FearNoEvil

by Неизвестный

  A small consolation for what Lucy had gone through.

  Dillon glanced at Kate. Her profile was stunning. Hard lines softened by large blue eyes and a small, aristocratic nose. Her face was completely devoid of makeup, her skin tan and smooth, her hair sun-bleached even lighter than her natural blond shade.

  She was all muscle, lean and athletic, from hours of working out each week. Except for the soft curves of her breasts and hips, she had no fat on her body.

  A sliver of something hit Dillon in the chest. Something about Kate…she was unlike anyone he’d met. Born in hate she’d said. Unloved by a mother who’d been raped, misunderstood by grandparents too old to raise an active girl. Dillon suspected she was a tomboy, rough-and-tumble as a kid.

  Kate was an anomaly. She thought that he had her pegged, that he’d analyzed and classified her. But she went beyond classification. She was too complex and driven. A hero in many ways, Dillon thought. Living every day of her life in search of a man who brutalized women. It didn’t matter, he realized, why she did it—guilt, revenge, duty. What mattered was that she did it, and that she kept at it even at the expense of her own happiness and freedom.

  Few people would feel the need to get involved, even when tragedy slapped them in the face. Kate, on the other hand, jumped in with both feet, determined to end Adam Scott’s reign of terror.

  She was scared, but her fear didn’t stop her. She knew she could die, but that realization didn’t slow her down. And she was doing it for a girl she’d never met: Lucy.

  Kate turned and caught him watching her. He held her eyes, and she didn’t turn away. The strength and vulnerability he saw on her face, under her skin, in her heart moved him like nothing else could.

  Lucy had hope because of Kate Donovan. Dillon would make sure they both got out of this alive.

  Hank, the pilot, said, “There’s our landing spot. I came around from the north so we wouldn’t be detected if they have a scout. Five minutes.”

  “Ready?” he asked Kate.

  “More than ever,” she replied.

  There had been no movement for twenty minutes after the rendezvous time Adam Scott had given Kate. What was his game?

  Jack considered heading to the Hummer. He could look underneath, see if it was rigged with a bomb. But what if Trask was watching from the tree line? What if he was waiting for Kate to get antsy and show herself? Jack had already done periphery surveillance, but he didn’t know exactly who he was up against. He had to assume Trask had a plan.

  He watched the Hummer closely. It bounced, very slightly. Someone was inside.

  The door opened. Jack looked through the scope of his rifle.

  Two men emerged. One was Trask. The other man was handcuffed and didn’t look completely conscious. His head lolled back and forth, but he was moving forward.

  Trask had a gun to the man’s head. Who was he? A setup? The undercover fed Kate had told him about? Someone else?

  “Kate Don-o-van,” Trask called out mockingly. “Come out, come out! Or do you want another death on your conscience? Because I certainly couldn’t care less about killing this traitor.”

  Trask paused. Jack didn’t move, lying low in the pine needles.

  Scott spoke, his voice echoing in the silence. “Kate, show yourself or this fed dies. Then the girl.”

  Jack didn’t move.

  “You want to kill me, don’t you? If I don’t check in, the girl will die. Painfully. Roger knows how to avoid all the major organs. She’ll bleed to death. Slowly. Like your dear friend Paige.”

  The bastard grinned. “Paige. I almost wish I could kill her all over again.”

  Jack’s finger rested on the trigger. He couldn’t take Trask out. The Hummer partly obscured the target. Jack was a good shot, but if he missed—and at this distance he couldn’t be guaranteed a clean kill—Trask would order Lucy killed.

  Trask frowned, grabbed his pocket, and extracted a phone. His face clouded and twisted as he listened to whoever was on the other end.

  He shot the hostage in the back.

  Jack didn’t fire. He had a less than fifty percent chance of hitting him and Jack wasn’t willing to risk Lucy’s life with those odds. Dillon and Kate hadn’t had enough time to get to the island. Jack made the difficult decision to let Trask go.

