He flashed his badge at a nurse. “I need Katherine Donovan’s room number.”
“One moment.” The nurse went to a station and looked it up. “Five-fifteen,” she said.
He smiled. “Thank you.” Finally, someone who responded to authority.
Merritt closed his eyes as he waited for the elevator. He was so close to avenging Paige. The two people responsible for her death were within reach. Kate Donovan and Adam Scott.
He pushed aside memories of his own culpability. He hadn’t believed that Kate Donovan had found Paige that fateful day five years ago. He was so furious that they had gone against orders, that one agent had died and one was abducted, that he believed Kate was just blowing smoke to save her own ass.
Then, on the computer screen, he saw her jump through the window. Saw her pull the knife out of Paige’s chest. She ran, and the cabin exploded.
Sweat formed on his brow. If he had believed Kate then, would they have been able to save Paige? He didn’t know.
But if Kate hadn’t disobeyed direct orders, Paige wouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. If he had sent backup, even more lives would have been saved.
“God, I miss you, Paige.” He remembered how much he’d loved her spunk, her courage, her beautiful, exquisite face.
And then the image of her brutalized body, the rapes and the stabbing, assaulted his senses and he pounded his fist on the elevator wall.
For five years revenge had been in the forefront of his mind. And now half of it would be complete.
He’d bring Kate up on charges. Going through the Office of Professional Responsibility was merely a technicality. He could keep her in prison until they made their findings.
But first he had to figure out how to smoke Adam Scott out of hiding. Using Kate Donovan as bait.
He squeezed the small DVD player in his pocket. He would show her what she’d been responsible for. Make her work with him. Because now the ends most certainly justified the means.
He opened the door of room 515.
It was empty.
TWENTY-SIX
THE HOTEL WAS on the water, ten stories up, and Kate opened the sliding glass doors to let in the cool, fresh breeze even though the sun had set long ago.
Dillon handed her the backpack from the plane. She didn’t know how he’d gotten it, but the idea that he’d thought she might need something was endearing.
He touched her face and she melted inside. She couldn’t imagine him wanting her. She probably had more baggage than all his patients combined. But she would take it, at least for tonight.
“Do you mind if I shower?”
He shook his head, kissed her. “I’m going to get you something to eat.”
“The hospital fed me dinner.”
He grimaced.
She laughed. “Hey, it wasn’t bad. I’m used to worse food from Professor Fox’s observatory.” She took his hand, squeezed it. “Don’t leave.”
He kissed her again. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Kate hadn’t been intimate with a man in a long, long time. She hadn’t thought she missed it. After watching Trask and his games, she thought she’d never want to have sex again.
But here, with Dillon Kincaid, she saw everything good sex could be, between two people who wanted to please each other.
“Shower,” she murmured into his lips, pulling him along with her.
She backed into the lush bathroom. A single white rose sat on the black marble counter. She picked it up, smelled it, savored it.
“You?”
Dillon took the rose, touched it to her nose, then put it in a water glass.
“How hot?” he asked, turning on the shower.
“Very hot.”
“Ouch.”
She grinned and pulled off her tank. She saw Dillon’s gaze travel down her body. She had a lot of little scars here and there. “I’ve sort of abused my body. This,” she pointed to a long faded diagonal scar down her side, “was made by a skinhead when I went undercover back in my irresponsible youth.” She found herself laughing. She hadn’t been able to think about her previous years in the FBI without thinking about Evan and Paige. But now, recounting the good she had done seemed to free her.
“And this,” she stepped out of her jeans and pointed to a round, gnarled scar on her upper thigh, “was a bank robbery. Hostage situation. I went left, should have gone right.”
She stepped over to Dillon. The bathroom was already growing steamy from the hot water. “Does my body disturb you?”
“Disturb?” He grinned lopsidedly. “I wouldn’t use that word.”
He unclasped her bra smoothly, dropped it with her soiled clothing. He gently touched her shoulders, his long fingers trailing down her breasts, touching the little scars on her stomach, the bigger one on her side.
“You’ve had your appendix removed,” he said, touching a very faint one-inch scar on her abdomen.”
“I was thirteen. I thought I was having menstrual cramps. It burst.”
