Fear No Evil

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