Fear No Evil (29 page)

“I expected it.”

Dillon turned her chin so she was forced to look him in the eye. “I will do everything in my power to make sure you don’t go to prison. Quinn Peterson will call in every favor. My brother Jack seems to know everyone on the planet. I’ll ask him to call the president of the United States if we have to.”

A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and Dillon wiped it with his thumb. Put his thumb to his lips and tasted her agony.

“I think you should do the right thing, face the board and tell them everything that happened five years ago. Including what you told me on the plane. That your partner wasn’t honest with you from the beginning. I know she’s dead, and she’s not here to answer the charges for herself. But she was your best friend. She would not want you to go to prison for something that wasn’t your fault. You acted to the best of your ability and knowledge. No one can expect anything more.”

“I—”

Dillon put his finger to her lips. “But,” he said, his voice low, “if you think the deck is stacked against you, if you think you can’t face it, I’ll help you disappear.”

“You’d do that for me? Why?”

He didn’t know why. A torrent of emotions assaulted him, feelings he’d never had. He’d never been an emotional man. He was reasonable, intelligent, professional. Reason over feelings, logic over emotion.

But here with Kate Donovan, his feelings refused to remain buried. He just didn’t know what to call them. He’d never experienced them before.

For a person who made his living working with other people’s emotions, Dillon was at a loss to understand his own heart.

“You saved Lucy,” he said simply.

“You’ll help me out of duty,” she said flatly.

“No, not duty. It’s more than that.”

She stared at him. “What? If not duty, why would you break the law to help me?”

“You’ve shown me more about myself than I’ve ever seen. You pushed me. You trusted me. You trusted me even when everyone you’ve trusted has let you down.”

“You’re a man who inspires trust,” she whispered, glancing down. “But do you trust me?”

He pushed her chin up again, his eyes falling to her lips. A small cut on her upper lip where the tree branch hit her was already healing. He leaned over and kissed it lightly. Then he kissed her again. Her hand came up around his neck and held him to her, a sob escaped her throat.

He swallowed her sob, kissed her again, opening her mouth, tasting her, pulling her tongue into his mouth. His arms went around her back, holding her. She molded perfectly to his body, her small breasts pushed flat against his chest, her hand clutching his hair.

He reluctantly pulled back. “Let’s go.”

“They haven’t released me.”

He smiled. “I’m a doctor. I’m releasing you.” He pulled her up, held her close. “Let’s see about that hot shower.”

Jeff Merritt started to walk into Lucy Kincaid’s hospital room and was stopped by a broad man in quasimilitary garb.

Merritt flashed his badge and started to walk past. The man put his hand out and held him back. “You can’t go in there.”

“I need to debrief the girl,” Merritt said.

“You are not allowed in there.”

“Out of my way, soldier.”

The man shifted his stance, from protective to offensive. “You need to leave,” he told Merritt.

“I don’t take orders from local law enforcement,” Merritt said. What did these people think he was? Some two-bit cop? He was an assistant director in charge in the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He had more authority in his little finger than they had in their miserable lives.

The door opened and a woman stepped out. She shut the door firmly behind her and frowned at them. “What’s going on here? She’s sleeping.”

“I’m in charge of this investigation. I need to speak with the victim and get a statement.”

“Hell no,” she said, crossing her arms.

Merritt fumed. “And who are you?”

“Detective Carina Kincaid, San Diego Police Department. You’re not talking to Lucy until she’s ready.”

Merritt needed to find out what the girl knew, what Adam Scott had said or she had overheard. He had to find Scott. He couldn’t rest until that part of his life was over. He was so close, but once again Kate Donovan had fucked it up.

“If Scott abducts another girl, it’s on your conscience.”

The woman raised an eyebrow at him. “Go away.”

Merritt turned and left. He’d already tried to see Mallory, but he was in emergency surgery. Internal bleeding. He might not make it. Dammit, why couldn’t Merritt have spoken to him first? He might know something important about Adam Scott’s next move.

He flashed his badge at a nurse. “I need Katherine Donovan’s room number.”

