Her gaze slid to the right, and she shrugged.
He leaned towards her. "I understand you're confused. I'm sorry about that. You are a valuable member of this Guild, and I couldn't stand that you thought we wanted to hurt you. I was trying to capture that special quality you possess. Your innocence and absolute certainty of what is right and what is wrong. I still want to capture it."
Her eyes flew back to his, fear making them wide.
Adrian reached across the desk and held his hand out, beckoning for Judy to take it. She hesitated, but put her hand in his and allowed him to clasp it gently. He stroked his thumb over her cool skin.
"I was testing you with the ritual, and you passed. Very few members are ever deemed worthy enough to be put through the initiation rites. Consider yourself truly special. You've made it into the inner sanctum of the Guild. From now on, you must be very careful because people on the outside will try to question you, make you doubt, but now I know that you can remain strong."
Her face relaxed, her mouth turning up at the corners. He almost had her. The next part would be critical. "I'm planning another ritual, only this time, it won't be an initiation. This time, we carry the sacred ritual through to the end."
Her hand stiffened in his, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. "Don't fear, Judy. You are the key to this working, but you are not the subject of the ritual."
A muscle twitched in her neck, and her eyes remain glued to his face.
Adrian patted her hand with his other one, then released her. He unfolded yesterday's newspaper and spun it so she could read it, but she only seemed to glance at the photo. "I don't know if you're aware that you hold the key for us. Here is our subject, and you are going to deliver him to us."
"Mark Taylor?" It was the first words she'd spoken, and her voice wavered. "I don't understand what you want me to do."
"Claire told me she found Taylor's business card on your hospital table with today's date and a time written on it."
Judy nodded. "Yes, that's true. I was going to go over to his studio today and talk to his business partner about working there, but now that you want me back, I'll cancel it."
This was better than Adrian had hoped. They had a legitimate way of getting inside. "No, keep the appointment. I've done some research and found out that Taylor lives above the studio. I want you to keep your eyes open and find a way for us to get inside. If you get a chance to unlock a window, that would be great. I want to know the layout, alarms, anything so that we can get inside."
"Why? And what do you want to do?"
Adrian bit back the anger that surged when she questioned him. He pasted on a smile. "He's been chosen. You are the messenger that delivered him to me once. Now, you will deliver him again. It's your destiny."
Her back straightened as she nodded. "I'll do whatever it takes."
His smile became genuine. "I'm sure you will, but remember, it has to be done carefully. Look for opportunities, but be subtle. If you arouse suspicion, it would ruin everything." He allowed a tinge of menace to color his voice, and by the way a muscle jumped in her throat, he knew she recognized it. "I'm sure that you will use the utmost care."
She nodded. "Absolutely."
"Mark! Mark! I'd like to talk with you a moment."
"Mr. Taylor! Could you comment on the speculation about how you get your information?"
"Are you the second coming?"
Mark rolled his eyes and shouldered his way through the throng of reporters, keeping his head down all the while. The camera had delivered more than one incident today. It didn't do that often, but when it did, it made for a crazy night of dreams. He yawned and rubbed the back of his neck.
The first save was only a mile or so away. A grandmother was going to accidentally give her little granddaughter too much cold medicine because she had forgotten her reading glasses and mis-read the label. He hoped that the magnifying lens he had would do the trick. The other saves were minor and involved little more than making sure that he was in the right place at the right time. He hoped he'd have enough time to make it back between saves to meet with Judy and Lily and ease the introduction.
"Hey, Taylor!"
He looked up, recognizing the voice and blinked as a series of flashes went off in his face. Squinting through the spots in his vision, his mood brightened when he saw George Ortega move through the horde, his camera held high in one hand, his other out-stretched.
Mark reached out and shook hands with the man. "How are you doing, George?" It had been ages since Mark had seen the other man, but at one time, they had been pretty good friends.
"I'm good, I'm good. But how about you, man? I see you're making headlines again." His friend wore a hat at a jaunty angle, his dark eyes dancing with humor.
Mark glanced around at the other reporters eagerly listening for any scrap of information. He shook his head and said, "I have no idea why. Is that what you're doing out here?"
George shrugged. "Sorry, amigo. I got a job to do." With a sly smile, he added, "You know, being a friend and all, you would be doing me a big favor if you gave me an exclusive."
"Exclusive what? There is no story." Mark turned and began walking away, deciding that taking the 'L' would be his best bet. If he walked where he needed to go, he'd probably end up looking like the Pied Piper with the media trooping along behind him. Lily had taken the van this morning because she needed the portable lights which were too big to take in her own vehicle.
George fell into step beside him. "For someone without a story to tell, you sure do manage to get involved in a lot of stuff."
Before Mark could reply, one of the reporters called out sarcastically, "Are you giving your story to him but not us?"
George turned around, walking backwards. "We're friends, dude. Understand? Friends from way back, now shut up and give my friend a little breathing room!" Spinning back around and hardly missing a step, George continued, "So, what about it, Mark?"
Mark turned to go up to the 'L' platform. "Look, George, I'd help you out if I could, but I don't have a story. If there ever is one, you'll be the first person I tell." Hearing a train rumbling down the track, he waved. "See ya! Gotta go!"
It took a mad dash up the steps and being fortunate enough to find a fare card in his pocket that still had a couple of rides left to make it on the train just in time.
Jim Sheridan finished reading the article and shook his head. If Mark Taylor kept racking up mentions in the news, Mark would be no good as an asset, but he felt a stab of guilt. It was his job as a CIA officer to protect his asset, and this article meant he'd done a piss poor job of it. It didn't matter that he'd had no way of knowing the article would appear. He chuckled, unable to escape the irony that if he had a magic camera like Taylor, he might have known of this in advance. Even if he had, what could he have done? Ordered the reporter to drop the story? If only he could. Jim stared at the picture of Mark on the page. It was undated, but it had to have been taken before Jim had ever met the man. He was smiling at something off camera, and the wariness which always lurked in Taylor's eyes ever since Jim had known him was absent.
Mark Taylor's unique ability was something which made him special. It wasn't just the camera and the dreams. Jim never knew exactly how to treat the guy, and that made him uneasy. His training had covered how to deal with people who were never quite trustworthy. Anyone who was close enough to the enemy to provide information had to be looked at as somewhat suspect. Someone in that position might drop five great tips, but then clam up, or the tips could turn out to be bait, drawing a CIA agent in, gaining their trust while biding their time to strike when the stakes were high.