Midnight Disclosures

“This is my business environment, Mark. I’m going with you.”

He scrubbed his hand over his chin and met her in front of the car, then grabbed her hand and placed it on his arm. “Then hold on.”

She tensed, but finally acquiesced, and he led them through the throng until they were close enough to hear the speaker. He recognized Ian Hall, the Director of CIRP, from the photos Devlin had shown him. Cameras were trained on him, while he held a microphone in his hand.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I appreciate your time today,” Hall said. “On behalf of CIRP, I want to publicly express our concern over the two young women who phoned Dr. Claire Kos. She’s a valuable member of our team, and has done an outstanding job combining her practice and lecturing on various topics, the very reason she was chosen to host the radio talk show. CIRP is doing everything in our power to help the police investigate these violent deaths.”

“Although the police haven’t verified they’re dealing with a serial killer,” a lanky reporter said, “all evidence suggests that fact.”

“I heard they’re calling him the Midnight Murderer,” another reporter said.

More reporters jumped in, shouting questions at once.

“Is Dr. Kos available to speak to us?”

“Yes, where is she?”

“Does Dr. Kos know the identity of the Midnight Murderer?”

Mark shoved Claire behind him. “I can’t believe this. He’s milking the crimes to get publicity for CIRP.”

“I can assure you,” Hall continued, “Dr. Kos is doing everything possible to assist the police. I will arrange an interview for her when we speak again.”

“Like hell you will,” Mark muttered.

A tall reporter in front of him turned and noticed Claire’s cane. Seconds before she pounced, her eyes turned hawkish. “Dr. Kos is here now! Let’s hear what she has to say.”

The other reporters elbowed their way toward them like vultures. Mark encircled Claire with his arm and pushed through the crowd. “Dr. Kos has no comment.”

“Mark—”

“Come on, Claire, you’re not going public.”

He dragged her up the stairs, fending off hands and microphones, then shot Ian Hall a threatening look. “Get inside, Hall, we have to talk.”

Hall gaped, but recovered enough to paste on a smile for the camera. “That’s all for today, but thank you for coming. We’ll keep you posted.”

One of the reporters grabbed Mark’s arm. “Sir, are you a policeman? FBI?”

“He’s Mark Steele,” another reporter shouted. “He’s the guy who survived that explosion overseas.”

Mark gripped Claire harder. Dammit, he hadn’t thought about being recognized.

“Lt. Steele, can you tell us what happened to your men?”

Mark gritted his teeth and pushed the horde of reporters away.

“Mark?” Claire angled her head to him in question.

He had refused all interviews so far. He didn’t intend to talk now and open his wounds to the public.

“Get inside, Claire,” he barked.

Hall ducked inside behind Mark as the crowd moved forward. Mark shut the door, then yelled at a security guard to bar anyone from entering.

Ignoring the reporters’ references to himself and pleas to talk to Claire, he turned to Hall. “What the hell are you trying to do, get Claire killed?”