Fear No Evil (25 page)

When his father disowned him, Trask plotted his murder. He would kill the judge, find a way to regain his inheritance—through his mother, who would welcome him home no matter what.

Then he came up with an even better idea. He’d been working on the side distributing snuff films—mostly fake, but a few real gems nonetheless—when he saw the future of the Internet. To have a system where anyone could simply download a murder appealed to him.

In a few short years, he had made a fortune. Making his money from online pornography was nothing compared to the first film he’d produced.

Of a judge being spanked by two whores.

Trask had embellished it, but used much of the same choreography as real life. Found someone who looked, more or less, like his father.

When it was complete, he put it on the Internet and sent his father the link. Watched online as the message was opened, the link clicked.

A month later Judge and Mrs. Scott died in a car accident. Their deaths stolen from Trask. He’d wanted his money and instead got nothing.

When his father disowned him, it wasn’t in word only. He cut him off completely, changing his will.

The bastard.

Trask pushed the foul memories of his dead father away and logged onto his own webcam. Lucy was there, alone. He called Roger.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“We had to take a break. Frank almost killed her when she kicked him in the balls.”

“Why weren’t her legs restrained?”

“We wanted to try something different.”

“I’m the director, remember? This is my show. Keep her tied down and don’t be stupid. Give Frank a few minutes to cool off, then get him back in there.”

He slammed his cell phone shut, looked at his watch.

Kate was late.

He slapped Mallory next to him, and his victim moaned. “Show’s on, Mick. Get your ass in gear. I think Kate is playing with me, and I don’t like being jerked around.

“Wait until she sees what I have planned for her.”

He took out a syringe and injected the contents into Mick’s arm. “This should wake you up.”

TWENTY-TWO

T
HE NOISE OF THE HELICOPTER
made it impossible for Kate and Dillon to talk, which was probably for the best as they both thought through the plan. Dillon put aside the trauma Lucy had suffered and focused on the rescue. The pilot was landing on an island less than a mile from Lucy’s suspected position. A boat was waiting for them. They would pose as lost tourists if necessary, but Dillon felt that the disguise wouldn’t work if one of Trask’s men saw them. Trask—Adam Scott—would most certainly have done his homework. He knew what Kate looked like, and Dillon wouldn’t be surprised if he had files on all the Kincaids, including himself.

If they were wrong about Lucy’s location, then they’d lost hours of time. It could be a trap, or it could be a wild-goose chase.

But Trask had given Kate a location only eighty miles away. Close enough that Dillon believed that Lucy
could
be on this island, or one nearby. And that they had time to save her.

He looked at his watch: 2:10. Less than ten hours and she would be dead.

Dillon considered what he knew of Adam Scott. Expelled from high school for the mysterious death of a student who had supposedly been his best friend. A lab explosion? He wondered what was missing from the story. His two friends, Roger Morton and Paul Ullman, had been reinstated to the school, but not Adam. Because of the school? Or perhaps Adam’s parents? Or maybe the school was covering up a crime, claiming it was an accident and handling the “punishment” themselves.

Scott had been seventeen at the time, only a year away from graduation. He must have received a GED because four years later Scott had graduated from Georgetown, according to new information from Peterson. That knowledge of the university would have been enough to fool Lucy.

He had Roger Morton in charge of pornography, and Paul Ullman laundering money through a variety of companies. Peterson said they were still uncovering tens of millions of dollars in accounts, half of which Scott had siphoned off almost immediately after Ullman had been questioned by the FBI.

“If only we weren’t on a fishing expedition,” Peterson had lamented. “We could have shut down the accounts before talking to Ullman. But even then, we didn’t know the extent of his tentacles.”

Still, according to Peterson, Scott had taken a huge financial hit when the FBI had seized his accounts earlier in the day. He had enough money to disappear, but his conduit was closed. There was no other way to launder the money coming in from his current operation, and future operations were in jeopardy.

A small consolation for what Lucy had gone through.

Dillon glanced at Kate. Her profile was stunning. Hard lines softened by large blue eyes and a small, aristocratic nose. Her face was completely devoid of makeup, her skin tan and smooth, her hair sun-bleached even lighter than her natural blond shade.