  The killer jumped into the Hummer and sped off.

  Jack waited a good five minutes. He heard the vehicle leave, didn’t hear it stopping or idling. Didn’t mean that Trask couldn’t stop the car and backtrack, hoping to lure Kate out with the half-dead man face-down in the dirt. Jack proceeded cautiously.

  He reached the fallen man. Checked his pulse. Faint, but steady. The wound was bleeding slowly. From the location Jack suspected the man’s right kidney was destroyed, but he was alive and would probably live if he had surgery.

  Jack pulled out a cloth and applied pressure to the wound, securing it with tape from his emergency first-aid kit. He called his pal who was waiting a few miles off. “I need a copter at my location ASAP. Man down, critical.”

  “ETA ten minutes.”

  Jack turned the man over, searched his pockets for ID, and found none. No identification of any kind.

  “Lucy.”

  The man’s voice was faint, but Jack couldn’t miss his declaration.

  “What?” Jack slapped him. “Buddy, wake up. Help’s coming. What about Lucy?”

  “Sorry.” He hadn’t opened his eyes and Jack didn’t think he was fully conscious.

  Shit. Was Dillon walking into a trap just like Patrick and Connor had?

  Jack needed to get to his brother. He didn’t harbor any illusions that they’d be best friends again, but they had an understanding, and dammit, Jack didn’t want Dillon to die.

  They circled the island. Dillon was unusually silent, and for some reason that bothered Kate.

  The air was warm, but the water was icy cold coming down the Strait of Georgia. The fog had burned off, it was midafternoon, and the day was clear, bright, and beautiful.

  Kate wished it was gray and misty. What happened to the rainy city? What happened to gray skies? She’d never believe what people told her about the Pacific Northwest again.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, pretending to look at a map while she scanned the shoreline for any hint of people, particularly people with guns.

  “As okay as I can be under the circumstances.”

  He had on sunglasses, and Kate wished she could see his eyes. They spoke to her in a way he didn’t, saying things his words couldn’t express. But with the shades, he looked harder, more focused. More like the life Kate wanted to leave behind, instead of the future that for the first time she thought she might have. After they saved Lucy.

  She was ready to give Trask up. The FBI had his real identity, they wouldn’t let go until they had him in prison. Quinn Peterson told Dillon they’d hit his financials. It was only a matter of time, and for the first time Kate was okay with that. The most important thing was to save Lucy Kincaid. Then maybe she could face the OPR and appeal for leniency. Rebuild her life.

  Rebuild it with a man like Dillon Kincaid.

  Not that she harbored any illusions that Dillon would want to be a part of her future. It was more the idea of a man like Dillon Kincaid in her life. A man who was steady, self-confident, smart, and not a cop. She needed to rethink her life and her choices and decide what she wanted to do, what she could do, when this was over.

  But for now, she put those thoughts aside. She might not survive. She accepted that. But she’d give her life to ensure that Lucy did survive. And Lucy’s brother.

  “There,” she said pointing to a rocky spot on the shore.

  “That cliff?”

  She nodded. “We’ll scale it. It looks solid.” She glanced at him. “Can you?”

  “Yes.”

  They’d passed a dock on the opposite shore, but there were no boats. Because Trask was attempting to meet Kate at the base of Mount Baker? Or because no one was here? It w
as safer to land on this side of the island, where the dense trees and bushes gave them cover.

  “If the numbers sent by the undercover agent were even a fraction off,” Dillon said, “we could be miles from her.”

  “I know. But we’re close. I feel it.”

  Kate tied the boat to a water root, made sure it was secure, and pulled herself up by a branch that hung over the water. She shimmied along the branch to the short cliff, then used roots and vines to work her way up the fifteen feet to the top.

  Dillon followed her path, agile but heavier than Kate. The vines she used started to pull under his weight. He was only a foot from reaching the top when a vine gave out and he was suspended over the water, holding on to a branch that dipped, threatening to break.

