Fear No Evil

THIRTY-THREE

JACK WAS STANDING outside Patrick’s hospital room when Dillon arrived at noon.

“How are they?”

“Lucy’s been in there for nearly four hours,” Jack said, nodding to Kate, who stood next to him. “You were right, Dil. She’s calmer since she’s been here.”

Dillon nodded, relieved that he’d been right. So much of psychology was second-guessing human nature, trying to understand people better than they understood themselves. Anticipating what they needed before they realized they lacked anything.

“Quinn got us an office so he could talk to her in private. We have it for two hours. I thought questioning her in a normal environment, instead of taking her to FBI headquarters or a sterile room, would help. Why don’t you take a break?” Dillon suggested to his brother.

“I’ll check in with my troop,” Jack said. “Don’t leave the hospital. If you’re right and Adam Scott is in San Diego, he could be watching this building.”

Dillon watched Lucy through the observation window as she spoke to Patrick. Dark circles framed her large brown eyes, her skin pale, her hair pulled harshly back from her unadorned face. But she was holding up.

He stared at Patrick, his head bandaged, immobile in the hospital bed. It was the first time he’d seen him since the explosion, and Dillon’s eyes burned.

Kate took his hand and squeezed it. “You okay?”

He nodded and tapped on the window. Lucy glanced over her shoulder, a brief look of terror crossing her face. It disappeared quickly, but Dillon couldn’t help but fear that she’d be living with that panic for the rest of her life.

He motioned to her. It was obvious she didn’t want to leave Patrick. Lucy kissed Patrick’s hand and whispered something in his ear, then met Dillon outside the door.

“What?” she asked.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“Can I go back and see Patrick?” she asked.

“Of course.”

She relaxed a fraction, glanced at Kate as they started down the corridor.

“Lucy, this is Kate Donovan,” Dillon said. “She was instrumental in helping us find you.”

Recognition lit Lucy’s eyes. “Carina told me you were with Dillon on the island.”

Kate nodded.

“Thank you.” Lucy’s voice was a whisper, and she dipped her head.

Dillon opened the door of an office at the end of the hall. Lucy stared and said, “You’re the FBI.”

Quinn nodded. “Quinn Peterson.”

Lucy frowned, looked at Dillon. “What’s happening?”

“Quinn wants to ask you some questions.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Lucy, I know this is hard for you. And we’re not going to talk about what they did to you.”

“You know it all anyway,” Lucy said, her voice quivering. “Everybody knows.”

Dillon wanted to address that fear of Lucy’s, but not now. “What we need to know is how Trevor Conrad found you online, what some of his messages meant, and if you heard or saw anything that might help the FBI find him.”

She shook her head again. “I don’t know anything.” She bit her lip.

“You might not think you do,” Dillon said, “but something you know might fit with something we know.”

She didn’t say anything.

Kate took Lucy’s hand. “Lucy, he’s out there and he’s angry. You beat him. He didn’t kill you. You’ve won and he’s lost. That doesn’t make him happy. If we can’t stop him, you’ll never be able to reclaim your life. Do you want to be scared forever?”

Lucy bit harder on her lip. Her hand went up to her neck, where the bandage was hidden under a high collar. She glanced at Dillon, then at Kate.

“Okay,” she said, her voice a squeak.

Kate looked at Dillon, and as much for his benefit as Lucy’s, she said, “I told you that Lucy was the bravest woman I’ve ever known.”

Two hours later, while Dillon walked Lucy back to Patrick’s hospital room, Kate frowned at Quinn. “Well, that didn’t get us anywhere.”

“We had to do it,” Quinn said. “And we were able to establish a better time frame. Analyzing the messages from Trevor Conrad will greatly help e-crimes develop better programs to spot online predators.”

Kate sighed. “Not that it will do any good. Neither the FBI nor local law enforcement has the resources to police the Internet.”

“Maybe not, but it will give people the tools to police it themselves.”

“What I don’t understand is, how did a smart girl like Lucy get sucked into his trap?”

“And she’ll never be able to forgive herself for it,” Quinn said.

“It just proves that it doesn’t matter how smart or careful you are; if a predator wants you he’ll find a way.”

“You sound defeatist,” Quinn said. He raised an eyebrow. “What would you suggest? Hiding out in the mountains of Mexico?”

