“I want to talk to Quinn.”
“He hasn’t gotten back to me since I sent the coordinates. That was over an hour ago.”
“May I?” Dillon motioned to the keyboard attached to the lone computer that had instant messaging.
She nodded, looking at a host of other monitors that flashed code and programs Dillon didn’t understand.
Peterson, it’s Dillon Kincaid. I’m with your friend. What’s happening?
Wait, I’ll get Peterson.
Dillon didn’t know to whom he was talking, so he didn’t type anything further. “You knew that woman?”
She nodded curtly.
“Who was she?”
“Denise Arno.”
“And?”
Kate said nothing.
“Kate,” Dillon said, his voice sterner than he intended. She faced him. “I need to know everything. I believe you want to help, but my goal is not Trask. It’s saving my sister. If you can’t get behind that, then maybe you don’t have your priorities straight.”
“Don’t talk to me about my priorities. Who are you to judge me?”
“I’m not judging you. But I need to know everything about Trask if we’re going to stop him. This is my job. I get into the heads of killers. I begin to think like them. Breathe like them. I’m beginning to get a handle on Trask.”
He continued, starting slow and speeding up as he went. “He’s forty, plus or minus. He’s from a wealthy family, used to privilege and getting whatever he wants. His parents were strict, probably excessively strict, and he resents authority because of that. I wouldn’t be surprised if his father was a high-ranking public official, attorney, or in some position of authority that he enjoyed abusing. Trask wasn’t born in a vacuum.”
“So he was an abused child,” Kate said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
Dillon took a deep breath. He was used to that kind of comment from law enforcement. “He may or may not have been abused in the traditional sense. I feel no physical abuse, or if he was physically abused it was when he was very young. He likely had a volatile temper even as a young child, unable to own up to his mistakes. He feels no remorse for his actions, and I sense from reading the files Peterson gave me that he never has felt remorse.”
“Oh please,” Kate said, hand on her hip. “So he’s insane? He’s incapable of feeling remorse so he doesn’t know that what he’s doing is wrong? Lock him in a padded cell, give him some drugs, and declare him cured?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Dillon said, his rare temper rising. “I never said he was insane.”
“But—”
He put his hand up. “I’m giving you a rough profile of the man I think Trask is. Understanding his past, getting a sense of his character and personality, will help us find him and, more important, stop him. But I need more. I need to know about Roger Morton, and I need to know about Denise.”
“Why?” she asked, honestly curious.
“The more we know about the people he surrounds himself with, the more we know about Trask himself.” He took a step toward her. “Between the two of us, we can stop him…after we save Lucy.”
He glanced at the countdown. 33:02:40.
“We don’t have time to play games.” Dillon sat at the desk chair, watched as Kate paced like a tigress, lean and rippling with suppressed energy.
“Denise Arno came to my partner, Paige Henshaw, a week before the ambush. Said she was running from Trask, that she knew about April—”
“April Klinger?” Dillon asked, remembering his conversation with Peterson.
“She’s the reason we started our investigation into Trask Enterprises in the first place. Her family contacted us when a private investigator they hired to find April discovered that she was starring in online pornography movies. She’d been seventeen when she ran away, but was twenty at that point. The PI turned over a DVD he’d made of what appeared to be a snuff film, with April as the dead woman. It was so real—”
Her voice trailed off and she stared at the screen, where a woman was silently being beaten. Across the bottom of the screen flashed a disclaimer.
Role-playing fantasy rape. No one was hurt in the creation of this film.
She snapped back, her voice harsher. “Paige and I became certain April had been killed. We started investigating the company that housed the digital file that the PI had downloaded, Trask Enterprises. At first we had the support of the Violent Crimes unit—we couldn’t locate April anywhere, dead or alive. For all I know, she could have been at the bottom of the Atlantic or chopped to pieces and fed to pigs in up-state New York. With no body, no evidence, no witnesses, we were stuck. Internal support waned. We were getting pressure to back off from upstairs. Other cases were more pressing. The Bureau even used my boyfriend, also an agent, to get me to drop it.
“But I couldn’t get April’s eyes out of my mind. She was dead. I knew it.”
“What happened?”
“Denise contacted Paige, set up a meeting. Told us she knew that April had been killed, but she was too scared to talk about it. Gave us some information that alleged that Trask was bringing in girls from Russia to star in future productions.”
Kate sat on the edge of her cot, squeezed her eyes shut, and rubbed her temples. Dillon resisted the urge to rub the tension from her shoulders. Kate wouldn’t appreciate it, and right now he didn’t want to do anything to upset her. She was already on edge. “Denise didn’t make it to our next meeting. I used my computer skills and the Bureau’s extensive network to hack into a secure server at Trask.” She looked at him, put up her hand. “I know—don’t say it. I could have jeopardized a conviction. But I was scared to death that Denise had been killed because she’d come to us. I couldn’t do nothing.
“That’s when I found her strapped to a chair. Naked. Live on the Internet, and damn, I was determined to connect this to Trask Enterprises and raid their company. But it wasn’t them. Not on the surface. Someone was using their site, but it was obvious they were piggybacking on it.