  “Grab my hand,” Kate said, laying flat on the ground and reaching down as far as she could.

  “I can do it,” Dillon said, trying to pull himself farther up the weak branch.

  “Grab my hand,” Kate repeated.

  “I weigh a hundred pounds more than you.”

  “Dammit, Dillon, I can handle it. Give me your hand.”

  The branch dipped and his sunglasses fell into the water. He swung toward her. She grabbed his arm, holding it in both hands as his feet sought purchase in the rock. His toes found just enough hold to help her bring him up over the edge.

  He laid on the ground next to her.

  She jumped up, offered her hand. He took it and she helped pull him up. They stood face-to-face, breathing hard, her black tank top covered in sweat and dirt, his green T-shirt molded to his body.

  He touched her chin. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

  “This way.” She motioned toward the thickest part of the trees, grabbing the backpack she’d dropped when helping Dillon up the rock face.

  They ran low through the thick trees and bushes, which shielded most of the sunshine, making the island dank and cool. The branches and sharp leaves scraped their bare arms along the way, but they didn’t slow down. A branch hit Kate in the lip and she bit back a cry.

  “You okay?” Dillon said softly, turning her around to face him.

  She dabbed her lip with her finger, came back with blood. “Stupid trees.”

  He pulled the corner of his T-shirt up, held it to her lip. His hair had turned even wavier in the damp air coming off the water. Without gel to tame his bangs, they fell across his eyes, making him look far more attractive than he had any right looking. Than she had any right even thinking about.

  He was close, too close. Smelling of sweat and adrenaline, all male. That’s what this was, the excitement and fear of the operation. And she’d been alone for too long, and now…the first man she saw excited her. Reminded her that she was a woman, that she missed having someone hold her.

  She stepped back, stumbled, and he caught her, his eyes staring at her, questioning, wanting, needing.

  Or was that her own need reflected in them?

  “What’s that noise?” he whispered.

  She listened. A low hum. Faint. Steady.

  “A generator,” she whispered back, heart pounding. “This is it.”

  She pulled out her gun, instinctively taking the lead. Dillon followed right on her heels.

  Mick Mallory was on his way to surgery when he regained consciousness.

  “Stop,” he said, his words slurring.

  “Sir, you’ve been shot.”

  “I need to make a call.”

  “You need surgery. Nurse! Ten cc’s of—”

  Mick reached out and grabbed the doctor’s wrist. “I’m FBI. Undercover. I need to call in. I have information—” he started coughing.

  The doctor hesitated, then pulled out his cell phone. “Can you use this?”

  Mick grabbed the phone. His fingers didn’t want to work. He handed it to the doctor and told him what number to dial. “Hold it,” he said, motioning to his ear. His head pounded and his entire body felt like it burned from within.

  The doctor held the phone like Mick asked.

  “Merritt.”

  “It’s Mick.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Hospital. No time.” He repeated the coordinates he’d sent to Kate Donovan. “He set a trap for Donovan, but she didn’t show. She must have gotten my message.”

  “Why didn’t you send the message to me?”

  “No time,” he repeated. “I don’t know what happened. Someone brought me to the hospital, but he didn’t tell me his name and he left.”

  “Dammit. Are you okay?”

  “Am I okay?” He blinked up at the doctor but couldn’t really see anything.

  The doctor pulled the phone away and spoke. “I don’t know who you are, but this man is going in for surgery. He has a bullet in his right kidney.”

  “Where?”

  “Bellingham General.”

  Merritt ran to the roof while on the phone. “I need a copter, then a plane to Seattle. ASAP.”

  Paige’s murderer was in Washington right now. Finally, he had a chance to make everything right. Finally, the hope of not waking to Paige’s phantom screams every night.

  I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Paige. But I’m going to make it right. I promise.

  Kate Donovan had better not fuck this up, or he’d have her head as well.

