Fear No Evil (30 page)

Her limbs wrapped around him, her heart beating rapidly beneath his chest. Kate had a fierce passion and focus in everything she did, and now it was all directed at him. He kissed her over and over, not able to bring her close enough to satisfy the growing need inside him.

Her hands seemed to be everywhere, on his back, his waist, his ass. Her touch electrified him. He wanted nothing more than to make love to her. Slowly. Methodically.

In bed, Dillon had always been a gentleman. He painstakingly made sure that the woman with him enjoyed herself. He always led the dance, directed the movements.

He tried to slow the pace, to make sure Kate was relaxed and comfortable and ready for him.

Kate would have none of that. Every time he slowed down, she sped up. His mind was a whirlwind; his body wanted her now.

She kissed him repeatedly as her hands roamed, pushing him away.

“What’s wrong?” he said, surprised.

She grinned. “Nothing’s wrong.” She pushed off the comforter, which had become tangled in their legs. Then she climbed on top of him, straddled him. “If you don’t make love to me right now, this very minute, I am going to burst.”

He swallowed, felt her hands clasp his erection, watched as Kate slowly slid down.

He took her hands into his, watched the pleasure spread over her expressive face. Her short, layered blond hair hung in her face, damp from their shower, making her look natural and even sexier.

“Dillon,” she sighed heavily.

It took all his willpower to let her direct their love-making. He wanted to go slow and soft, to show her affection. She drove him forward, not giving him time to rest. His release was imminent.

“Kate,” he said.

She opened her eyes, now bright with passion, and stared at him. “What?”

He rolled her onto her back and pulled out. She blinked, confused. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Dillon swallowed, not sure what was going on between them, but wanting to make sure Kate knew this wasn’t a game to him.

“This isn’t about the finish line,” he said, his voice thick with desire and frustration.

A startled look crossed her face. He didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to show her what love could be. What it could be between them.

He kissed her swollen lips. “Let me show you what making love can be.”

Kate welcomed his embrace. His kisses told her he wanted her. She relaxed under his attention. She’d been so close to release when he pulled back. Maybe that was it. Prolonging this night, the limited time they had together. She pushed aside the thoughts of the morning, when they would part. She might never see him again. She told herself that was okay.

She was lying. But they had the here and now. She wasn’t going to waste it.

Dillon’s mouth found her breast and she moaned. His tongue played with her nipple, bringing it to full attention. Then he moved to the other side. Her hands grabbed at the bedsheets, a swirling sensation building again inside her. His hands were warm; everywhere his fingers touched made her hot. Light and purposeful, his mouth went from her breasts to her navel, back up again.

“Dillon, I want you.”

“I want you, too, Kate.” But he didn’t make any move to speed things up.

“Fast is good.”

“Sometimes,” he murmured into the space between her breasts. He looked up at her, his chin resting on her chest. “Slow is good, too.”

“I can’t wait.”

He smiled seductively. “You mean, you don’t want to wait.”

“That, too.”

His eyes blazed. “I’m savoring you, Kate. Won’t you allow me that?”

“I’m already undone.”

“That’s an old-fashioned way of saying you’re hot and bothered,” Dillon teased.

“I don’t believe you.” She smiled at him, sat up in the bed, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Yes. I’m hot and bothered. I want you to make love to me. Now.”

“Demanding, too.” He kissed her, his own breath labored. So he was as turned on as she was. “I
am
making love to you, Kate. The minute we stepped into that steamy shower, I started to make love to you.”

He kissed her again. “Kissing you.” His tongue circled her lips, went down to her neck. “Tasting you.” He lightly bit her earlobe. “Eating you.”

She sucked in her breath as his fingers parted her thighs and felt the hot wetness between her legs.

“Touching you.” He swallowed heavily.

“Making love is more than having sex,” he whispered in her ear. “It’s a full-body experience.” His hands roamed up her body, clasped her head from behind. “From your head.”

