Fear No Evil (16 page)

Kate had angered him. He didn’t like that she’d gotten to him. It was the stress of no sleep and Lucy’s danger that had fueled his anger and frustration. Kate was just the spark that had set it off.

His brothers hadn’t argued about his decision not to go with them, probably because they felt that his presence would only hinder the operation. Maybe it would have. He didn’t have their training, but he did have something they didn’t: a key to the killer’s mind.

Dillon had the utmost respect for law enforcement—he worked with them daily. But the one thing they too often lacked was the killer’s motivation. The easiest way to track a criminal was to learn everything about his past, his family, his relationships, his associations. What drove a person to commit heinous crimes? Money? Fear? Lust?

The key was always there, in the past. Cops had too many cases and had to make too many quick decisions to take the time to process every step leading to the killer. That’s where Dillon came in. When the evidence wasn’t there, when there were no witnesses, when people were murdered and the police didn’t know which direction to go, Dillon could focus the investigation. Give them tools to find the killer and take him down.

Every killer feared something. What did Trask fear? Poverty? Sexual dysfunction? Loss of freedom? Women?

He hated women, that was abundantly clear. But what about a fear of women? He subjugated them to beat down the fear within himself. He was physically strong, but he also had men around him to ensure that the women were kept under control. He restrained the women, even when they were too weak to fight. Rape was about power and anger, but rape as a show? That was ego. Proving over and over that he had control over these women, proving it in front of the world.

For the benefit of everyone, or just one person?

Roger Morton was from a wealthy family, privileged. Yet he became the CEO of a pornography business and was disowned. You didn’t just walk away from millions of dollars to live out a sexual fantasy. There was money in porn, particularly online porn, but initially, Trask Enterprises had just been an up-start company and Roger couldn’t have been pulling in huge sums of money until after the Internet grew exponentially over the years.

Did Trask have money of his own? Investors? If he was wealthy in his own right, that held that he and Roger had known each other because they traveled in the same social circles.

Dillon was certain that Trask and Roger had known each other since childhood. It was not only logical considering the time line of Trask Enterprises, but there was a bond between the men that hadn’t been severed even when they were forced to disappear after Kate exposed April Klinger’s death.

Denise was a wild card. She was definitely the subservient in the relationship; she would do anything Trask asked of her. Yet she hated the women he brought in. Jealousy, deep and hot. What did she think of Trask’s obsession with Kate?

The more Dillon thought about it, the more he became convinced that Trask was luring Kate into a trap he’d created just for her. He would reveal himself only to her, probably threaten someone if she didn’t come alone. And because she had no fear of death—in fact, she welcomed it—she would go, thinking it would be worthwhile if she killed him in the process, regardless of what might happen to her.

It was that realization that calmed Dillon more than the time away from Kate’s room. He knew what she would do; he would have to be watchful that she didn’t take off without him.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jack saunter down the path, fully armed, wearing the guns and ammo and equipment comfortably.

“She’s trouble,” Jack said, collapsing on the stone bench that afforded him the best view of the path.

“She’s letting the past eat her alive,” Dillon said. He looked pointedly at Jack. “I’d always thought you’d done the same thing, but now I don’t think so.”

“Don’t go there, Dil. Let’s just do the op and go our separate ways.”

“The op.” Dillon shook his head, stared at the vast darkness around them. The temperature had dropped dramatically when the sun went down.

“You have to think of it as an operation. Distance yourself from the emotional complications.”

“Lucy is my sister. I can’t do that. It’s not an operation. It’s her
life.
”

“I’ve dealt with a lot of life-and-death situations. You don’t have to explain it to me,” Jack said. “That’s why it’s even more important to separate your emotions from the job.”

Dillon understood what Jack was saying—he’d heard it from Carina and Connor and other cops who went out and dealt in murder. If you got emotionally involved with the victims you wouldn’t survive on the job.

But there was a reason doctors didn’t operate on relatives and cops didn’t investigate the murder of someone they cared about. You can’t separate your emotions from people you know and love.

“Any word from your men?” Dillon asked.

“They checked in when they had the island in sight, then went radio silent. That was twenty-five minutes ago.”

“Shouldn’t they have gotten back to you by now?”

“Not if they’re doing it right. Circle the island, verify security measures, find a safe place to dock, approach with caution. It’s unknown territory; they can’t just run in without reconnaissance.”

Dillon hoped that they had found Lucy. Safe. That they were bringing her home. Maybe he could convince Kate to come back to the States and seek some closure for what had happened with her partner and her lover five years ago.

But Kate wasn’t his patient, or his problem. She’d gotten under his skin, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t carefully extract her. He couldn’t save every lost soul in the world. Look at Nelia. He’d never told anyone in the family that he’d flown up to Idaho two years after Justin’s murder to talk to his sister Nelia with the purpose of bringing her home.

Nelia was nothing like he’d remembered. The light was gone from her eyes, and she told him she was dead inside. The only thing keeping her from suicide was the belief that she would go to Hell and never see Justin again. Faith? Perhaps, but it had done nothing to console her. And neither had Dillon. Everything he’d tried had failed.

When he’d finally suggested she see a psychiatrist so she could deal with her grief, she’d said, “I don’t want to let it go. It keeps Justin in the small part of my heart that still beats.”

Doctors should never counsel their own family. If they found Lucy, he could help with her immediate needs, but he would have to send her to someone else to heal.

When
they found her. Because they would. They had to.

“What’s she like?” Jack asked quietly.

“She’s sassy. Smart. She has a scholarship to Georgetown. Knows four languages fluently and thrives in debate. Beautiful. Kind. She has a mouth on her, but what Kincaid doesn’t?” Dillon smiled sadly. Lucy had their parents wrapped around her little finger, but her elder siblings received the brunt of her sarcasm.