“Touché.” Kate played with her fingers. “I never thanked you for standing by me for the last five years. I’ll never forget it.”

“I had a sense of what drove you.” Quinn paused and Kate looked up at him. “You did the wrong thing for the right reasons. It’s going to be okay next week.”

“I hope so. For the first time I’m looking at the future. I’m hoping I won’t be looking at it from behind bars.”

Dillon met up with Kate in the parking lot. “Where’s Quinn?”

“He had to take a call.” Kate motioned over toward the edge of the parking garage, where Quinn sat on the cement railing for better reception.

“Jack’s going to take Lucy home. Why don’t you come with us?”

Kate tensed. As much as she wanted to be with Dillon, she didn’t know if she was ready to face the Kincaids. She’d met most of them over the last few days, but together? They were a force.

“Quinn and I have the airline records from every flight leaving Sea-Tac from the time the Hummer was seen entering long-term parking until this morning. We have surveillance footage from the security checkpoints and we’re going to try to figure out where Scott went. If he’s not in San Diego, we need to alert authorities wherever he may have landed.”

“I’ll go with you. Six eyes are better than four.”

She shook her head. “Go with your family.”

Dillon took a step closer. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes spoke volumes.

“Lucy needs you,” she insisted.

“You’re making excuses. Why don’t you want to meet my family?”

“Now is not the right time. They have too many stresses on them.”

“Why is meeting you a stress?”

“Your mom doesn’t need to entertain company.”

“Why do I think you’re pushing me away?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are, Kate.”

“Am not!” Oh, God, she sounded like a child.

“Kate.” He pushed her chin up, forced her to look at him. “Don’t do this. I want to bring you home.”

“Dillon, the Kincaids are…” She couldn’t think of the right word. “Overwhelming. There’s so many of you.”

“We’re not going to all jump on you at once.”

“I feel like an outsider. And I’m going to remind them of what happened to Lucy.”

“Stop right there. Give my family credit. They’ll like you for you.”

“I don’t know how families act. My grandparents died before I even hit puberty, then foster care and all that crap. I just don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Kate.” Dillon forced her to look at him. He kissed her.

She swallowed. “Why now? Can’t we just hold off for a day or two?”

“You’re shaking.”

“Am not.”

“Kate, I love my family, and so will you.” He backed her into the car and said, “You fit right in. We have a couple cops, a PI, Connor’s dating a prosecutor. Jack’s in the military. But we don’t have an FBI agent.” He leaned over and kissed her. She sucked in her breath, not expecting the onslaught of emotions that hit her from his short speech.

“My family will love you as much as I do,” he whispered in her ear. “Please let me take you home.”

She wrapped her arms around him, held him tight. “I don’t deserve you,” she said.

“Right back at you, Kate.”

She laughed. It felt good to laugh; it had been way too long. “Let me work the case, okay? It makes me feel useful.”

“Then I’ll join you.”

“Why don’t I meet you there later?”

“For dinner?”

“No, I don’t want to put your mother out.”

“I’ll cook.”

“You cook?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Absolutely. My mother taught me. Said the quickest way to a woman’s heart was cooking.”

Kate laughed again. “Okay, you have a date. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to join you?”

“Yes.” She paused. “You, um, don’t live with your parents, do you?”

Dillon smiled seductively. “Nervous about sleeping together under my parents’ roof?”

Her eyes widened. She couldn’t imagine a man of Dillon’s confidence and prestige living at home.

He laughed, kissed her. “I have my own house, Kate. But the expression on your face was priceless.”

Dillon rode with Jack and Lucy back to the Kincaid house.

“Did anything I say help?” Lucy asked.

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Lucy, sometimes it’s the smallest details that help in catching a criminal. I’m very proud of you.”

“Is Patrick going to get better?”

“The doctor’s are hopeful,” Dillon said cautiously.

“You’re lying to me again.”

“I’m not lying to you, Lucy. Patrick is healthy. The surgery was hugely successful. They believe he will recover. But the human brain is still a mystery. It might take some time.”

“Or he might never come out of the coma,” she said defiantly.

“He might not. But I don’t believe that. And you shouldn’t, either.”

After Dillon checked in with his parents, made sure Lucy was okay, and informed everyone that he was making dinner for a special guest that evening, he walked the four blocks to his house.