“Paige and I had to find Denise. We told our boss what we learned and he said we didn’t have enough to go on. But Paige talked to him, told him we had the warehouse under surveillance where Trask was supposedly going to be bringing in these Russian girls. We were supposed to have backup. But it never came. It…” Her voice trailed off. Dillon suspected that there was more to the story, but Kate jumped ahead. “We were essentially ambushed. Trask killed Evan and kidnapped Paige. Suddenly Paige was in the chair instead of Denise. I watched as my partner, my best friend, was raped, online where every pervert could see.”
Kate stood and paced again, agitated, her hands moving constantly.
“And Evan was your boyfriend,” Dillon said quietly.
She nodded.
“Why did you think Denise was dead?”
“NYPD found a body in the Hudson River. She matched Denise’s description, but her face had been so brutalized, it wasn’t recognizable. I was certain it was her. I had seen her beaten on the Internet. Why would Trask let Denise go? She could identify him.”
Kate slammed both hands against the metal door. “But the bitch was working with him all along! I felt so damn guilty over Denise’s murder. I believed her, believed everything she told us. She had bruises and worse. I honestly thought she was trying to do the right thing and we had gotten her killed. But she set Paige up!”
Dillon mulled the information over. “What kind of bruises?”
“When I thought she was dead? They were all over her face.”
“No, the bruise you saw when she first approached you with information.”
“Her throat. He’d attempted to strangle her.”
“Is that why her voice is hoarse like that? On the feed?”
“Yeah.”
“But her vocal cords should have healed by now. There would have to have been extensive damage. Or ongoing trauma.” Dillon frowned. Remembered another case he had worked on where women self-mutilated, or allowed ot
hers to do it, out of self-hate, and numerous other reasons, unique and personal: low self-esteem, the need to feel in control, the need to give to others something no one else would.
Dillon pictured the way Denise had treated Lucy on the screen. It wasn’t an act. “Denise Arno hates women,” he said. “Hates that Trask wants other women. I’m sure you’ve heard of autoeroticism.”
“Where partners or solos bring themselves to the brink of death while engaging in sex.” She spoke like a textbook.
“Denise would give herself, her life, to Trask except that it would end in her death. She despises the fact that Trask wants—needs—other women to fulfill his fantasy, because his fantasies always end in death.”
Dillon pushed away the horrific image of Lucy dying while Trask raped her. If he thought about Lucy, he wouldn’t be able to think like Trask. And that wouldn’t do his sister any good.
“Denise is just as sick as Trask is,” Kate said. “I don’t really care why he does it. I just want to stop him.”
“But we can’t stop him if we can’t walk in his shoes. He’s smart. Logical, methodical, cunning. He’s not going to slip up. We have to be smarter, shrewder. If we can’t get into his head, we can’t save Lucy. And I refuse to let my little sister die. This Roger Morton—he was in Peterson’s file. He’s been with Trask since the beginning, right?”
Kate nodded. “He’s definitely wanted. He was at the ambush. And he’s on tape raping Paige…” Her voice trailed off. She was looking at Lucy on the computer, but not seeing her.
Dillon walked over to her, turned her face to look at him. “Does the FBI have a file on Roger? Can Quinn Peterson get it?”
“Absolutely. And I have all my early research.”
“I need to see it. Now.”
The computer beeped. Dillon and Kate walked over and he sat down.
Peterson here.
Dillon typed.
What’s going on with the coordinates?
I’m working on it. We have a team mobilized, but it’s going to take time.
How much time?
Two to three hours. We have to go in covertly because it’s in Mexican waters. We don’t have the time to go through official channels on this.
My brothers are heading there now. You’ll probably beat them. You can contact Patrick through [email protected].
Call them back. We don’t need civilians all over the place.
I couldn’t have stopped them. K. thinks it’s a trap.
I know. She told me. Kate needs to worry about her own ass. Is she there?
Yes.
Tell her I’m working on immunity. I’m doing everything I can to get her back. But Trask knows where she is.
She knows.
Dillon glanced at Kate. The hard expression on her face proved it.
“I wish Trask would come for me,” she whispered.
“He knows where you are. He must have a reason for not coming after you.”
“I don’t think he knows exactly where I am. He knows how to talk to my computer, and he’s probably narrowed down the region. But if he knew where I was, he would have taken me instead of Lucy.”
“Why?” Dillon asked.
She said quietly, “Because he wanted me first. Paige saved my life. He grabbed her when our backup finally arrived.” Kate looked at Dillon. “Paige and I dealt Trask a major blow. His freedom, his finances, his company. Payback.”
“But why did he want you originally? You said he tried to kidnap you first?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he planned on taking both of us. Like you said, he hates authority. I’ll bet he really hates women in authority.”
Dillon thought about that. “I think you’re right, but there’s another reason, maybe one we won’t know until we talk to him.”
“Shoot first,” Kate warned him. “If you give him a chance to talk, he’ll kill you.”
Peterson typed:
And if she finds more information, send it. No vigilantes. I don’t want to lose anyone. I have to run. The copter is ready.
