He saw Roger Morton facing away from him. His attention focused on a small grove of trees.
Kate jumped up, gun in hand, only feet from Morton.
Morton aimed.
Dillon fired.
Morton and Kate fell.
Had he shot Kate?
Dillon ran to her.
Kate saw Dillon at the same time that Roger aimed his gun toward her. Instead of firing her own weapon, she collapsed, hugging the ground. She heard the shot at the same time, felt a thud as Roger Morton fell. She scurried to the other side of the tree, not knowing if Morton was faking it, dead, dying, or if it was just a flesh wound.
She peered around, saw Roger’s face.
“Fucking bitch!” he said.
Alive. Definitely alive.
“Kate!”
Dillon. Running toward her.
Roger still had his gun. He was so close she could almost touch him. Bleeding from the leg. He used the tree to brace his back, then stood.
Aimed his gun at Dillon.
Dillon dove and tackled Roger, whose gun fell into the dirt next to Kate. She grabbed it, aimed it toward the fighting men as they rolled in the dirt.
Almost immediately, Dillon had Roger beneath him and slammed his fist repeatedly into his face, his rage almost out of control.
“You. Hurt. My. Sister.” The words came out in grunts with each physical impact.
Quinn Peterson was only steps behind Dillon. He paused a moment, watching. No one wanted to deny Dillon his revenge.
Ten long seconds later Quinn stepped in and intervened. “I got it from here,” he said quietly to Dillon.
Dillon stared at Roger’s bloodied face and his own hands. He swallowed, his chest heaving with exertion and anger. He stood, turned to Kate.
She lowered her weapon. His face gradually changed as he walked over to her, knelt in front of her, pulled her into his arms, and held her tight.
“I thought I hit you.” His words were an agonized whisper. “Are you okay?”
She nodded into his bare chest. She put her hands on his flesh. His heart pounded into her palm. His breathing was labored from running and attacking. His arms squeezed her, holding her up. Protecting her. Keeping her safe and making her feel for the first time in her life that she was not alone.
Quinn Peterson handcuffed Roger and pulled him up. Roger swore and threatened them. “I’m going to call in the Coast Guard and have them pick us up at the dock. I’ll process Morton and call you later.”
Jack Kincaid came down from the area of the cabin. “Four deceased. One female, three males.”
“It’s not over,” Kate whispered.
“What?” Dillon asked, pushing her away from his body to look her in the eye.
She shivered, missing the heat of his body. “It’s not over. Adam Scott is still out there. And he’s not going to stop until we stop him.”
TWENTY-FIVE
DILLON WALKED into Lucy’s room. Miranda Peterson was there, sitting at her side, talking softly to her. He couldn’t make out the words, and she stopped as soon as he entered.
“Dr. Kincaid,” Miranda said with a nod.
“Dillon,” he said, not taking his eyes off his little sister. She looked so pale, so young. That his vibrant, sarcastic, wonderful little sister had been hurt clouded his mind and tightened his heart.
He crossed over, gave Lucy a smile. “Hey, Luce.”
She didn’t smile back. He swallowed thickly. “Hi.” Her voice sounded so strange.
He was at a loss for words. He was a trained psychiatrist and all he wanted to do was hug her and tell her everything would be fine. But it wasn’t fine and he couldn’t lie to her.
“I called home and told everyone you were safe.”
Lucy didn’t say anything. Dillon continued. “We’re going to take you home tomorrow morning.”
“Fine,” she said, her voice far away. “I’m really tired,” she added, turning away from him.
“The doctor gave her a mild sedative,” Miranda explained.
Dillon said, “Okay. I love you, Luce.”
He turned for the door. Behind him, he heard Lucy’s voice. “Thank you, Dil.”
Miranda followed Dillon out. He rubbed his moist eyes, wishing he could trade places with his little sister. Miranda touched his arm.
“I know I don’t have to tell you that it will get better with time,” she said to him.
“I hate that she’s suffering.”
“Give her space. You want to help, she knows that. But you have to give her time to sort through what happened on her own.”
“I just wish I could go back to Thursday morning and change everything,” he said.
“You love her. That’s what she needs. Love. And time. Watch her, care for her, she’ll let you know when and if she wants to talk and who she wants to talk to. Every woman is different. You can’t put rape survivors in the same box.”
“I know that in my head, but in my heart-”
“She’s your sister. You can’t be her brother
The elevator doors opened and Dillon turned to see Carina walking briskly down the hall.
Carina ran straight into Dillon’s arms, hugged him tightly. He returned the hug, letting his tears finally flow.
“Oh God, Dillon, it’s over.”
Dillon didn’t correct her. In the back of his mind he couldn’t help but think about Adam Scott waiting for his chance to get to Kate.
Carina stepped back. “Where’s Lucy?”
“In here.” Miranda led Carina into the room.
Through the doorway, Dillon watched Lucy reach for Carina, hug her tightly, and cry.
He turned away and saw Quinn Peterson approach. “How’s Lucy?” he asked.
“Alive. Safe. Thanks for asking Miranda to help.”
Quinn said, “Miranda knows what it’s like to survive Hell. Lucy is in good hands.”
Dillon rubbed his eyes, tired and weary. “What did Roger Morton have to say?”
“Not a word. Called his lawyer. We have him isolated. No phone calls, no visitors. I’m going to let him sit today and go back at him tomorrow.”
“But he could have key information about Adam Scott’s location.”
Quinn nodded. “Probably. But he’s not talking right now, and I can’t read his mind.”
“I want to talk to him.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He nodded toward Dillon’s hands, which were scraped and red from the beating he had given Roger.
“There’s other ways to get information.”
“You’re not going to beat it out of him.”
Dillon almost smiled. “No, not really my style.”
“Tomorrow morning. You can sit in on my formal interview with him. Hopefully his attorney will tell him to turn
