“What did you see before he took Lucy off air?” Dillon demanded.
Kate stared at him. “Go check it out yourself,” she snapped. “Go back to the twenty-four-hour mark.”
Dillon strode over to her backup terminal, where she had digitally recorded Lucy’s captivity. He found the time stamp and watched a man walk slowly into view of the camera. His hands clenched as the man fell on top of Lucy, touched her. Unzipped his pants.
For the first time Dillon wanted to kill someone. He’d been traveling from San Diego to Texas when Lucy had been raped the first time. He only knew about it because Quinn Peterson had called to tell him. He’d almost been relieved he hadn’t watched it.
Dark agony crawled around his mind, suffocating his heart, making him see red. He could all too easily picture himself with the gun Connor gave him, pulling the trigger over and over, hitting this bastard square in the chest. Killing him for touching Lucy. Dillon’s head pounded and all he could think of was murder without regret.
Then the man looked over his shoulder and the screen went black. Dillon fast-forwarded the recording. Five minutes of time passed before the screen went back up. Denise was there, fighting with two men as they tore off her clothes.
He shut off the monitor.
“He took Lucy somewhere.”
“You don’t know that. He’s giving her a break. For the finale. Denise is a great actress. Her show will do well, prep the perverts for the end.”
“Any more headway on his location?”
“No.”
“Dammit, Kate, what aren’t you telling me?”
Kate stared at him and Dillon ran a hand through his hair. He was grasping at straws, trying to find his sister in the proverbial haystack. Patrick was in a coma and Lucy was going to die.
And this woman-this renegade FBI agent-was holding back.
When she didn’t say anything, Dillon left the room. He needed to talk to Jack and figure out what they were going to do.
Dillon was ready to sell his soul to the Devil for Lucy’s whereabouts. But he had a feeling the Devil himself was behind Trask’s evil mind, and wouldn’t tell him a thing.
Roger walked into the room Trask had converted into an office. “Sixty e-mails wanting to see Lucy. They’re not happy.”
“Sixty out of eighteen hundred seventeen paid viewers?”
“Sixty in fifteen minutes.”
Trask waved his hand. “They’ll get off watching Denise. Why aren’t you in there with her?”
Roger scratched his crotch. “I gave them a show. I’ll be back. How long do you want us to go at her?”
“At least an hour. That’ll keep these”-he tapped the stack of e-mails-“perverts jerking off.”
“Why’d you pull Lucy?”
“I have my reasons.” Not that he planned on sharing them with Roger. Roger had always told him Kate Donovan was a threat.
Kate Donovan was no threat. She was as weak and vulnerable as any woman on the face of the earth. Just more driven than most.
Trask would take care of her and enjoy every second. He’d imagined too often her neck in his hands and his cock in her cunt. She would know the moment before she died that she was nothing but a source of pleasure for him and him alone.
And then he’d crush her windpipe and watch those blue eyes freeze in death.
“Watch Mallory.”
“I always watch the new guys.”
“There’s something about him. He’s…off.”
“He checked out.”
“Are you questioning me? Again?”
“No,” Roger said slowly. “Why are you cutting me out? You messing around with Donovan again? Wait until after tomorrow night. We’re still getting new viewers, we’ll top two thousand by the last hour. I say we let everyone have a turn with her and then-”
“I’m the director,” Trask said, his voice low. “Is she locked up?”
“Tight.”
“Go back and fuck Denise. I have something to do.”
Roger left and Trask opened the drawer and stared at the photograph of his father in his judge’s robes. His face burned, remembering the humiliation this man had forced him to suffer.
Then he cut him off completely. His twenty-first birthday, cut off without one fucking dime.
His father was unforgiving. If only he’d had the courage to kill him before being disowned, everything would have gone to him when the bastard croaked.
“Look at me now, Father,” Trask said. “You rode on Mother’s bank account. You were nothing before you married that stupid woman. Just pathetic. I have money, millions. You cut me off, but I came back even stronger. If you were alive, you’d be paying me to watch my shows.”
His father was dead, and good riddance, but for once Trask wished he were alive. Just so Trask could turn the tables and do to him what he’d done to Trask.
Degrade and humiliate him. Hurt and abuse him.
But the bastard even stole that small pleasure from him.
Dillon couldn’t find Jack. Where had he gone? They didn’t have time for games, they needed to force Kate to talk. Dillon had a feeling Jack would be good at that.
If only Patrick were here. He could decipher her damn computer codes. She’d been working on something. Her demeanor, her tone, her body language said it all.
She’d lied to him. Dillon tolerated a lot, but he drew the line at lies.
He called Connor to find out how Patrick was doing.
“He’s still in a coma,” Connor said, his voice sounding surprisingly close. “We’re in San Diego and they’re prepping him for surgery.”
“Surgery?”
“Pressure on his brain. They need to relieve it or there’s no chance he’ll survive.”
Dillon paled. “Peterson didn’t tell me that.”
Connor sounded both angry and helpless. “Tell me you and that Donovan woman know where Lucy is. Tell me where. I’ll be there.”
“We’re working on it.”
“That’s not good enough!”
Dillon let Connor yell at him. Dillon wanted to scream himself. “I know,” he said quietly.
“Is Lucy…is she okay?”
“Yes.”
“Peterson just left to go back to headquarters. He said you had a list of names that this Trevor/Trask character may be.”
“It’s a theory.” Dillon filled Connor in, knowing that the process would comfort him.
“Call me when you find Lucy. Peterson has a plane fueled and ready at Miramar. It’s all ours. I can be flying anywhere in less than thirty minutes.”
“Call me when Patrick is out of surgery. How’re Mom and Dad holding up?”
“Mom’s in shock. Dad’s being steadfast.” Connor’s voice broke. “He cried when he saw Patrick. I haven’t seen him cry since Justin’s funeral.”
“I’m going to find her,” Dillon said.
Connor didn’t say anything.
“I will,” Dillon repeated.
