doing his own developing,” she continued, relieved to be able to concentrate on practical steps. “Which means access to a darkroom. He must have had one in Charlotte, and then when he came down here, he’d have needed to arrange for another. The package I got here was mailed from Savannah.”
    “You can rent darkroom time.”
    “Yeah, and that might be what he did. Or he rented an apartment, a house, brought in his own equipment. Or bought new. He would have more control, wouldn’t he, if it was his own place, his own equipment?” Her eyes met Nathan’s. “That’s what drives this. The control. He could go back and forth between the mainland and the island. He’d be in control.”
    To control the moment, to manipulate the mood, the subject, the outcome. That is the true power of art . His father’s words, he remembered, neatly written on the page.
    “Yes, it’s about control. So we check photo supply outlets, find out if someone ordered equipment to outfit a darkroom and had it shipped to Savannah. It won’t be easy, and it won’t be quick.”
    “No, but it’s a start.” It was good to think, to have a tangible task. “He’d likely be alone. He needs the freedom to come and go as he pleases. He took pictures of me all over the island, so he’s wandering around freely. We can keep our eye out for a man alone with a camera, though we’re just as likely to jump some harmless bird-watcher.”
    “If it was Kyle, I’d know him. I’d recognize him.”
    “Would you, Nathan? If he didn’t want you to? He’d know you’re here. And he’d know that I’ve been with you. Annabelle Hathaway’s daughter with David Delaney’s son. There are some who might see that as coming full circle. And if that’s so, I don’t believe you’re any safer than I am.”

TWENTY-SEVEN
    J O slept into midday and woke alone. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept until ten, or when she had enjoyed such a deep and dreamless sleep.
    She wondered if she should have been restless, edgy, or weepy. Perhaps she’d been all of those things long enough, and there was no need to go on with them now that she knew the truth. She could grieve for her mother. And for a woman the same age as Jo was now who had faced the worst kind of horror.
    But more, she could grieve for the years lost in the condemnation of a mother, a wife, a woman who had done nothing more sinful than catch the eye of a madman.
    Now there could be healing.
    “He loves me, Mama,” she whispered. “Maybe that’s fate’s way of paying us all back for being cruel and heartless twenty years ago. I’m happy. No matter how crazy the world is right now, I’m happy with him.”
    She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Starting today, she promised herself, they were going to stand together and fight back.

    IN the living room, Nathan finished up yet another call, this one to the American consulate in Nice. He hadn’t slept. His eyes were gritty, his soul scorched. He felt as if he were running in circles, pulling together information, searching for any hint, any whisper that he’d missed months before.
    And all the while he dealt with