He frowned. “Dangerous.”
“I survived.”
“You’re a survivor.”
He kissed her.
“Take off your clothes,” she commanded.
He pulled the borrowed shirt over his head. His body was long and lean, but his muscles were hard and tight. He had several nicks on his chest where the branches on the island had hit him. She kissed one, then another, then another.
He dropped his pants and backed her into the shower.
“Damn, that’s hot,” he grimaced.
She sighed, content. The hot water hit her abused body, making it ache even more before easing her pains. She groaned, then allowed the massage jets to pound her muscles. She caught Dillon watching her.
“What?” she asked.
“You’re beautiful.”
She glanced down, feeling embarrassed and excited at the same time. She’d been told she was pretty, but coming from Dillon it came with a heart of sincerity, a frank and honest and unsolicited comment.
“Thank you.” She smiled up at him. “You’re not too bad on the eyes yourself.”
He kissed her, then reached for the shampoo and poured a quarter-size pool into his large hand. “Turn around, please.”
She complied, tilting her face up toward the ceiling to avoid spray directly in her eyes. Dillon rubbed the shampoo into her hair, his long fingers massaging her head from the crown to the base. The rich lather smelled fabulous, but what was more luxurious was Dillon’s attention. Slow, strong, steadfast. Focused all on her head, her neck, rubbing and massaging the tension out of her body. She felt the pressure of the last two days—the last five years—spiraling down the drain.
“Oh, God, that feels good,” she murmured. “Where have you been?”
He whispered in her ear. “Waiting. For you.”
An erotic shiver slithered through her body. Dillon rinsed her hair, then picked up the soap and facecloth. His strong, talented fingers massaged her body, leaving her feeling limp, languid, like a jellyfish.
“I’m not going to be able to move,” she said on a sigh, kissing his wet shoulder. She moved her mouth to his neck, the taste of his skin a new and exciting flavor.
She took the soap from him, rubbed the bar against his body. Building up a lather that she took across his chest, his shoulders, his back. Down his sides, to his narrow waist and flat stomach. Dillon may not have been in an occupation that required staying in shape, but he had no problems in the body department. His abdomen had a defined six-pack, and his thighs were solid muscle. She wanted to touch him for hours.
Dillon slowly turned her around so he could rub her shoulders. She put her hands on the tile wall as his talented hands hit still-tight muscles. He kissed her neck softly, his tongue leaving a trail of desire in its wake.
“Dillon,” she breathed.
He kissed her earlobe. “I want to make love to you,” he whispered, his voice low and sexy.
“Please.”
>
He shut off the water, reached out, and pulled in a large, thick white towel. He wrapped her body, then picked her up and carried her from the steamy hot bathroom to the startlingly cool bedroom.
Goose pimples rose on her skin. “I shouldn’t have opened the balcony door,” she said.
Dillon sat her on the bed, crossed the room, and closed the door. Then he returned, pulled down the comforter, removed her towel, and put her between the sheets. He climbed in after her, pulled the comforter over them. “Warm?”
“Getting there.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. He was staring at her with an intensity she hadn’t seen in him before. Something shifted inside her, from casual lust to serious desire.
Dillon wasn’t a man to have one-night stands. Dillon was the type to have serious, discreet, and long-term relationships. Kate couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t married. He was prime. Handsome, sexy, smart, and compassionate.
“What are you thinking?” He stared at her.
“Why you’re not married.”
“Who says I’m not?”
She almost hit him, then saw a smile curve around his lips.
“That was mean,” she said, trying not to smile back.
“I’m not married, never been married.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been pretty focused on my practice.”
She touched his face, ran her hand through his hair, then pulled him to her lips. Kissed him lightly. Over and over.
The light kisses turned hot, their breath entwined, their hands moving to touch everywhere. Exploring as only new lovers can. Cautious, wanting to please, wanting to bring out the best in each other, and in themselves.
Dillon sank into Kate. He wasn’t a man who gave in to his passions and wants. He thought things out, never acted without looking at every contingency. But with Kate, he let his needs take over, an intense and heady desire for her. A feeling that if he let her go, she would vanish and his world would be a darker place.
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.
Fear No Evil Page 23