by Неизвестный
“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?”
“It’s still working.”
Frustration crossed his face and it took all of Kate’s willpower not to tell him about her conversation with Trask.
“You’re a computer whiz. Can you break into the Stonebridge Academy’s computer system?”
“I don’t know.” She wanted to look at her data at the time stamp Trask had just told her about.
“Would you try? I think Roger Morton went to school with Trask. Maybe there’s something in those records that will help us find his true identity. At the very least, we can capture the names of everyone who was at Stonebridge the same time as Morton.”
How could she not? She bit her lip, torn.
She’d have to find a way to do both at the same time without Dillon noticing.
* * *
FIFTEEN
JACK CAME INTO KATE’S ROOM an hour later and Dillon looked up from the reports he was reviewing.
“I think I have him,” Dillon began. “Not his identity, but where he went—”
“I have some news,” Jack interrupted solemnly.
“What happened?”
“The cabin was wired—a magnesium burn. Fast and hot, but what really did the damage was the dry wood and accelerant in the corners.”
> “My God.” Dillon shook his head. “Was Lucy there?”
“No, another girl, already dead. Unidentified.”
“And Patrick and Connor, are they on their way back?”
“Back to San Diego.” Jack sighed, showing a rare flash of helplessness. “Connor has some burns, but he’ll be fine. Patrick is in a coma.”
“Patrick?” Dillon couldn’t imagine his little brother immobile. “How long has he been out?”
“Three hours. The feds have arranged for transport to the States. He’s alive, but needs surgery.”
Lucy missing, Patrick in a coma, Connor burned. Dillon glanced at Kate, her face pale. She quickly looked the other way, avoiding eye contact.
“And Trask?”
“They’re no closer than we are.” Jack stared at Kate. “Are they?”
Kate shrugged. “They have good people working for them.”
“Few are as good as you,” Jack said. “I think you know where they are.”
Kate spun around in her chair. “If I knew where that bastard was, I’d be there. Do you think I’m holding out on you? Do you think I would jeopardize another innocent girl’s life? Do you—”
Dillon put up his hand. “Jack, that was uncalled-for.”
“Oh?”
“Do you have a basis for accusing Kate of keeping information from us?”
“Instinct.”
Dillon looked from his brother to Kate and back. He was in a room with two people he didn’t really know. The brother he’d shared the womb with, and a woman he’d just met.
“Jack, give me a minute.”
Jack shrugged, left the room.
“You can’t believe that I—”
Dillon put up his hand. “Kate, you are under intense stress right now. You’re acting like Lucy is your own flesh and blood, and that means a lot to me. You’re doing it because of duty and guilt and revenge—because of Trask—but you’re also compassionate. You feel for my sister, and I won’t forget that.”
He took a step toward her, put his hands on her shoulders while she sat in her chair. She swallowed but didn’t take her eyes from his.
“I also believe you will do anything you think is right to stop Trask from hurting Lucy or anyone else. Even if that means lying. To me, to anyone.
“Don’t lie to me, Kate. I’m on your side. We are on the same side. Together we’ll find Lucy. Don’t play the maverick.”
“I’m not,” she said, her voice cracking.
Dillon ached for Kate, but not half as much as he hurt for what Lucy had already endured. What Lucy would suffer in twenty-four hours if they couldn’t locate Trask’s island.
“Trust me, Kate.”
Her blue eyes searched his, full of agony and conflict. Any other time, Dillon would work on her, using his special talent to get her to open up. He wanted to, but he didn’t have the time or energy to worry about Kate’s mental health until after they rescued Lucy. He only needed her to trust him.
Kate diverted her eyes and Dillon suspected that she wanted to tell him something. Instead she said, “Before the colonel came in, you said you found something.”
“Colonel?”
“Your brother. Jack.”
“He’s a colonel? How do you know?”
“The pin on his jacket.”
Dillon had missed it, or if he had seen the pin, it hadn’t registered that Jack had the same rank their father had had when he’d retired.
“Trask?” Kate prompted.
Though he felt like he was being manipulated away from a conversation he needed to have with Kate, his discovery was important.
He showed Kate the files he’d been working with. “Roger Morton’s classmates. I pulled all students in his class, the year before, and the year after. Since Roger and Trask have been together for a long time, and since Roger didn’t attend college, I suspect they were in high school together. Stonebridge Academy is an elite boarding school for the rich and privileged.”
“Logical, but that’s a long way to look back.”
“Not that long. Roger graduated high school in 1989. Eighteen years ago. A few years later, Trask Enterprises formed and a twenty-three-year-old was at its helm. No college education. The FBI couldn’t find a prison or military record on him. Where was he for those five years? Apparently from these files doing absolutely nothing and living at home in Massachusetts. He wouldn’t have had to work; his family is worth tens of millions.”