“One moment.” The nurse went to a station and looked it up. “Five-fifteen,” she said.

He smiled. “Thank you.” Finally, someone who responded to authority.

Merritt closed his eyes as he waited for the elevator. He was so close to avenging Paige. The two people responsible for her death were within reach. Kate Donovan and Adam Scott.

He pushed aside memories of his own culpability. He hadn’t believed that Kate Donovan had found Paige that fateful day five years ago. He was so furious that they had gone against orders, that one agent had died and one was abducted, that he believed Kate was just blowing smoke to save her own ass.

Then, on the computer screen, he saw her jump through the window. Saw her pull the knife out of Paige’s chest. She ran, and the cabin exploded.

Sweat formed on his brow. If he had believed Kate then, would they have been able to save Paige? He didn’t know.

But if Kate hadn’t disobeyed direct orders, Paige wouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. If he had sent backup, even more lives would have been saved.

“God, I miss you, Paige.” He remembered how much he’d loved her spunk, her courage, her beautiful, exquisite face.

And then the image of her brutalized body, the rapes and the stabbing, assaulted his senses and he pounded his fist on the elevator wall.

For five years revenge had been in the forefront of his mind. And now half of it would be complete.

He’d bring Kate up on charges. Going through the Office of Professional Responsibility was merely a technicality. He could keep her in prison until they made their findings.

But first he had to figure out how to smoke Adam Scott out of hiding. Using Kate Donovan as bait.

He squeezed the small DVD player in his pocket. He would show her what she’d been responsible for. Make her work with him. Because now the ends most certainly justified the means.

He opened the door of room 515.

It was empty.

TWENTY-SIX

T
HE HOTEL WAS
on the water, ten stories up, and Kate opened the sliding glass doors to let in the cool, fresh breeze even though the sun had set long ago.

Dillon handed her the backpack from the plane. She didn’t know how he’d gotten it, but the idea that he’d thought she might need something was endearing.

He touched her face and she melted inside. She couldn’t imagine him wanting her. She probably had more baggage than all his patients combined. But she would take it, at least for tonight.

“Do you mind if I shower?”

He shook his head, kissed her. “I’m going to get you something to eat.”

“The hospital fed me dinner.”

He grimaced.

She laughed. “Hey, it wasn’t bad. I’m used to worse food from Professor Fox’s observatory.” She took his hand, squeezed it. “Don’t leave.”

He kissed her again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Kate hadn’t been intimate with a man in a long, long time. She hadn’t thought she missed it. After watching Trask and his games, she thought she’d never want to have sex again.

But here, with Dillon Kincaid, she saw everything good sex could be, between two people who wanted to please each other.

“Shower,” she murmured into his lips, pulling him along with her.

She backed into the lush bathroom. A single white rose sat on the black marble counter. She picked it up, smelled it, savored it.

“You?”

Dillon took the rose, touched it to her nose, then put it in a water glass.

“How hot?” he asked, turning on the shower.

“Very hot.”

“Ouch.”

She grinned and pulled off her tank. She saw Dillon’s gaze travel down her body. She had a lot of little scars here and there. “I’ve sort of abused my body. This,” she pointed to a long faded diagonal scar down her side, “was made by a skinhead when I went undercover back in my irresponsible youth.” She found herself laughing. She hadn’t been able to think about her previous years in the FBI without thinking about Evan and Paige. But now, recounting the good she had done seemed to free her.

“And this,” she stepped out of her jeans and pointed to a round, gnarled scar on her upper thigh, “was a bank robbery. Hostage situation. I went left, should have gone right.”

She stepped over to Dillon. The bathroom was already growing steamy from the hot water. “Does my body disturb you?”

“Disturb?” He grinned lopsidedly. “I wouldn’t use that word.”

He unclasped her bra smoothly, dropped it with her soiled clothing. He gently touched her shoulders, his long fingers trailing down her breasts, touching the little scars on her stomach, the bigger one on her side.

“You’ve had your appendix removed,” he said, touching a very faint one-inch scar on her abdomen.”

“I was thirteen. I thought I was having menstrual cramps. It burst.”

