"What do you have?" he asked when his older brother's voice rumbled through the line.
“The name of the boat is Anastasia. Eighty-three-foot President 830 motor yacht. D.C. registry."
"Where does he keep it?"
"He usually winters it in Fort Lauderdale. The Bahia Mar Hotel. But he didn't move it this year. It's at a country club in Baltimore."
"What's the name of the club?"
"Sparrows Point Yacht Club."
In the background, Randall heard Van-Dyne barking out orders that were ridiculous at this point. He wondered if he was going to get any help from the police. "Has Van-Dyne contacted the Baltimore PO?"
"He won't touch it."
Randall cursed in frustration. Dammit, he needed backup. He didn't have time for policy and procedure. He sure as hell didn't have time for departmental politics or political correctness. "Jack, see if you can get the Baltimore PD interested. Tell them anything. Just get a couple of black-and-whites out to Sparrows Point."
"I'll do it."
Randall disconnected and switched on the dome light. Folding the map, he squinted at the image of metropolitan Baltimore. If Addison was being held in Tate's yacht, that ruled out north and west Baltimore. He creased the map, catching the steering wheel just in time to jerk it off the shoulder of the highway.
He backed the speedometer down to eighty as his eyes scanned the myriad inland waterways that made up the city's coastline. The Patapsco River to the south. The Back River to the east. Curtis Bay. Frustration clawed at him.
"Where the hell are you?" he asked in a voice so strange it frightened him.
Tossing the map aside, he snatched up the telephone, punched city information, and asked for the number to Sparrows Point Yacht Club. He dialed. A recorded voice told him the club's office hours were between eight A.M. and six P.M.
Muttering an oath, he snapped open the map. "Come on, you—"
At the tip of his thumbnail lay Sparrows Point. Just past the Francis Scott Key toll bridge at Bear Creek. Silently, he began to pray. That he wasn't wrong. That he wasn't too late. That God would spare the only woman he'd ever loved.
He couldn't stop thinking of what she must be going through. They'd discussed Tate enough in the last week that she would know what she was up against. She knew what the odds were of her coming out of this alive.
The thought tore him up inside.
Knowing he was at least ten minutes from downtown, he pressed the accelerator to the floor.
Chapter 26
The sight of him stunned her. Addison’s breath jammed in her throat. A surge of adrenaline jolted her. Terrified and somehow amazed, she stepped back, half expecting him to strike at her like an angry viper.
Garrison Tate stared at her through steel gray eyes. Her last living relative. Her birth father. The only human being in the world with the power to terrify her.
His stare touched her, with an almost physical force, intruding into places she didn't want him to see, places that made her feel unprotected and powerless. In the last hours, her defenses had been shattered. As much as she hated the thought, she sensed he drew some sort of twisted satisfaction from her fear.
He appraised her without emotion, the way a prospective investor assesses a ten-thou sand-dollar piece of horseflesh. He was taller than she'd imagined. Well over six feet. His European suit was tailored to a physique that bespoke of personal trainer finesse. But he had just enough softness around the middle to tell her he was a man accustomed to fine dining. His hair was dark with a hint of gray at each temple. His presence was commanding. His posture spoke of power and status and arrogance. But it was his eyes that unnerved her most.
Her only thought was that there was no resemblance between them. With that realization came a bizarre sense of relief that meant little in light of what she faced in the coming hours.
"You're quite a resourceful young woman." He motioned toward the narrow door that led into the hall. "Shall we go into the salon?"
The cold amusement in his expression chilled her. Had there been a route of escape, she would have used that moment to flee. But she knew there was no escape. Addison felt that acutely as she stared at his outstretched hand. She was trapped within this monster's lair. A murderer in disguise. A man who'd fooled a nation of millions.
She refused his handshake with the best go-to-hell look she could manage.
He smiled. "Ah, you impress me, Addison. I knew you would. I'm very, very pleased with you."
"You son of a bitch." Her voice shook, but she didn't care.
"This will be much easier for both of us if you stay calm and cooperate." Frowning, he reached out and touched the cut on her cheek . "I see you've met Kyle."
Addison endured his touch without reacting.
"I'll have a word with him about ... his tendencies."