Trask nodded. “Are you’re his mistress.”

He looked older than thirteen, having filled out the summer before, though he still hadn’t grown into his full height.

She laughed. “Oh, honey, I’m not his mistress. I’m his call girl, Mina.”

He didn’t say anything. Call girl? Prostitute?

“Are you a virgin?”

“No,” he lied.

The women looked at each other. The talkative one stepped forward and through his pants touched his throbbing dick. He came. He hated her.

“Wouldn’t you like to learn about sex from someone who knows everything about it?”

“You’re a whore,” he spat out.

She nodded, smiled, her eyes flashing something he didn’t understand. “Yes, I am. That means you can do anything you want, and if you screw it up I’ll still tell you you’re the best fuck in the world.”

“I don’t want my father’s whores. I’ll find my own.”

The woman who’d first screamed-she was much younger than Trask had originally thought-stepped forward. “Your father owns this place. We come here when he calls us. Do you like to watch?”

“No.”

They glanced at each other, then looked at his wet pants. “Give us your number and we’ll let you know the next time we’re here.”

He’d never planned on meeting them. But a month later Mina phoned. He wasn’t going to show up, but his curiosity got the better of him and he slipped away from school once more. He hadn’t been able to get the idea of fucking the whores out of his mind. Maybe just once, he thought. But he would be in charge. He might be a virgin, but he knew what to do.

He hadn’t expected what happened. He hadn’t expected to be raped by two women at the order of his father, who’d watched the entire time. And when the game was over, his father had whipped him.

“Remember who you are. My son, nothing more. Without me, you’re nothing. If you ever fuck around in my business again, I’ll disown you.”

The glass Trask was holding as he sat on the deck now shattered in his hand. He glared at it, angry with himself and angry at those damn women. They were dead now, long gone, no one would ever find them, because they no longer existed. He’d wiped them off the face of the earth.

And no woman has ever been in control since.

That’s why Kate Donovan would die by his hand. She’d fucked up his life like no woman had done since those two whores humiliated him for his father. He wouldn’t give up until he had her naked beneath him, and he fucked her dying body.

Kate slammed the folder shut.

“This is getting us nowhere.”

She got up and paced. Dillon Kincaid was driving her crazy, and they’d only met a few hours ago. He was so damn reasonable. Logical, straightforward, focused. She couldn’t stand sitting around and reading files she had practically memorized over the last five years. They knew Roger Morton’s identity and background. A lot of good that did them. He’d disappeared. Probably had a new identity. Unless someone saw him, turned him in, they couldn’t touch him.

She felt Dillon’s eyes on her back. She turned to face him. “What?”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but instead, pointed to the file. “Roger Morton is from a wealthy Northeast family.”

“So?”

“Seems like an unusual background for being the CEO of a pornography company.”

“Sociopaths know no economic limit.”

“True. But why porn? How did he meet Trask? They were in it together since the beginning of Trask Enterprises thirteen years ago. Back when the Internet was still relatively new, and online porn just starting. They pioneered a lot of the webcam technology. The files say that Roger went to Stonebridge Academy and graduated in 1989, but there are no details. I don’t even know where it is.”

Kate crossed over to her computer. She regained her focus and did what she did best. Forget people, they were too unpredictable. Computers were logical. You couldn’t love them and you couldn’t lose them. Her hard drive might crash, but she always had a backup-like a clone-to download.

People bled. They died. They disappeared.

“ Stonebridge Academy is in Connecticut. Opened its doors in 1909.”

“College?”

“K through twelve. It’s a boarding school.”

“So Roger Morton went to what I’ll assume is an expensive boarding school in Connecticut. Graduates in 1989. Trask Enterprises opens its doors in 1994. According to your notes, Trask started in pornography-films-but dumped them in 1998 when the Internet provided a better distribution mechanism.”

“That’s what we believe,” she said.

“Where was Roger during those five years? There doesn’t seem to be a college degree.”

“We don’t know. He wasn’t in prison, he wasn’t in the military, and he didn’t own property under his name.”

“What about his parents?”

“His mother’s dead. His father disowned him after Morton’s association with pornography became public.”

Kate snuck a look at Dillon while he flipped through pages in her file. He was dangerous. To her. He was a shrink, dammit, and here she was sitting in a pool-an ocean-of guilt and regret and vengeance. He could probably dissect her for an entire class of psychology students, enough fodder for an entire semester.

But he was also handsome. Classically, perfectly handsome. His light-brown, sun-streaked wavy hair had probably been slicked back before he’d started the trek up the mountain. He was tall, trim, and all muscle, like he worked out regularly but didn’t live for the weight machines. She could see him as a professor, like Indiana Jones before he put on the hat.

Only Dillon Kincaid was even sexier, a small, imperfect cleft in his chin highlighting his otherwise sleek, chiseled face.

She turned her head. This is what two years of isolation with only a grumpy, seventy-year-old professor for company did to you. One hot, sexy guy in the right age range comes up the mountain and she gets all twisted up.

No, the real twists came from the fact that Dillon Kincaid was a shrink. Kate feared what he might figure out about her, even more than how much she was attracted to him.

There was no hope, no future. Certainly not for them. His sister would probably be dead in thirty-one hours, ten minutes. And Kate would never see Dillon Kincaid again.

A knock on the door had her reaching for her gun. “Grand Central Station,” she muttered, crossing the room.

She opened the door, using it as a shield, her gun out and ready.

Jack Kincaid stood there.

“Jack?” Dillon couldn’t hide his surprise.

“My men went with Connor and Patrick, but I figured you two might still need some help.”

Kate frowned. The shrink was bad enough, but she didn’t trust the military goon, either. He came in anyway.

“Great,” she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

She slammed the door shut, turned to the computer out of habit.

Lucy Kincaid was there. Naked. Tied to the floor.

“Dear God, not again,” Dillon said.

“What god?” Kate said. Dillon turned to stare at her and she almost didn’t say what was on her tongue. But

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