“So why even start working at Trask Enterprises?” Kate said, beginning to follow Dillon’s line of reasoning.
“Exactly. And who would hire someone with no practical experience to manage a business?”
“Nepotism. Friendship.”
“Right. Roger’s parents are in shipping, old established business. He could have worked for that company, but no. He did nothing until Trask opened up.”
“I guess your theory makes sense, but Roger could have met virtually anyone in those circles. His father could have called in favor after favor to get him a position.”
“Nowhere in these files is there any record of the FBI interviewing Roger’s father except for one notation that an agent went out after Paige Henshaw was killed, and Roger’s father told this agent he’d disowned his son when he started the online pornography business. He also said he didn’t know who Trask was.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “But they didn’t ask the right questions.”
“Namely, who were Roger’s close friends during high school?”
“Makes sense.” The brief excitement on Kate’s face disappeared. “But it does us no good now! We can’t get to Massachusetts and interview the man. We don’t have the time.”
“But Peterson has the contacts. He can get someone out there first thing in the morning.” Dillon picked up a piece of paper where he’d handwritten fifty-six names. “And ask the father if any of these boys were close to his son. Trask’s real identity is unknown to us, therefore he is probably using it to run a legitimate business or any number of things.”
“And if we can get a photograph…” Kate’s voice trailed off. She was the only person alive who had seen Trask in person.
“I’m going to call Quinn Peterson, okay?” Dillon held up his cell phone. The call could be traced, which was why Kate had only used her double-blind IM account to communicate with Peterson.
She nodded slowly, understanding that if Quinn wanted to, he could turn over the records and the feds could burst in and arrest her.
“I trust him,” she said.
Dillon left the room since the cell phone couldn’t pick up a reception inside. The night was cold and he pulled his jacket around him. He walked to the vista where he and Jack had spoken earlier. He didn’t know where his brother had since gone.
The reception was mediocre. “Kincaid?” Peterson said, white noise distorting his voice. “I’m on a military transport with Patrick.”
“How is he?”
“Alive.”
“Has he regained consciousness?”
“No.”
Four hours now. That wasn’t good. “Thanks for getting him out of there fast.”
“I didn’t expect you to call.”
Dillon explained to him what he’d found in the files and about interviewing Roger Morton’s father about associates in high school.
Peterson didn’t say anything, but the crackle on the other end assured Dillon that he was still on the phone. “It’s a good lead,” Peterson finally said. “And we have nothing else. I have some men out at the island where the cabin exploded, looking for evidence, but everything was pretty much destroyed. Magnesium burns hot.
“Connor said Trask had to have been watching to know when to call the cell phone. That there was a camera across from the door.
“I’m sure it’s melted, but we have the best people looking at radio and Internet feeds. Time is not on our side.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” Dillon said.
“I’ll send an agent out to
Morton’s house first thing in the morning. E-mail me the list of names and I’ll get them out there.”
Dillon hung up and heard a voice behind him. “Feds know anything?”
Jack. Dillon turned around. “Patrick hasn’t regained consciousness. They’re heading back to San Diego for surgery.”
“I know. My team is on its way back to Hidalgo.”
“And you?”
Jack’s dark eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “I’m in it till the end.”
Dillon raised an eyebrow. “I guess I just don’t know what to expect of you.”
Dillon’s brother stared into nothingness. “I suppose I deserve that.” He turned back to Dillon, a tic in his neck showing that he was angry. “I’m a lot of things, Dillon. But more than anything, I’m a man of my word.”
Jack walked off into the darkness.
Mick had hoped Roger would forget or change his mind. He’d been physically ill since Roger had told him he would be next up with Lucy Kincaid.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t even get hard. Thinking about hurting her had him so twisted in knots he doubted he’d ever get it up again. He was perspiring and wondered if he’d eaten something bad.
Or maybe it was fear eating at him. He was about to do something that would get him killed. Get Lucy killed as well. But he didn’t see that he had a choice.
He’d used his homemade sextant at sunrise and sunset to figure out the longitude and latitude of the island. But if he was off by a fraction of a degree, he could send Kate Donovan miles in the wrong direction.
Did he trust his skills? He had to. He didn’t have much choice at this point. He’d been trying to figure out a way to get Lucy off the island, but she was never unwatched. Denise, Trask, or Roger watched her at all times through the numerous cameras on the island. He was being watched, too. He’d had to be extremely careful, and he feared that between his caution and fear of exposure his coordinates were off.