He could hardly wait for Kate to come home with him that night. He understood her hesitation-the Kincaid’s were a bit overwhelming to outsiders. But Lucy was home and safe. Jack had returned, even if it was only temporary. And while Patrick was still in a coma, the doctors assured Dillon that everything looked promising for him to make a full recovery.

Dillon wanted to introduce Kate, the woman he loved, to his parents. It surprised him how quickly it had happened, but he was nearly thirty-nine years old. He hadn’t been in love since med school when he dated the same woman for three years. That time, it had taken him months to realize that he was in love. Now, he knew it without reservation. Dillon loved Kate Donovan. She was just going to have to get used to it.

He turned the corner and saw his small, comfortable bungalow. Kate would fit in here, with his family, but she also might want her old life back. Maybe move back to Virginia and reclaim her job. He would support her in whatever she decided, but more important, he would be there with her.

He walked up the porch stairs, unlocked his door. It didn’t budge. “Damn,” he muttered. He always bolted the front door when he was home, primarily using the kitchen door as his entrance and exit since it was closer to the garage. When he left on Thursday, he must have gone out the back door.

He strolled down his driveway. The small rose garden he cultivated along the drive needed pruning. He might need to hire a gardener to tend to the landscaping, especially since he planned on spending a lot of time on the opposite coast. Frankly, he’d been too worried about Lucy to remember anything that day. He took the steps two at a time to his kitchen door. Unlocked it, entered, bolted it.

A smell hit him. Food. Had he left garbage in the house? He wouldn’t be surprised; he had left in a hurry and it had been four days.

He crossed the kitchen and opened the cabinet door beneath the sink and pulled out the small, lined trashcan he used. He was about to pull out the garbage bag to take it outside when he saw an empty can of chili on top.

He hadn’t eaten chili in ages. Someone had been in his house.

Quietly, he put the trash back under the sink. Every nerve was on alert and he listened to the sounds of his house. The silence. A creak.

The sound of someone breathing behind him.

Dillon slowly turned around. He didn’t see anyone.

Then Adam Scott stepped into the kitchen from the dining room.

He had a gun.

“Adam.”

“Trask to you.”

Dillon couldn’t get out the door; he’d bolted it when he entered. Out of habit. For security.

But that didn’t help when the killer was already inside.

“What do you want?” Dillon asked. He gave his kitchen a quick once-over. Nothing was out of place.

Except that his butcher block of knives was no longer on the counter next to the stove. Scott must have been here a while. Not just in Dillon’s house, but watching the Kincaid family. Anger ran through Dillon’s veins. The arrogance of this bastard! But that also told Dillon that Scott had another flaw, one he planned to exploit.

“Not you. You’re a means to an end. Thank you for being so predictable.”

Dillon dug deep into his training and well-honed instincts. Adam Scott was here for one thing: Lucy. Because Lucy was bait. For Kate. “You’ll never get to Lucy.”

Scott laughed. “You don’t know women very well, do you?”

Dillon knew exactly what Scott meant and he fumed. Lucy was intensely loyal, and an unscrupulous person could easily manipulate her guilt and fear. Scott would certainly not be above inducing a damaged woman to make a dangerous choice. He made his life out of it. Dillon wanted to believe Lucy was stronger than that, but right now she was too vulnerable.

“But you don’t really want Lucy,” Dillon said.

“Think again.”

“You want to bring Monique back from the dead.”

Scott’s face twisted in shocked frustration. “I knew that backstabbing asshole would talk.”

“I saw a picture of Monique, back when she went missing. She was beautiful. She looks very much like Lucy.

“How long did it take you surfing the Internet, manipulating teenagers, getting them to send their picture, before you found Lucy?”

“I’m not stupid, Dr. Kincaid. I know exactly what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. You’ve never met anyone like me, so your machinations won’t work. I enjoy what I do. But it’s all about the money.”

“I agree, money motivates you. Probably because your father disowned you and took everything that was rightfully yours. You were an only child, you wouldn’t have had to share with anyone, but-” Dillon recalled the notes Quinn had on the Scott family, “-he left his sizable estate to a museum.”

Scott scowled. “You’ve been working with the feds. They’re probably having a field day trying to figure out where I’m going.”

