Fear No Evil

TWENTY-THREE

THE CABIN WAS on a raised foundation, twelve stairs leading to a large deck. They’d circled it once, found one man patrolling while chain-smoking cigarettes.

Kate and Dillon communicated by hand signals and eye contact.

I’m taking him out. Kate motioned toward the man who now stood against a tree, facing the opposite direction.

Dillon shook his head, but Kate ignored him. He tensed, not knowing what she had planned. He trusted her, but the stakes were too high and the chance of error too great.

She circled around and he almost lost her in the undergrowth. She moved like a cat, lean and low, limbs working in unison.

She came up to the man from behind, grabbed his neck, and twisted.

Dillon heard the crack forty feet away.

The man crumpled to her feet and she disarmed him. Behind a tree she checked ammunition, then returned to his location.

“Don’t feel sorry for him,” she said. “He raped your sister.”

“I don’t,” he answered.

She stared at him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“No, you don’t.”

She couldn’t know. Even he didn’t know what he thought about the last two days. But nothing would surprise him, even Kate’s ability to kill a man without hesitation.

She’d been trained to do it. She didn’t do it for pleasure. Sometimes murder was justified.

“We don’t know how many people Trask has here,” she whispered. “We need to assume at least six. He couldn’t have gotten back from Mount Baker by now, but”-she glanced at her watch-“we’re getting into the window where he may show up.”

“We need to get Lucy to the boat as quickly as possible and over to the island where the copter is waiting.”

“Don’t wait for me.”

“Dammit, Kate!” She was still focusing on Trask. “We have enough on Adam Scott to stop him. Don’t do this.”

She stared at him, her eyes softening a bit. “I can swim, Dillon. We don’t know what condition Lucy is in. Get her to safety. I’m not going to be stupid. I promise.” She squeezed his hand. “Don’t wait for me.”

He touched her face. He needed to touch her. To give her a connection to something good and real and whole.

“There are people who care about you, Kate. Don’t forget that.”

She swallowed, nodded. Did she have tears in her eyes?

“Let’s go.”

They’d already decided that Dillon would get to Lucy and Kate would cover them.

They crept up the deck, keeping low, listening.

A sliding door opened.

“Ollie!”

A female voice.

“Dammit, Roger, I don’t know why he’s not-” the door closed and they couldn’t hear anything except muffled voices.

Dillon pictured Lucy as she’d been on the video. There was a window in the room where she was being held. The window had some sort of shade covering it.

Kate motioned for him to go left, around the back side of the deck.

They split up. He circled around the deck, looking at the windows for one that looked familiar. One entire side of the cabin, which he avoided, was a wall of windows overlooking a narrow inlet. Lucy must be in the rear of the cabin.

He rounded the corner, his heart pounding, completely focused on his sister. There were two shaded windows. He pictured the film. There had only been one window where Lucy was kept, based on the shadows and quality of light. Which one was Lucy behind?

Cautiously, he peered around the edges of the first window he approached. It was dark inside, the filtered afternoon sun casting shadows through the slit less than a quarter-inch wide.

A bed. A dresser. Nothing else. He listened. A female cry from the room next door.

Anxious, he treaded lightly to the second window. There was no slit for him to see through. He listened. Nothing.

Then, a woman screamed.

Lucy.

He swallowed his panic. Carefully, silently, he tried the window. Locked.

“Stop! No, no, no!” Lucy cried from inside.

Dillon quickly studied the window. One sheet of glass, double-paned. No gentle tap would break it.

He retrieved Connor’s gun from his pocket and slammed it into the window. Before it finished shattering, Dillon jumped through it.

Kate heard the scream followed by breaking glass.

She ran back to the main door, opened it. It was, surprisingly, unlocked.

Click.

“Kate Donovan.” The voice was low and husky.

She turned. Denise Arno held a gun aimed at her.

“Roger!” Denise called.

Kate swung her leg up without hesitation. She made contact with Denise’s hand at the same time the gun went off. The heat of the bullet brushed by her face.

She let her momentum take her around instead of fighting for her balance. She rolled out of the way a split second before a second gunshot came from down the hall.