He frowned. “Dangerous.”

“I survived.”

“You’re a survivor.”

He kissed her.

“Take off your clothes,” she commanded.

He pulled the borrowed shirt over his head. His body was long and lean, but his muscles were hard and tight. He had several nicks on his chest where the branches on the island had hit him. She kissed one, then another, then another.

He dropped his pants and backed her into the shower.

“Damn, that’s hot,” he grimaced.

She sighed, content. The hot water hit her abused body, making it ache even more before easing her pains. She groaned, then allowed the massage jets to pound her muscles. She caught Dillon watching her.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re beautiful.”

She glanced down, feeling embarrassed and excited at the same time. She’d been told she was pretty, but coming from Dillon it came with a heart of sincerity, a frank and honest and unsolicited comment.

“Thank you.” She smiled up at him. “You’re not too bad on the eyes yourself.”

He kissed her, then reached for the shampoo and poured a quarter-size pool into his large hand. “Turn around, please.”

She complied, tilting her face up toward the ceiling to avoid spray directly in her eyes. Dillon rubbed the shampoo into her hair, his long fingers massaging her head from the crown to the base. The rich lather smelled fabulous, but what was more luxurious was Dillon’s attention. Slow, strong, steadfast. Focused all on her head, her neck, rubbing and massaging the tension out of her body. She felt the pressure of the last two days—the last five years—spiraling down the drain.

“Oh, God, that feels good,” she murmured. “Where have you been?”

He whispered in her ear. “Waiting. For you.”

An erotic shiver slithered through her body. Dillon rinsed her hair, then picked up the soap and facecloth. His strong, talented fingers massaged her body, leaving her feeling limp, languid, like a jellyfish.

“I’m not going to be able to move,” she said on a sigh, kissing his wet shoulder. She moved her mouth to his neck, the taste of his skin a new and exciting flavor.

She took the soap from him, rubbed the bar against his body. Building up a lather that she took across his chest, his shoulders, his back. Down his sides, to his narrow waist and flat stomach. Dillon may not have been in an occupation that required staying in shape, but he had no problems in the body department. His abdomen had a defined six-pack, and his thighs were solid muscle. She wanted to touch him for hours.

Dillon slowly turned her around so he could rub her shoulders. She put her hands on the tile wall as his talented hands hit still-tight muscles. He kissed her neck softly, his tongue leaving a trail of desire in its wake.

“Dillon,” she breathed.

He kissed her earlobe. “I want to make love to you,” he whispered, his voice low and sexy.

“Please.”

He shut off the water, reached out, and pulled in a large, thick white towel. He wrapped her body, then picked her up and carried her from the steamy hot bathroom to the startlingly cool bedroom.

Goose pimples rose on her skin. “I shouldn’t have opened the balcony door,” she said.

Dillon sat her on the bed, crossed the room, and closed the door. Then he returned, pulled down the comforter, removed her towel, and put her between the sheets. He climbed in after her, pulled the comforter over them. “Warm?”

“Getting there.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. He was staring at her with an intensity she hadn’t seen in him before. Something shifted inside her, from casual lust to serious desire.

Dillon wasn’t a man to have one-night stands. Dillon was the type to have serious, discreet, and long-term relationships. Kate couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t married. He was prime. Handsome, sexy, smart, and compassionate.

“What are you thinking?” He stared at her.

“Why you’re not married.”

“Who says I’m not?”

She almost hit him, then saw a smile curve around his lips.

“That was mean,” she said, trying not to smile back.

“I’m not married, never been married.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been pretty focused on my practice.”

She touched his face, ran her hand through his hair, then pulled him to her lips. Kissed him lightly. Over and over.

The light kisses turned hot, their breath entwined, their hands moving to touch everywhere. Exploring as only new lovers can. Cautious, wanting to please, wanting to bring out the best in each other, and in themselves.

Dillon sank into Kate. He wasn’t a man who gave in to his passions and wants. He thought things out, never acted without looking at every contingency. But with Kate, he let his needs take over, an intense and heady desire for her. A feeling that if he let her go, she would vanish and his world would be a darker place.