Fear No Evil

NINE

KATE HAD RECEIVED a one-word response from Quinn Peterson: Working.

She hated waiting. Her entire life had become a waiting game. She pushed away from the console and heard something.

Her gun was in her hand without another thought. She leaped from her chair, moving to the door, putting her back against the wall. The hum of her computers distracted her, the movement of Lucy dancing on the screen drawing her eye. She took a deep breath, focused. Listened.

Footsteps on the metal stairs.

Someone was here. It wasn’t Professor Fox. It was the middle of the afternoon and he’d be sleeping. And he wouldn’t come to her room. He always used the intercom to summon her, especially after Kate had almost killed him when he startled her that first time.

More footsteps. At least three people. Possibly four. Kate closed her eyes. Boots. Army? Hiking? She’d heard that Dominguez’s troops had been hiding out on the mountain after taking out a humanitarian aid convoy last month. The government didn’t take kindly to criminals who stole so blatantly, so Dominguez had a bullet with his name on it, from both his competitors and now the government. It was only a matter of time, not that Kate cared. She could get off the mountain whenever she wanted-by air.

A knock on her door. If this was the FBI finally coming for her, they wouldn’t have been so polite.

“Kate Donovan? It’s Dillon Kincaid. I’m here to talk about my sister.”

Kate stopped in her tracks. The guy who said all those things online? Who, without knowing her at all, had seemed to get inside her head? How could Dillon Kincaid have found her? And how could he get to her in half a day?

“Kate, please let me in.”

“Who’s with you?”

“My brothers.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“You have three brothers?”

“Yes.”

“And you all came up here because you think I can lead you to your sister? Think again. I don’t know where she is. Go home.”

The doorknob turned. It was locked.

“Go away,” Kate said. “I’ll send all the information I get to Quinn.”

But if I think I know where Trask is, I’m going after him myself.

“I’m not leaving,” he said.

“Then sit out there all night. It gets cold when the sun goes down, even in June.”

“I called in favors, traveled hours by plane, jeep, and foot, to find you. I think you know more than you’re saying. I know you can find Lucy. I brought my brother Patrick. He’s a computer expert, like you. He’s the one who isolated your transmission and located you.”

“Bullshit.” Was the FBI planning her takedown right now? She needed to get the hell out of here. No, dammit! Kate didn’t want to leave. She was so close.

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

“You’re jeopardizing everything!”

“I didn’t tell Agent Peterson where you were. He knows we know, but he didn’t ask, I didn’t tell. Please let us in.”

She closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want help, but she needed it. The Baja island-had she been right? Wrong? Was Trask there, or was it another trap? She didn’t know, couldn’t see the truth anymore.

She was so damn tired. She missed Evan, she missed Paige. She hated being alone, but she didn’t see any alternative.

She opened the door, kept her gun leveled at the man on her threshold.

Two guns were aimed at her head.

“Kill me and he still dies,” she said, staring into the green eyes of the man she assumed was Dillon Kincaid.

“Put the guns down,” Dillon said without taking his eyes from hers.

He was tall. Handsome. In shape, but no bodybuilder. He reminded her of Quinn, GQ good looks; a strong, square jaw; and intelligent eyes. Dillon stared at her, as if he could literally read her thoughts. She quickly appraised his dusty jeans, the dark green T-shirt, and his mussed-up sun-streaked, light-brown hair that, though short, fell in waves across his forehead. But it was the intensity of his eyes, their focus and strength, that took Kate’s breath away.

“Jack. Connor. Now.” Dillon stepped through the door, toward her gun, no fear on his face. “Kate, please.”

As soon as he entered, his eyes caught movement on the screen against the far wall. His expression changed, hardened. Worry clouded his face.

Kate lowered her gun, keeping her eye on the men Dillon called Connor and Jack. Brothers? Perhaps. Jack was all military, hard-edged. She knew the type. Connor had the same hard edge without the layer of dissociation. Cop, not military. Yet another man was behind them. Thinner, with fair skin and dark hair. His gun was holstered, and she instantly thought Patrick, the computer expert.

As soon as Jack and Connor lowered their weapons, she followed Dillon’s eyes to the screen. Her dance over, Lucy was being shackled to a straight-backed chair by two men. She fought them, the freedom of her dance over.

Dillon walked to the screen. “Which one is Trask?”

“Neither,” Kate said. “He won’t show himself on camera.” She paused. “I’m the only one who has seen him and lived.”

Dillon turned to her. “Did you work with a sketch artist?”

“You don’t understand.”

“You didn’t tell anyone? What if we can get his picture out?”

“The man I saw is a chameleon. Of course I gave a description, even while I was on the run from my own government. Do you think I’m so callous that I would let women die in order to protect myself? Because of me they have his fingerprints. Because of me they have a description. Lot of good that did catching him!” Kate turned to the screen, jumping when one of the men slapped Lucy across the face.

“And because of me my two best friends died.”

