“Mrs. Banks.”

Imani stiffened. Somehow he’d learned her surname. Her Instagram profile only had her first name followed by the letter B and a 3. She’d wanted anonymity. It wouldn’t do to have patients tracking her life, bringing up special moments during their sessions as if she were their friend.

“Did Melissa tell you my name?”

The question stopped him. “No. I…” An exhale blurred the bottom half of his face. “I’m here to tell you what I told Mrs. Walker before she…”

Imani braced herself for the end of the sentence. Died. Disappeared.

“Well, before whatever happened, happened,” he said.

“What did happen?” Imani tried to keep her voice gentle and inquiring, despite her fear. “I know you want to tell someone.”

The man looked up. Even in the streetlight’s dim glow, she could detect the hurt in his strained expression. “It’s not what you think. I reached out to Mrs. Walker to discuss abusive behavior by her husband.”

Imani stiffened. Nate hadn’t hit Melissa. She was sure of it. However, she was also certain that an obsessed kidnapper would justify his actions by calling the husband a “bad guy” and “abusive.”

“I’m an actor,” Micky continued, “so I know a lot of female actresses, some of whom have auditioned for Mr. Walker. He pressures young women to perform sexual acts with him under the guise of getting into character. He promises them parts for their participation and ‘bravery.’ Their commitment to roles. Then, after he’s gotten what he wants, he discards them. No pay. No movie roles. They’re left feeling absolutely ashamed.”

Imani struggled to reconcile her image of Melissa’s husband with this new information. She’d seen Nate work a room, flirting and cajoling. On the scholarship committee, she’d seen him throw his weight around, albeit always in someone else’s interest. He’d never demanded anything for himself. However, Imani supposed that she’d never seen him in a capacity where he would have needed to.

“You personally know women that Nate did this to?”

“Yeah.” The cloud in front of Micky’s face grew thicker.

“Why haven’t any of these women pressed charges?”

It was the wrong question, Imani knew. As a therapist, she realized that the right one would have expressed sympathy for Micky and his victimized friends. It would have suggested that she understood and empathized with their lack of power in relation to Nate and how difficult things must have been for them. But the part of her that had once considered Nate family felt the need to express a little loyalty. For all she knew, Micky was a crazy stalker making up stories.