She fired three times at Denise, then twice at the shadows in the hall. From the corner of her eye she saw Denise go down, blood coating her chest.

Gunfire rang out from the hall. Dammit, she hadn’t put Roger out of commission.

Who else was here? Where was Dillon? Where was Lucy?

Another gunshot, this time from the back of the cabin.

Dillon!

A man was naked and on top of Lucy.

Dillon heard himself cry out. The man looked up, startled and confused. He fumbled for a gun that was far beyond his reach, crawling off Lucy as he tried to stand.

Dillon strode over and kicked him in the face. The man grunted, rolled over, reached his gun in the corner.

Dillon aimed his gun and fired. Again. Again. He saw blood but didn’t make the connection.

The man screamed out and clutched his leg. “Fuck! Fuck!”

Dillon picked up the bastard’s gun and pocketed it, then brought out the knife Jack had given him before they’d split at the small airport. He slashed the ropes binding Lucy.

“Dillon, you’re here. You’re really here!”

“Lucy, we have to get out. Now.”

She nodded, silent tears running down her face.

Dillon pulled off his T-shirt and handed it to his sister. Shaking, she put it on. It hung to her thighs. She started for the door.

“No,” he said quietly. He picked up the camera and threw it against the wall, where it broke, pieces falling to the threadbare carpet.

He led Lucy to the window and eased her over the broken glass before following her out.

He didn’t want to think about the gunshots he’d heard moments before. He didn’t want to think that Kate was dead.

He had to get Lucy out.

He also had to find Kate.

Torn, he took one look at Lucy’s face and knew she couldn’t do it on her own. Kate was strong and trained. She was a survivor. He had to believe that.

Lucy was a terrified eighteen-year-old. He would get her to safety, then come back for Kate.

He helped Lucy over the deck railing. “I have a boat.”

She nodded, trusting him implicitly.

“You’re going to be okay, Luce. I promise.”

She nodded again, tears running down her face. Her entire body shook.

Dillon took her hand and they ran low through the trees. He heard no more guns. He heard no more shouts.

Each step was torture as he realized that he was running away from Kate. That she could be dead, dying, in need, and he was leaving her behind. Maybe she’d gone for the boat. She could run faster alone than he could with Lucy. She could be at the cliff already.

The thought propelled Dillon forward. Less than ten minutes later they reached the edge of the island.

Kate wasn’t there.

No time to go back. Dillon said to Lucy, “Trust me.”

Lucy only nodded, her large brown eyes looking left and right. Terrified.

He picked her up and tossed her into the water, away from the rocks at the base of the cliff. He followed. Together, they both swam to the boat and climbed in.

He scanned the cliff. Dammit, Kate! Where are you?

“Who are you looking for? Were they following us?”

“Someone who’s been helping me find you.”

Kate was nowhere.

Dillon cut the lead rope and started the motor. He’d get Lucy to the copter.

Then he’d go back for Kate.

Kate checked Denise’s pulse. Nothing. She was dead.

The man outside was dead.

Gunfire was coming from two places in the cabin. One down the hall where she’d heard breaking glass. The other from the nook that turned into a kitchen.

She was behind a heavy wood table. She’d heard the scream, the gunfire, the breaking glass.

Please, Dillon. Get Lucy out now!

“Where is she?”

A man she didn’t recognize came out of the kitchen.

She needed to take her time. She had half a clip left. She couldn’t afford to waste the bullets. The gun she’d taken from the dead man outside had already been emptied.

Where was Roger Morton?

Roger emerged from the hall. “Someone took the girl. I’m going after them.” He ran past Kate’s hiding place.

The other man called out, “Where’s that bitch who killed Denise?”

“Hell if I know, she probably escaped with the girl!”

Roger left through the sliding glass doors and the second man hesitated, then followed.

Kate immediately left her hiding place and went to the room down the hall where Lucy had been held captive. Déjà vu hit her again as she stared at the broken camera, the broken window. Paige.

A naked man, bleeding, crawled toward her in the doorway.

She shot him in the head, imagining that he was Trask and she’d been in time to save Paige.