“Why did you walk away from the family, Jack?”

“I had my reasons.”

“Are they still valid?”

“My business, Dil.”

“As always, Jack.”

They sat in silent anger for several minutes and Jack changed the subject. “What do you know about this guy who has Lucy?”

“Not enough. I haven’t met him. Psychiatry isn’t a hard science. We base our interpretations on experience, facts, and personality, but human beings all react differently to stimuli.”

“I get that.”

“Trask is sexually damaged. I don’t think he can truly enjoy sex without hurting or killing the woman in the process. He hates women, but I also think he fears them and the power they have or could have over him. It’s deep and long-standing. Something happened to him in his youth, by an authority figure, possibly his mother. It twisted sex in his head.”

“So it’s his parents’ fault?” Jack didn’t hide the contempt in his voice.

Dillon took a deep breath. Hadn’t he just gone through this with Kate? “I didn’t say that. I’m trying to understand Trask. If I can understand him, then I can use that knowledge to stop him. Serial killers often have abnormal childhoods. Not all of them, but a huge percentage. Yet there are other children who are abused and lead tragic childhoods who never grow up to rape or kill. Trask would have showed signs of sociopathy from an early age. His parents may not have recognized it. The FBI notes on him indicate that he likely has a genius-level IQ. He has proven his intelligence by hiding his identity, his whereabouts, his Internet feed.”

“Why Lucy?” Jack asked. “I mean, out of all the teenagers in the country, why her?”

Dillon hadn’t thought about that. He’d been so focused on Trask and finding Lucy, he hadn’t dwelled on a victim analysis.

“I don’t know. They met online, he was prowling for someone. But Lucy might fit some profile only he knows about.”

“What about the other victims? Are they all young and dark-haired?”

“They’re all young, under thirty except for the FBI agent he killed.” Dillon mentally reviewed the files. “They run the gamut from Caucasian to light-skinned Latinas. Brunettes, blondes, a redhead.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s an equal-opportunity killer.”

Kate stared at the link that popped up on her computer.

Click me, Kate.

She knew it was from Trask. She didn’t want to click it. She had to.

The grainy video was of Connor Kincaid running into a cabin. There was a body on the floor. Patrick Kincaid came in behind him. Quinn Peterson was standing right inside the door throwing out soundless orders.
Get out,
he mouthed. A moment later, a bright flash, then nothing.

She dry heaved, her hand to her mouth. “No,” she cried.

Hello, Kate.

She wanted to put her fist through the screen. Instead, she typed,

Bastard.

She almost heard his laugh through cyberspace.

Sticks and stones. You’ve come very close, Kate. I’ll tell you how close but you have to promise me you won’t bring anyone with you.

I don’t need anyone else to kill you.

You humor me, Kate, darling.

Let Lucy go and I’ll come. Alone.

Tsk, tsk. You think I trust you? I’ll let Lucy go when I see you.

You think I trust you?

No. You can’t trust me, Kate. But you already know that. Would you willingly trade places with Lucy to save her?

She answered without hesitation.

Yes.

I’m looking forward to killing you, Kate.

I’m looking forward to killing you, asshole.

There was a long pause and Kate feared she’d lost him. And there was no guarantee that he would let Lucy go, even if she did meet him.

She had to find his island and go in quietly. Unfortunately time wasn’t on her side. It was dark right now, but the odds that she could find and get to the island before sunrise were not in her favor. A rescue in broad daylight? Virtually impossible. And there would be very few hours of dark left before the kill if she waited twenty-four hours.

“Dammit! What rock are you hiding under, Trask?”

Her computer beeped.

Go back to time stamp 41:17:50. I had to manually reset my location because your program hit it. The data is all there. You’re good, Kate. But I’m better.

“What are you reading?”

Dillon walked in without knocking. Had she left the door unlocked? With a tap on her keyboard, the onscreen text disappeared.

She didn’t want to deceive Dillon, but she had no choice. If Trask knew she was working with someone, he’d change the rules. He had never jumped the countdown, but under pressure…? She didn’t know what he was capable of.

Yes, she did. He was capable of anything.

“Just checking my programs,” she said.

“I’m sorry I stormed out like that.”

“No apology necessary.”

She pictured the video of his brothers walking into the trap. Her heart ached. She couldn’t tell him, not like this. And Quinn…could they have survived the explosion? Was anyone left to get them off the damn island? Quinn was a seasoned agent, surely he had backup.

Her stomach flipped. She’d sent them the information. It didn’t matter how many warnings she issued with it, how loud she screamed that it could be a trap, it was still her info and her fault those men walked into that cabin.

After last year, she was surprised they’d gone in at all. Two years, two traps. But what about now? What about her communication with Trask? Would they…could they…believe her?

And Trask had to know she’d sent the FBI that tip about the island. He’d had it rigged. He’d given her the false coordinates on purpose. From the beginning, he’d been monitoring her every step. He knew what she had done, who she talked to, where she had sent them. Trask would be expecting the cavalry when she showed up wherever he sent her. Unless he was orchestrating this charade all along. Feed her data, she cries wolf, the feds go in…nothing. Or a trap. And the girl still dies. Eventually her people would stop believing her.

Her mind was going in circles, but one thing was for sure: she couldn’t tell Dillon about his brothers. It would tip her hand that she’d been in communication with Trask. And how could she explain that? Not until she knew more about when and where he wanted to meet, and what she could do to protect Lucy.

“You’re under just as much stress as I am. Perhaps more.”

“I’m okay.”

He looked at her oddly. “Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t. Right now I need to find my sister. What is your program telling you?”