Dillon almost didn’t hear what Kate had said. He tore his eyes away from Lucy on the screen and touched Kate’s arm. All muscle. In her midthirties, her shortish hair was so blond it was nearly white, pulled into a haphazard hair band with loose strands falling out, tucked behind her ears. Her face was devoid of makeup, fresh and clean, worry lines creasing her forehead, her red lips dipping into a frown. This woman had so much pain and sadness in her face, taking the crimes of others as her own personal cross to bear.

Her computer beeped as Dillon was about to question her. Connor, Patrick, and Jack filed into the room. Jack remained at the door, on alert. Patrick sidled over to the computer system.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“A message.” She clicked on it. “From Quinn.”

We’re still checking your data. Hold.

“What is he checking out?” Patrick asked.

“The coordinates I sent about thirty minutes ago. But I think it’s a trap.”

Dillon asked, “What coordinates?”

Kate tensed, obviously feeling a touch of claustrophobia with all these men, these Kincaids, in her personal space. Dillon glanced around the functional room. It was large, but sparsely furnished. A bed in the corner. A nightstand. No personal effects anywhere. Two doors probably led to a closet and a bathroom. There was a whole wall of weights. And another full wall of computers and computer screens. Systems he didn’t understand, but by the expression on Patrick’s face, his little brother was impressed.

“Kate?” Dillon said softly.

In a move that surprised Dillon, Jack said, “I need to check on my men.” He walked out, shutting the door behind him.

“Who did you bring?” Kate asked, panicked.

“Jack-” What could Dillon say about his brother when even he didn’t know the truth? Dillon didn’t even know if Jack still worked for the government, or if he was truly a mercenary. “Jack’s a soldier down here. I contacted him and he and his unit helped us get up the mountain.”

“The terrain is dangerous,” Kate said, “but it’s safe this far up. The observatory is university property, and they pay handsomely for the land.”

“So what coordinates did you come up with?” Dillon repeated his question.

Kate motioned toward her computer. “Have a look.”

Patrick sat down almost before she finished the invitation.

“I’ve been pinging constantly, trying to get a lock on the coordinates of the originating feed,” Kate said.

“Pinging?” Dillon asked.

Patrick translated. “It’s where one computer can see if another on a network is online. A ping is sort of like calling a phone number and hanging up when you get an answer. You know someone is there, but you don’t want to talk to them.”

Kate smiled at the analogy. “Trask is good-very good,” she said. “He has the feed going through numerous routers, using legitimate servers to mask his signal. I’m also working on the delay-there’s a full minute-thirty-second delay, I think. But again, it’s almost impossible to tell. The delay could be caused by one of the servers he’s moving data through. He’s sending the transmissions through a variety of hubs and nodes-virtually everything is a dead end.”

“Wow,” Patrick muttered. “Where’d you get this trace program? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I wrote it.”

“You?” Patrick was impressed.

“More or less. I improved it, I should say. The less you know the better. Quinn already told you I’m wanted by the government. Since they already want me for high crimes, a little hacking isn’t going to increase my jail time.”

Her words were light, almost self-deprecating, but there was a wistful quality that Dillon caught.

Connor spoke up. “But you think you might have found Lucy. Why are we standing here doing nothing? Let’s get off this damn mountain and find her.”

“Because I think it’s a trap,” she said.

“Why?”

Kate didn’t answer.

“You have coordinates, but you don’t want to do anything about it?”

“Do anything? What do you think I’ve been doing for the last five years? Trask killed my partner. He’s been killing women for sport for years. He’s a genius and he’s not going to let me find him until he wants me to, unless I can somehow outmaneuver him. He wants me to walk into a trap so he can kill me. He’s gone underground because we have his prints-because of me. We have a physical description, and I think he’s too vain to change his appearance. He’s vindictive and powerful. He’s not going to simply let me find Lucy, or any of his prey.”

Patrick said, “But here you have your program-unbiased-tracing the feed through dead ends and nodes and landing at a live spot. The trace looks exactly the way it should look.”

“I know the program seems to have found the live feed, but Trask plays a game of cat and mouse. The coordinates are the cheese.”

“We have to do something!” Connor stared at the screen, watched Lucy helpless and fearful.

Dillon spoke. “Kate, she’s our little sister. We have to follow every lead.”

“By the time you get to that island, it’ll be too late to get back here and retrace the steps. If it’s a trap, or a phony lead, we’ve lost all the time we have. You can do what you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t have to. She’s not your sister. But we’re going.” Connor looked from Dillon to Patrick. “Right?”

Dillon was torn. He wanted to go to the island the coordinates pointed to. Lucy had said she was on an island.

But Kate was the one with experience tracking this killer. She’d seen his face, been inside his head. Could Dillon trust Lucy’s life to Kate’s instincts?

Kate spoke up. “I sent the information to Quinn. He’s looking into the data now.”

“We can’t wait for the FBI to act,” Connor said. “Not when we’re this close. What if he rushes it? What if this Trask knocks time off Lucy’s clock, doesn’t give us the full forty-eight hours to find her?”

Dillon glanced at the countdown.

33:50:02. 33:50:01. 33:50:00. 33:49:59.

His heart raced twice as fast as the countdown. He didn’t want to wait, but he trusted Kate’s instincts-on this, on understanding this killer.