She was all muscle, lean and athletic, from hours of working out each week. Except for the soft curves of her breasts and hips, she had no fat on her body.

A sliver of something hit Dillon in the chest. Something about Kate…she was unlike anyone he’d met.
Born in hate
she’d said. Unloved by a mother who’d been raped, misunderstood by grandparents too old to raise an active girl. Dillon suspected she was a tomboy, rough-and-tumble as a kid.

Kate was an anomaly. She thought that he had her pegged, that he’d analyzed and classified her. But she went beyond classification. She was too complex and driven. A hero in many ways, Dillon thought. Living every day of her life in search of a man who brutalized women. It didn’t matter, he realized, why she did it—guilt, revenge, duty. What mattered was that she did it, and that she kept at it even at the expense of her own happiness and freedom.

Few people would feel the need to get involved, even when tragedy slapped them in the face. Kate, on the other hand, jumped in with both feet, determined to end Adam Scott’s reign of terror.

She was scared, but her fear didn’t stop her. She knew she could die, but that realization didn’t slow her down. And she was doing it for a girl she’d never met: Lucy.

Kate turned and caught him watching her. He held her eyes, and she didn’t turn away. The strength and vulnerability he saw on her face, under her skin, in her heart moved him like nothing else could.

Lucy had hope because of Kate Donovan. Dillon would make sure they both got out of this alive.

Hank, the pilot, said, “There’s our landing spot. I came around from the north so we wouldn’t be detected if they have a scout. Five minutes.”

“Ready?” he asked Kate.

“More than ever,” she replied.

There had been no movement for twenty minutes after the rendezvous time Adam Scott had given Kate. What was his game?

Jack considered heading to the Hummer. He could look underneath, see if it was rigged with a bomb. But what if Trask was watching from the tree line? What if he was waiting for Kate to get antsy and show herself? Jack had already done periphery surveillance, but he didn’t know exactly who he was up against. He had to assume Trask had a plan.

He watched the Hummer closely. It bounced, very slightly. Someone was inside.

The door opened. Jack looked through the scope of his rifle.

Two men emerged. One was Trask. The other man was handcuffed and didn’t look completely conscious. His head lolled back and forth, but he was moving forward.

Trask had a gun to the man’s head. Who was he? A setup? The undercover fed Kate had told him about? Someone else?

“Kate Don-o-van,” Trask called out mockingly. “Come out, come out! Or do you want another death on your conscience? Because I certainly couldn’t care less about killing this traitor.”

Trask paused. Jack didn’t move, lying low in the pine needles.

Scott spoke, his voice echoing in the silence. “Kate, show yourself or this fed dies. Then the girl.”

Jack didn’t move.

“You want to kill me, don’t you? If I don’t check in, the girl will die. Painfully. Roger knows how to avoid all the major organs. She’ll bleed to death. Slowly. Like your dear friend Paige.”

The bastard grinned. “Paige. I almost wish I could kill her all over again.”

Jack’s finger rested on the trigger. He couldn’t take Trask out. The Hummer partly obscured the target. Jack was a good shot, but if he missed—and at this distance he couldn’t be guaranteed a clean kill—Trask would order Lucy killed.

Trask frowned, grabbed his pocket, and extracted a phone. His face clouded and twisted as he listened to whoever was on the other end.

He shot the hostage in the back.

Jack didn’t fire. He had a less than fifty percent chance of hitting him and Jack wasn’t willing to risk Lucy’s life with those odds. Dillon and Kate hadn’t had enough time to get to the island. Jack made the difficult decision to let Trask go.

The killer jumped into the Hummer and sped off.

Jack waited a good five minutes. He heard the vehicle leave, didn’t hear it stopping or idling. Didn’t mean that Trask couldn’t stop the car and backtrack, hoping to lure Kate out with the half-dead man face-down in the dirt. Jack proceeded cautiously.

He reached the fallen man. Checked his pulse. Faint, but steady. The wound was bleeding slowly. From the location Jack suspected the man’s right kidney was destroyed, but he was alive and would probably live if he had surgery.