“They believe you were coming here to San Diego. You know you’ll never get to Lucy, even if there was some way you could contact her. She’s protected by a bodyguard, and the police are patrolling the house regularly.”

“But they weren’t watching your house, were they?” Scott snickered.

“But you really don’t want Lucy.”

“Right, right, I want the fictional Monique.” Scott attempted to look bored and amused, but failed. In his cold eyes, Dillon saw the truth.

“You want Kate.”

Scott laughed, but his hand tightened around the gun. “Kate. She’ll come to me on my terms.” He cocked an eyebrow at Dillon. “And how well do you know Kate? Hmm? I noticed you just came back from Seattle. Didn’t come back with your poor little sister. Screwing around with Kate, perhaps?”

Dillon would not allow Scott to bait him. “You want Kate because she outsmarted you.”

“Kate is alive by accident. I would have had her five years ago if that guy hadn’t run in and distracted me.”

Dillon shook his head. “Kate is smart. She took down your legitimate business. Forced you into hiding. Cost you money. But that’s not the real reason you hate her.”

“Really?” Scott tried to look nonchalant, but his complexion had reddened.

“You hate her because she reminds you of a woman who humiliated and demeaned you.” Dillon was taking a gamble, but he was ninety percent confident he was right about Adam Scott.

He said softly, “You were raped. Tied down and raped by a woman. The weaker sex. But you were weak. You couldn’t fight back. Maybe you didn’t want to. Maybe you liked it, and you hate that you liked it.”

“Shut up!”

Scott lunged for him. Dillon dove right, toward the breakfast nook. He fell over the table, but tripped Scott. The killer stumbled, but stayed upright. Worse, he kept hold of the gun.

Dillon turned and, using all his strength, pushed the table across the nook and into Scott’s body. Scott grunted, wedged between the table and the wall. Dillon jumped on the table and grabbed Scott’s wrist, slamming it on the table to loosen his hold on the gun.

He didn’t see the knife in Scott’s left hand.

Dillon screamed at the searing pain in his thigh and grabbed at the wound. Scott pulled out the knife, pushed Dillon off the table, and hit him across the face with his gun.

Dillon rolled over, panting, trying to assess whether the knife wound was serious. Hot blood coated his fingers. He tried to force his mind away from the pain and think like a doctor. He didn’t think it was deep.

He got up on all fours and Scott kicked him in the kidney. His vision blurred.

“You fucking shrinks know nothing about me. Nothing. You got that?”

Scott grabbed Dillon by his shirt collar and pulled him up, the gun cocked and touching the back of his head.

Dillon had no choice but to go where Scott led him, through his house and into his bedroom. He pushed him onto the bed and clicked a handcuff onto one wrist. The other end was hooked onto the headboard.

Scott smiled, but there was only sick humor in his face. “We have a call to make.”

“Don’t hang up or your brother dies.”

Lucy started shaking uncontrollably. Trevor Conrad was calling her. Why? Hadn’t he hurt her enough?

“Wh-what?”

“Listen. You have thirty minutes. Leave your house alone. Walk directly to your brother’s house.”

“Which brother?” Dillon, Patrick, and Connor all lived within walking distance.

“The shrink!”

Trevor had Dillon? That wasn’t possible. Why did he want her to come? To rape her? To kill her? She couldn’t do it.

What if Dillon was already dead?

“What do you want?” she asked, stalling.

“That’s none of your business, Lucy. But if you’re not here in thirty minutes, your brother will be dead. And if you tell anyone, he’ll die in extreme pain.”

“Let me talk to him. Please!”

He hung up.

She stared at her phone. What was she going to do?

There was a knock on her door and she stifled a scream. “Come in,” she called.

Jack walked in. “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” she lied. Could he tell something was wrong? She almost laughed at the absurdity of that thought. Wrong? Everything was wrong and had been for days. No one would know why. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay.” He paused, looked around the room, and left.

Her phone beeped and she opened it.

New pix message.

She retrieved it.

“Oh, dear God, why are you doing this to me?”

Dillon was handcuffed to his bed, blood on his lip and streaked over his shirt. The message read: Come alone, he lives. Tell anyone, he dies. Could you live with yourself knowing you killed the man who risked his life to save you?