Dillon closed down the IM, frowning. Maybe he’d made the wrong choice. Staying, trusting a woman he didn’t know. The FBI was taking the information about the island off Baja California seriously. What if he was isolated here, unable to help when they found Lucy? She was going to be traumatized. She needed her family.
“She’s not there,” Kate said softly, as if reading his mind. “It was too easy.”
“How can you be so certain?” Dillon asked, surprised at the quiet temper in his voice.
“Instinct.”
“I don’t know if I’m willing to trust my sister’s life to your instincts.”
“I don’t blame you. But I didn’t ask you to come here, and I certainly didn’t ask you to stay.”
Dillon walked to the far side of the small room, gathered his wits about him. Panic wasn’t going to save Lucy.
“Where are your files on Roger Morton?”
She pulled open a file drawer under her desk. Every folder was neatly labeled and dated. “Where do you want to start?”
“At the beginning,” he said.
ELEVEN
QUINN PETERSON RAN from the office, pulling out his cell phone to call his wife and let her know where he was going. Instead, he bumped into an assistant director from Quantico, Jeff Merritt. Quinn couldn’t keep the shock off his face. “What’s going on?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Can’t. We have a lead on Trask.”
“Now.”
Quinn swore under his breath, following Merritt into the office he’d just exited. Merritt glared at Joe Garcia until Garcia got the hint and left. Quinn wouldn’t have followed Merritt except for one small thing: Merritt was his boss’s boss.
“I told you,” Merritt said as soon as Garcia shut the door, “that anything regarding the whereabouts of Trask must go through me first.”
“I sent you my report.”
“You sent me shit.”
“Time is running out, Merritt. Can we have this pissing contest later? I have a helicopter waiting on the roof.”
“Where did you get the intel?”
“I don’t have time for this.”
Merritt slammed his fist on the table. “Dammit, you’re in touch with Donovan!”
Quinn knew the history between Merritt and Kate, and he wasn’t about to get in the middle.
Jeff Merritt had been Paige Henshaw’s lover.
He had been the one to push the Bureau into opening an investigation through the Office of Professional Responsibility. But Merritt didn’t want to slap Kate on the wrist. He wanted her behind bars.
It didn’t help that everything Kate had sent the feds had been dangerous dead ends. It wasn’t her fault—she was being a good agent and sending everything, no matter how remote. But last year, Merritt had jumped the gun and nearly ended up getting himself and his team killed. That had renewed Merritt’s vendetta against Kate.
“Put the past on hold, Merritt,” Quinn said. “Trask is holding an eighteen-year-old girl captive and the countdown is under thirty-three hours. I don’t have time for this.”
“I’ll bury you, Peterson.”
Superior or not, Quinn refused to be threatened. He took a step toward Merritt. “Don’t go there.”
“Kate Donovan is a lunatic. She’ll get you killed.”
“You’re just feeling guilty because you didn’t believe her about Paige after the ambush.”
Merritt reddened. “I have nothing to feel guilty about, except maybe leading my people into a trap with intel Kate Donovan submitted. This is a woman who led her partner into a dangerous, hostile situation. She’s a vigilante. How can you be sure she’s not working with Trask? How can you trust anything she says? She’s a fugitive and she set Paige up to die. She also got her boyfriend killed in the process.”
“Talk about rewriting history!” Quinn brushed past him. “Talk to me tomorrow.”
He was almost out the door when Merritt said, �
��We have someone deep inside.”
Furious was an understatement. “What?” Quinn slowly turned.
“Deep cover, complete silence. Last contact was two weeks ago.”
“And you’re telling me this now? You knew about the Kincaid girl twelve hours ago! Where is she?”
“We don’t know.”
“You have a guy on the inside and you don’t know where he is?”
“He’s supposed to check in every week, but Trask has intense security. He’s missed check-ins before. Last message was that another show was scheduled. He didn’t know where or when, just soon.”
“Did you know about Lucy Kincaid?”
Merritt shook his head, but Quinn wasn’t certain he believed him. “We suspected he was targeting a student at Georgetown.”
“Why hasn’t your guy taken him out?”
“Evidence, dammit! We have no proof.”
“No proof? You have a man on the inside. He’s an eyewitness. We have Trask’s recorded voice. And this girl is obviously an unwilling participant.”
“We have to find them first. I have to let my man run the op. He’s our best hope. Trust me. He’ll get her out if he can, then we can debrief him and get Trask.”
“Who is he?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Fuck that, Merritt.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“What about a microchip?” Quinn asked. More often than not undercover agents had GPS microchips implanted on their person. It wasn’t standard operating procedure, but for a deep-cover op like this Quinn would have insisted.
“Couldn’t do it. Trask has a vigorous system of clearing his crew. We set up an extensive background for my man, even sent him to prison for six months to make contact with one of Morton’s old buddies. We’ve invested a lot of time into finding Trask, instead of relying on a bitter, mentally unstable, renegade FBI agent who should be in prison.”
“You want me to trust an unknown undercover who hasn’t checked in for two weeks? Who just let a young woman be raped? Bullshit. You don’t even know if he’s still alive. My helicopter’s waiting.”
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