He kissed her, his breath hot, labored, wanting. His mouth moved from hers, back to her hard nipples, down her stomach, never stopping. He brushed his tongue against her clit, making her jump. Then he licked each inner thigh, first the right, then the left, and she squirmed, grabbing his head with her hands. Trying to bring him back to that spot in the middle that needed—demanded—his direct attention.

But he had other things on his mind. His mouth found her toes, pulled them one by one. She gasped. No one had kissed her toes before. His thumbs put pressure on the bottom of her foot, sending bolts directly to her hot core, and she gasped.

“Oh, God, Dillon.” She could barely speak, her mouth dry.

“Down to your feet,” he said.

He climbed on top of her, his erection reaching for her, his face inches from hers.

“Making love,” he whispered into her lips, “is much, much more than having sex.”

Then he slid into her, filling her, their bodies drenched in perspiration and desire.

Slowly, they moved together, finding their rhythm. Kate was losing herself in Dillon, giving her body, her heart, her soul over to him. Everything she was from this day forth was because of him. He had showed her things about herself she hadn’t realized, understood her in ways she didn’t know she missed.

She moved beneath him. His hands found hers. He raised his body, his face intent on hers. “Kate,” he gasped.

“I’m with you,” she whispered.

They came together, sealing a bond neither had sought or expected.

Dillon pulled Kate to him, holding her tight, his hand over her rapidly beating heart. They didn’t need to speak, not now.

Their mouths found each other and they continued to explore.

Sleep came much later.

Trask stared at the terrified face of the woman beneath him. She was restrained, and his hands encircled her neck. He tried to imagine Kate Donovan beneath him as he attempted to rape the woman.

He was failing, limp and unable to take her. Instead of Kate, he pictured Mina, that wily blond bitch who had hurt and humiliated him for his father’s pleasure. As soon as she came to his mind, his cock softened.

He remembered killing Mina and her whore friend. The blood. Red and wet. He smelled copper, felt the slickness of their pathetic lives coating his body. He’d stolen back the power. He was free of them.

Kate Donovan had taken his prize, Monique.
Lucy.
He would find her. Kill her with his bare hands. Then he would regain his strength, be able to do whatever he wanted.

He began to harden. He released her neck and she gasped for air.

“Stop.” Her voice was almost gone. “Please, stop. I’ll do anything, just don’t kill me.”

Her pleas further excited him, but he’d prefer it if she fought him. Like he knew Kate would as soon as he had her.

He pushed himself into her and she tried to scream, but with her bruised larynx it came out a gasp. She pulled at her restraints, egging him on.

“That’s it. Fight me, bitch.”

She stared at his face. He wasn’t wearing a mask. The realization hit her. She saw her death in his eyes.

Trask wrapped his hands around her neck as she thrashed. He pressed hard, felt the bone break. Watched her eyes as she knew she was dying.

But he still had trouble.

“Fuck you, Mina!”
No, Kate.

The woman beneath him scratched at his gloved hands, her eyes wide. He watched a blood vessel swell in the corner. Burst.

He kept slamming himself into her after she was dead, but no relief came.

TWENTY-SEVEN

A
KNOCK ON THE DOOR
woke Dillon and Kate. They were still entwined from the night before, naked, but Dillon had pulled the comforter on top of them in the middle of the night.

“I don’t want to move,” Kate said.

He kissed her neck. “Don’t.”

He slid out from the sheets, slid his jeans on, and crossed to the door.

“Who is it?”

“Quinn Peterson.”

“One minute.”

Kate moaned and got out of bed. She grabbed her pack and went into the bathroom.

Dillon opened the door. “Come in.”

Peterson entered. “Merritt’s on his way over. Where’s Kate?”

“Why? What’s the rush? Doesn’t he have more important fugitives to pursue? Does he know where Adam Scott is?”

“I tried to talk him out of it, but he’s adamant.”

“I’m not going to let Kate be arrested.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Dammit, Peterson, I thought you were going to do something about this!” Dillon ran his hands through his hair. “She’s the one who found Lucy.”

“Merritt is questioning that. He’s floated the theory that she intercepted a transmission meant for him from his undercover agent and because of that four people died and Adam Scott got away because of her maverick ploy.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Mallory told us he sent that message to Kate.”