She jumped out the window, saw movement in the trees. A naked chest. Heard the startled cry of a girl in a dark green shirt.

Dillon had given his sister his shirt.

She had to buy them time to get to the boat.

She ran around the deck making noise. She fired into the air, then ran into the second man.

He was young, couldn’t be more than twenty. The realization startled Kate. She’d been expecting Roger.

But being young didn’t make him less of a killer. He raised his gun.

She was faster. Three pumps into his chest. He didn’t get a round off.

“Richie?”

Roger’s voice came from around the cabin. He emerged from the direction Dillon and Lucy had run from.

He saw Kate. “You fucking bitch!” He raised his gun. “I should have known it was you.”

Kate dove for cover, off the deck and into bushes. Hot, burning pain hit her upper arm and she bit her tongue to keep from crying out.

She pulled her tank top over her head-she had the black one over a white one-and tied it around her arm where Roger’s bullet had sliced cleanly through her skin. She leaned against a tree to catch her breath.

“Where’s the girl?” Roger called. Close. Too close.

Kate stood, got her bearings, exposed herself, and fired once, twice.

She missed, but Roger fell to the ground, giving her enough time to run.

Away from Dillon and Lucy. To give them time to get the hell off the island.

She could swim. She didn’t want to think what the salt water would do to the bullet wound in her arm, but maybe she’d be lucky. Maybe she’d get to kill the bastard who’d raped Paige and Lucy and a half-dozen other women.

She counted the shots she’d fired in her head.

Dammit, she only had one bullet. She’d better make it count.

She ran.

Trask watched on the webcam as the man jumped through the window and kicked Frank in the face.

When he received the message that the outer perimeter had been breached, he’d tried to reach Roger. Nothing. What good was he if Trask couldn’t count on him when it mattered? Roger had used his silence twenty years ago to demand trust. “I never said anything about Trevor, did I? I never said anything about Monique. You can trust me, you know that, right?”

Fucking idiot.

Now his prize had been stolen. Frank was dying. For all he knew Roger and Denise were dead, too.

And Dillon Kincaid-the last man Trask thought would come after Lucy-had shot Frank and destroyed his show. He took his girl. Monique.

No, no, Lucy. Monique was already dead.

Trask slammed his hand on the dashboard of the Hummer. He was at the docks at Anacortes, but he didn’t dare go out to the island now. Not with the feds this close.

That fucking Mick Mallory. He must have figured out where they were. Alerted someone.

Kate. She’d been in contact with the Kincaids. Her fingerprints were all over this travesty.

Damn, damn, damn! First his money gone. He’d lost more than half his wealth in minutes. Minutes! Then his people.

He should never have trusted anyone. Hadn’t he learned that before?

His father. The whores. His own mother turning her back on him after he was expelled. Roger and Paul, weak, needy fools.

No one had ever stood by him. He could only depend on himself. Everything he knew, everything he was, was due to his intelligence, his foresight, his vision. No one had seen the potential of the Internet until he had launched his online pornography company. No one saw the potential of fantasy role-playing until he did it first.

Because he understood the darkest fantasies of human nature. He harbored them. He’d harbored them his entire life.

Everything was crumbling, but Trask felt free for the first time in years. Everyone he had mistakenly trusted was dead. Now he could go after Kate Donovan on his own. No cameras, nothing but her and him and his hands on her neck.

He’d keep her alive for a long, long time. Long enough to crush her soul before he watched her blood flow.

But first he had a need. Lucy had been stolen from him. In nine hours she should have been dying underneath him.

Someone else would fill her role. An understudy.

He looked around the dock. The day was warm and bright, hundreds of people out in boats and walking along the dock, shopping, taking in the sun.

He spied a lone woman. A little old for him. But she had short blond hair like Kate. Tall and skinny. Walking toward her sporty little car.

He got behind the wheel of his Hummer and followed her. She would go home eventually, and he had backup recording equipment in his car. If she had a family, he’d kill them first. If she lived alone, all the better.

He hoped she lived in the country where her screams couldn’t be heard by neighbors.