“He won’t jump the clock,” Dillon said. “The countdown is part of the thrill.”

“And you’d bet Lucy’s life on your psychoanalysis? You haven’t even met him!” Connor shouted.

Dillon took the jab, understanding his brother’s frustration. “It’s the anticipation. He’s working himself up toward the final act.” He turned to Kate. “Has he ever changed the countdown?”

“Only Paige,” she said quietly. “She had twenty-four hours, not forty-eight. But that was a completely different situation. He…he had another girl, killed her when he captured Paige. We were close and he knew it. So the countdown was the same, he just killed two women.”

“How did you track him then?”

“He wasn’t as cautious then as he is now. We tracked him through his corporation, Trask Enterprises, which has several online pornography sites.”

“What happened to the corporation?”

“The board of directors testified that they didn’t know anyone named Trask, that Roger Morton was the owner/operator as far as they knew, and that someone from the outside had hacked into the company’s equipment. We didn’t catch anyone lying, but that’s not to say someone didn’t. Soon after, several people disappeared from the company. The corporation lost all its assets, but ultimately it owned the domain names and rights to all the big online porn sites and was able to refill its coffers. Quickly. Trask operates solely outside of Trask Enterprises, at least for now. The FBI is still tracking the company. Spending too much time doing it, in my opinion.”

“He’s bringing in money from all over the world. He’s promised these people something,” Dillon said. “He’s not going to renege on his deal with them. He’ll lose face, and they won’t trust him down the road.”

“But if Lucy is on that island, we can get her out before anything more happens to her.” Connor’s voice cracked. “You can stay, Dillon, but I’m going.”

“Go,” Kate said. “I never asked any of you to come here. I didn’t want anyone to find me. You’ve already screwed me. As soon as this is over, I’m going to have to find another place.”

“You’re already giving up,” Dillon said.

“I am not giving up.”

“You’re talking about when this is over. When Lucy is dead,” said Dillon. “But if we do stop him this time, you won’t have to hide anymore.”

“You don’t understand. Quinn didn’t tell you everything.”

“You might be surprised. He’s been protecting you. You have friends you might not even know about.”

Kate shook her head, not wanting to hear what Dillon had to say. And he couldn’t push. He didn’t have time to sweet-talk her, to coddle her and tell her everything was going to be just peachy. He didn’t know if he believed it himself. But if they didn’t do something, he’d never forgive himself.

Patrick spoke up. “I think these coordinates are valid. If we jam, we might make it to Hidalgo in four hours, maybe less, charter a plane and get to Baja in another four hours. That puts the countdown at twenty-five hours, giving us time to set up a rescue effort. It’ll take the feds nearly that long to get permission for an op on foreign soil. We can meet them there.”

“Do what you feel you must.” Kate rubbed her eyes as if she had a fierce headache. “A few things you need to know. First, Trask will wire any facility to explode. He did it with Paige and others. Second, he kills on sight. He will give you no time to negotiate or plead. He shot Evan at point-blank range without hesitation.”

“Who’s Evan?” Dillon asked.

Kate didn’t answer. “Third, he has four to six men surrounding him at all times. Trask doesn’t like to lose his men, but they are casualties of war as far as he’s concerned. He’ll leave the wounded behind, possibly even shooting them so they can’t talk. I doubt he trusts any of them, even Roger Morton, who’s been with him since the beginning.”

“We should wait until Quinn Peterson returns his assessment.” Dillon remembered what Peterson had said about the last false lead and the lives that had almost been lost. Lucy was already in danger. Dillon couldn’t send his brothers on a deadly mission without additional support.

“We don’t have time,” Patrick said, showing rare frustration. “Dil, I understand where you’re coming from, but we have to move. We can’t wait for the feds.”

Kate pulled open a desk drawer and took out a laptop. “This is my extra portable. It has a four-hour battery, and an extra four-hour battery in the bag.” She plugged the unit into her hard drive and started typing a bunch of commands.

“What are you doing?” Dillon asked.

“Giving Patrick everything I have. Everything except the trace program, which you wouldn’t be able to run off this anyway without wasting battery life. You have the coordinates, maps, the connections he’s used in the past. If I learn anything else, I’ll communicate with you through this computer.” She pulled another trick out of the drawer. “Here’s a nifty device. Checks for explosives. Trask loves his bombs.”

As Kate’s hand brushed against her keyboard, a scream pierced the air. All four of them jerked their heads toward the screen.

Lucy was still tied to the chair. A woman stood over her. Dillon couldn’t see her face, but she had short dark hair and was small and bony. Lucy’s arm had been cut, the skin barely punctured, and blood slowly seeped from a three-inch incision.

“Dear God,” Patrick said.

They heard Lucy’s voice on the speakers. “Get away from me, you freak! Get away from me!”

The knife came up in the woman’s hand and her profile was in view.

“No!” Connor screamed at the same time Lucy did.

The woman laughed, a low, barely audible rumble. “Just teasing,” she said and kissed Lucy on the lips before walking out of view.

Dillon turned to Kate, whose face was ashen. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s Denise Arno. She’s supposed to be dead. She’s supposed to be dead!”

Kate punched her fist into her desk.