“Mallory’s in ICU and unable to talk.”

“This Merritt has it in for Kate. He isn’t going to listen to the truth. He’s already made his mind up.”

“I agree. Where’s Kate?”

“I don’t know.”

“Dillon, don’t do this. I need to talk to her.”

Kate stepped out of the bathroom in clean jeans and tank. “I’ll go into headquarters on my own terms,” she said.

Peterson raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.

Dillon took Kate’s arms. “You don’t have to do this. Remember what I said.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I remember. And this is the right thing to do. Full disclosure, and let the chips fall. I’m ready to tell the truth. But I don’t know if anyone will believe me.”

“I believe you.”

“If you want to piss Merritt off, we should leave now for headquarters. We’ll just miss him,” Peterson suggested. “That way you’re turning yourself in.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kate said.

“I’m working double time trying to get him off this case,” Peterson said. “He’s not thinking straight. But I have to smooth the way at Quantico and that’s not an easy task.”

“I appreciate it, Quinn. Really.”

“So hang in there. All I need is time, okay? And you’re in my jurisdiction. I’m not letting him take you out of it.”

Kate was packing up her equipment when her computer beeped.

Dillon and Quinn both crossed over and watched as she retrieved a message.

There was no return e-mail or identification.

“It’s him,” she said.

Kate:

You took my lead actress, so I had to find an understudy. Click here. The show must go on.

Trask.

She glanced up at Dillon and Quinn. They both nodded. She clicked the link.

The digital video had been set up in the corner. Adam Scott didn’t try to hide his face. A woman with short blond hair had been tied to a bed. She was pleading. Scott wrapped his hands around her neck.

Cut.

The next shot was him raping her, putting his hands around her neck again.

Kate frowned. “A glitch?”

“No,” Dillon said. “He edited the video.”

“Why?”

Dillon watched closely. Something was off about the tape. It was only five minutes long. At the end Scott gave out a primal scream as he pummeled the dead girl’s body.

Cut.

“I need to see it again,” Dillon said.

Kate played it again. Dillon watched closely. “Stop.”

She froze the frame. “I don’t see anything.”

“There.” He pointed to the lower right-hand corner, where Trask was mounting the girl.

“I still don’t see anything.”

“Can you enlarge that frame?”

Kate typed on the keyboard. The frame enlarged four times.

“I don’t see anything.”

“He’s soft. He can’t rape her. Now run the film enlarged.”

They focused on Scott’s shrunken penis. Now the digital splicing was obvious. He had deleted parts of the video, probably those showing how he’d managed to get himself hard enough to penetrate her.

“He might have said something he didn’t want us to hear,” Dillon surmised, “or done something to himself to enable penetration. But he never climaxed.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s a guess, but he has no condom on. When we find the victim forensics will be able to tell. But it was really the rage on his face. He was angry that he couldn’t climax. This girl wasn’t giving him what he needed. Either because it’s not live, or because he has severe sexual dysfunction. Or both. Maybe having the show live gives him the sense that he’s playing a part. And”—Dillon clicked on the original message—“look how he signed his name.”

“Trask,” Quinn and Kate said in unison. “But he knows we have his real identity,” Quinn added.

“Trask is his public persona. It’s who he thinks he is, or who he wants to be,” Dillon said. “Adam Scott is weak. Adam doesn’t fight back. Adam was abused. Trask hasn’t been abused. He’s in charge.
He
fights back. He hurts those who hurt him.”

“You’re not giving me some crap about a split personality,” Quinn muttered.

“No. Adam is fully aware of who he is. For him, it’s image. He needs to think of himself as strong, successful, virile. That’s Trask. I think his sexual dysfunction is growing because we know who he really is. While we don’t know enough about his childhood to figure out what caused this, he doesn’t know that. He assumes we know everything.”

Dillon looked from Quinn to Kate. “You’re not safe, Kate. Not until he’s caught.”

“He can’t get to me,” she said.