Jack pulled out a cloth and applied pressure to the wound, securing it with tape from his emergency first-aid kit. He called his pal who was waiting a few miles off. “I need a copter at my location ASAP. Man down, critical.”

“ETA ten minutes.”

Jack turned the man over, searched his pockets for ID, and found none. No identification of any kind.

“Lucy.”

The man’s voice was faint, but Jack couldn’t miss his declaration.

“What?” Jack slapped him. “Buddy, wake up. Help’s coming. What about Lucy?”

“Sorry.” He hadn’t opened his eyes and Jack didn’t think he was fully conscious.

Shit. Was Dillon walking into a trap just like Patrick and Connor had?

Jack needed to get to his brother. He didn’t harbor any illusions that they’d be best friends again, but they had an understanding, and dammit, Jack didn’t want Dillon to die.

They circled the island. Dillon was unusually silent, and for some reason that bothered Kate.

The air was warm, but the water was icy cold coming down the Strait of Georgia. The fog had burned off, it was midafternoon, and the day was clear, bright, and beautiful.

Kate wished it was gray and misty. What happened to the rainy city? What happened to gray skies? She’d never believe what people told her about the Pacific Northwest again.

“Are you okay?” she asked, pretending to look at a map while she scanned the shoreline for any hint of people, particularly people with guns.

“As okay as I can be under the circumstances.”

He had on sunglasses, and Kate wished she could see his eyes. They spoke to her in a way he didn’t, saying things his words couldn’t express. But with the shades, he looked harder, more focused. More like the life Kate wanted to leave behind, instead of the future that for the first time she thought she might have. After they saved Lucy.

She was ready to give Trask up. The FBI had his real identity, they wouldn’t let go until they had him in prison. Quinn Peterson told Dillon they’d hit his financials. It was only a matter of time, and for the first time Kate was okay with that. The most important thing was to save Lucy Kincaid. Then maybe she could face the OPR and appeal for leniency. Rebuild her life.

Rebuild it with a man like Dillon Kincaid.

Not that she harbored any illusions that Dillon would want to be a part of her future. It was more the idea of a man
like
Dillon Kincaid in her life. A man who was steady, self-confident, smart, and
not
a cop. She needed to rethink her life and her choices and decide what she wanted to do, what she could do, when this was over.

But for now, she put those thoughts aside. She might not survive. She accepted that. But she’d give her life to ensure that Lucy
did
survive. And Lucy’s brother.

“There,” she said pointing to a rocky spot on the shore.

“That cliff?”

She nodded. “We’ll scale it. It looks solid.” She glanced at him. “Can you?”

“Yes.”

They’d passed a dock on the opposite shore, but there were no boats. Because Trask was attempting to meet Kate at the base of Mount Baker? Or because no one was here? It was safer to land on this side of the island, where the dense trees and bushes gave them cover.

“If the numbers sent by the undercover agent were even a fraction off,” Dillon said, “we could be miles from her.”

“I know. But we’re close. I feel it.”

Kate tied the boat to a water root, made sure it was secure, and pulled herself up by a branch that hung over the water. She shimmied along the branch to the short cliff, then used roots and vines to work her way up the fifteen feet to the top.

Dillon followed her path, agile but heavier than Kate. The vines she used started to pull under his weight. He was only a foot from reaching the top when a vine gave out and he was suspended over the water, holding on to a branch that dipped, threatening to break.

“Grab my hand,” Kate said, laying flat on the ground and reaching down as far as she could.

“I can do it,” Dillon said, trying to pull himself farther up the weak branch.

“Grab my hand,” Kate repeated.

“I weigh a hundred pounds more than you.”

“Dammit, Dillon, I can handle it. Give me your hand.”

The branch dipped and his sunglasses fell into the water. He swung toward her. She grabbed his arm, holding it in both hands as his feet sought purchase in the rock. His toes found just enough hold to help her bring him up over the edge.

He laid on the ground next to her.

She jumped up, offered her hand. He took it and she helped pull him up. They stood face-to-face, breathing hard, her black tank top covered in sweat and dirt, his green T-shirt molded to his body.