Fear No Evil

“I can’t do that. They’re watching. Closely.”

“You’re a fool.”

He slammed down the phone. He had a fake ID and passport all ready, but he wasn’t done. He had to find Monique and Mina.

Lucy and Kate.

And what about that shrink Dillon Kincaid? Who would have thought a fucking doctor would have it in him to shoot a man in cold blood? Frank didn’t even have a gun on him.

Trask called the hospital. Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

“This is Connor Kincaid,” Trask said. “My sister Lucia Kincaid is a patient. She’s being released today and I don’t want to miss her.”

“One moment.”

He waited. Then the nurse came back on the line. “I’m sorry. Ms. Kincaid has already been discharged.”

Discharged? Where would she go? Of course, he thought.

Home.

Trask went online and bought a ticket for that afternoon. One-way to San Diego.

TWENTY-EIGHT

QUINN MET DILLON in the lobby of the field office and led him into the rear. “Morton’s on his way over.”

“Where’s Kate?”

“She’s cooling off in an interview room. She and Merritt went at it. Verbally,” he added.

“I want to see her.”

Quinn glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes, if you want to be in with Morton.”

“Come get me.”

Quinn led Dillon to the room where Kate was being held. There was a plainclothes guard at the door. “Merritt insisted,” Quinn said before Dillon could ask.

“She’s not going to jail.”

Quinn shook his head. “We’re keeping her here overnight. It’s not very comfortable, but better than going to Seattle PD and being processed.” He cleared Dillon with the guard. “I’ll be back when Morton arrives.” He left Dillon alone with Kate.

Kate jumped up and ran into his arms. He held her tight. A wave of relief that she was okay, that she was safe, washed over him. And something more-a deep need to be with her.

He kissed her repeatedly, then held her at arm’s length to take in her appearance fully. She looked more like a cop than when he’d first met her two days before, but weariness clouded her expression. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “You came back.”

“I said I would.”

“How’s Lucy?”

“She has Carina and Jack taking her back to San Diego. They’ll take care of her.”

“Jack?”

“He’s staying until Scott is captured.”

She nodded. “You think Lucy is in danger.”

“Absolutely. Both you and Lucy.”

Kate sank into one of the chairs around the conference table. Dillon sat next to her, turning his chair so they were knee to knee and he could hold her hands. “Why does he want me now?” she asked. “I understood his frustration before-Paige and I slowed down his operation, forced him to go underground. I can see that he wanted revenge. But now we know who he is. He has the money to disappear-why doesn’t he just disappear? It doesn’t make sense.”

“It does make sense,” Dillon said. “You’re thinking about this logically from your experience. But Adam Scott has a different background. It’s personal.”

“I never knew him before we started investigating April Klinger’s disappearance.”

“What I mean is, for him it’s personal. You remind him of another woman who took something from him. Maybe he was unable to fight back or reclaim what he lost, so he’s put you in her role. On the surface, he can convince himself that he’s getting back at you because of what you stole from him-his legal porn operation, his freedom of movement, and now Lucy. But it’s an act. What he really wants is revenge on someone he could never get revenge on. By killing you, he’s avenging his own failures, hurting the person who hurt him.”

“I guess that makes sense. But if I were him, I’d lay low for a couple of years and come after me when I’d least expect it.”

“That’s logical, and up until now Scott has been smart. But we’ve exposed his identity. We took away his support-Roger Morton and Denise Arno. And remember, for him this is not so much a game as a show. He sees himself as Trask, the actor. Onstage. Performing. His public persona is much different from his inner person. In fact, on the surface Trask is amiable, charismatic, attractive. Inside, where he’s Adam Scott, he’s dark and twisted. He’s been able to keep them separate-meaning, if we saw his dark side, we’d recognize it immediately. But Trask the actor has taken over. A man who can trick teenage girls into meeting him. A man who probably didn’t seem like he’d hurt anyone. He looked safe. But in exposing Adam Scott, the weaknesses and insecurities that he has long suppressed are coming out. That’s why he couldn’t rape the woman last night. That’s why he couldn’t climax. It was in his face-the rage, the frustration, and fear.”

Kate sighed, squeezed his hands. “I just want this to be over. I want Lucy to feel safe again. I want to get my life back.”

“Quinn said you and Merritt had it out.”

“Merritt’s an asshole. He honestly believes that I intentionally brought Paige into a dangerous situation and did nothing to save her. And I told him the truth-that Paige had assured me he’d authorized backup. I thought there were agents surrounding the building, ready to act. He didn’t believe me.”

“But Quinn does.”

“I think so.”

“You’re doing the right thing, Kate. And no matter how long it takes, I’ll stand by you.”

She touched his face, then dropped her hand when Quinn Peterson walked into the room. “Morton’s here,” he said.

Dillon stood. “Are you going to be okay?”

She nodded, gave him a quick smile. “I’m okay.”

Dillon asked, “Did they find the girl in the video?”

“Not yet. I sent the file to the lab to see if they can find any personal information from the images. It appears to be her own bedroom, very feminine. A double bed. She’s likely single, so unless an employer or relative calls, or she has a roommate who wasn’t home last night, we might not find her for a couple of days.”

Dillon followed Quinn down the hall, around the corner, and through a secure door into another interview room. Two guards stood next to a chained and seated Roger Morton. Quinn motioned for them to step out.

“Where’s my lawyer?” Morton sneered as the cops closed the door.

“I’m sure he’s on his way. We informed him of this meeting.”

Morton’s dark hair had begun to gray and he sported the beginnings of a beer belly. He was muscular with a thick neck and hands. He played with a class ring on his left pinky finger. He was neither handsome nor ugly, an average guy who worked out to build the muscles, but as he aged the muscles were turning into flab. Purple and black bruises had formed on his face from Dillon’s attack the day before. Dillon couldn’t muster any sympathy for his injuries.

“I’m not talking. Told you that.”

“I know what you told me yesterday,” Quinn said. “I’m giving you a chance to make a deal.”

“Talk to my lawyer.”