  * * *

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE CABIN WAS on a raised foundation, twelve stairs leading to a large deck. They’d circled it once, found one man patrolling while chain-smoking cigarettes.

  Kate and Dillon communicated by hand signals and eye contact.

  I’m taking him out. Kate motioned toward the man who now stood against a tree, facing the opposite direction.

  Dillon shook his head, but Kate ignored him. He tensed, not knowing what she had planned. He trusted her, but the stakes were too high and the chance of error too great.

  She circled around and he almost lost her in the undergrowth. She moved like a cat, lean and low, limbs working in unison.

  She came up to the man from behind, grabbed his neck, and twisted.

  Dillon heard the crack forty feet away.

  The man crumpled to her feet and she disarmed him. Behind a tree she checked ammunition, then returned to his location.

  “Don’t feel sorry for him,” she said. “He raped your sister.”

  “I don’t,” he answered.

  She stared at him. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  She couldn’t know. Even he didn’t know what he thought about the last two days. But nothing would surprise him, even Kate’s ability to kill a man without hesitation.

  She’d been trained to do it. She didn’t do it for pleasure. Sometimes murder was justified.

  “We don’t know how many people Trask has here,” she whispered. “We need to assume at least six. He couldn’t have gotten back from Mount Baker by now, but”—she glanced at her watch—“we’re getting into the window where he may show up.”

  “We need to get Lucy to the boat as quickly as possible and over to the island where the copter is waiting.”

  “Don’t wait for me.”

  “Dammit, Kate!” She was still focusing on Trask. “We have enough on Adam Scott to stop him. Don’t do this.”

  She stared at him, her eyes softening a bit. “I can swim, Dillon. We don’t know what condition Lucy is in. Get her to safety. I’m not going to be stupid. I promise.” She squeezed his hand. “Don’t wait for me.”

  He touched her face. He needed to touch her. To give her a connection to something good and real and whole.

  “There are people who care about you, Kate. Don’t forget that.”

  She swallowed, nodded. Did she have tears in her eyes?

  “Let’s go.”

  They’d already decided that Dillon would get to Lucy and Kate would cover them.

  They crept up the deck, keeping low, listening.

  A sliding door opened.

  “Ollie!”


  A female voice.

  “Dammit, Roger, I don’t know why he’s not—” the door closed and they couldn’t hear anything except muffled voices.

  Dillon pictured Lucy as she’d been on the video. There was a window in the room where she was being held. The window had some sort of shade covering it.

  Kate motioned for him to go left, around the back side of the deck.

  They split up. He circled around the deck, looking at the windows for one that looked familiar. One entire side of the cabin, which he avoided, was a wall of windows overlooking a narrow inlet. Lucy must be in the rear of the cabin.

  He rounded the corner, his heart pounding, completely focused on his sister. There were two shaded windows. He pictured the film. There had only been one window where Lucy was kept, based on the shadows and quality of light. Which one was Lucy behind?

  Cautiously, he peered around the edges of the first window he approached. It was dark inside, the filtered afternoon sun casting shadows through the slit less than a quarter-inch wide.

  A bed. A dresser. Nothing else. He listened. A female cry from the room next door.

  Anxious, he treaded lightly to the second window. There was no slit for him to see through. He listened. Nothing.

  Then, a woman screamed.

  Lucy.

  He swallowed his panic. Carefully, silently, he tried the window. Locked.

  “Stop! No, no, no!” Lucy cried from inside.

  Dillon quickly studied the window. One sheet of glass, double-paned. No gentle tap would break it.

  He retrieved Connor’s gun from his pocket and slammed it into the window. Before it finished shattering, Dillon jumped through it.

  Kate heard the scream followed by breaking glass.

  She ran back to the main door, opened it. It was, surprisingly, unlocked.

  Click.

  “Kate Donovan.” The voice was low and husky.

  She turned. Denise Arno held a gun aimed at her.