they were trying not to walk on eggshells around her because they wanted life to return to normal as much as she did. But they’d seen what had happened to her. They couldn’t pretend they didn’t know. Nothing had been left to their imagination. They had feared the worst and seen it happen. She couldn’t look at them without the guilt crashing down around her.
All she wanted was to be alone. But at the same time, she never wanted to be alone again.
Her heart beat with the rhythm of fear, which saturated her blood and made her doubt that she’d ever be able to reclaim her life.
She stared at Patrick in the hospital bed, her pulse racing. His long lanky body seemed to have shrunk. He had on an oxygen mask and an IV gave him nourishment. He was in a coma, because of her.
Not being dead hadn’t really sunk in. Death had come too close, and she was still trying to wrap her mind around her mortality. She couldn’t think about being raped, maybe later. Maybe much, much later.
Dillon had risked his life to save her. Jack, a brother she barely knew, had come home just for her. Patrick was in a coma because of her.
She’d been so stupid. No, stupid didn’t cut it. She’d been irresponsible. She deserved everything that had happened to her. She had listened over and over to the warnings from her family about strangers and the Internet, but never in a million years had she thought anything would happen to her.
It was Dillon’s soothing, commanding voice in her head.
She didn’t know if she believed the phantom Dillon, but somehow it made her strong enough to cross the room and sit next to Patrick’s still body.
His head was bandaged, and for some reason that bothered her more than anything. It made everything more real. That he’d had brain surgery because of the explosion that nearly killed him. That he was in a coma and might not survive.
She ached for Patrick, and for herself. For what she had done to her family.
Intellectually, she knew she had to stop blaming herself. Emotionally, she couldn’t. Not yet.
Lucy took Patrick’s hand. Suddenly, the urge to talk, to tell Patrick everything, hit her. He couldn’t look at her with pity, he wouldn’t tell her everything would be all right. He wouldn’t offer her food or suggest that she get some sleep.
“Patrick,” she whispered, “it was so awful. At first I didn’t want to die, I wanted to fight and hurt them back. Then, later, all I wanted to do was die. And I hate that. I hate that I was giving up when you and Dillon were working so hard to find me. You had more faith in me than I had in myself. I’ll never disappoint you again.”
THIRTY-THREE
JACK WAS STANDING outside Patrick’s hospital room when Dillon arrived at noon.
“How are they?”
“Lucy’s been in there for nearly four hours,” Jack said, nodding to Kate, who stood next to him. “You were right, Dil. She’s calmer since she’s been here.”
Dillon nodded, relieved that he’d been right. So much of psychology was second-guessing human nature, trying to understand people better than they understood themselves. Anticipating what they needed before they realized they lacked anything.
“Quinn got us an office so he could talk to her in private. We have it for two hours. I thought questioning her in a normal environment, instead of taking her to FBI headquarters or a sterile room, would help. Why don’t you take a break?” Dillon suggested to his brother.
“I’ll check in with my troop,” Jack said. “Don’t leave the hospital. If you’re right and Adam Scott is in San Diego, he could be watching this building.”
Dillon watched Lucy through the observation window as she spoke to Patrick. Dark circles framed her large brown eyes, her skin pale, her hair pulled harshly back from her unadorned face. But she was holding up.
He stared at Patrick, his head bandaged, immobile in the hospital bed. It was the first time he’d seen him since the explosion, and Dillon’s eyes burned.
Kate took his hand and squeezed it. “You okay?”
He nodded and tapped on the window. Lucy glanced over her shoulder, a brief look of terror crossing her face. It disappeared quickly, but Dillon couldn’t help but fear that she’d be living with that panic for the rest of her life.
He motioned to her. It was obvious she didn’t want to leave Patrick. Lucy kissed Patrick’s hand and whispered something in his ear, then met Dillon outside the door.
“What?” she asked.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“Can I go back and see Patrick?” she asked.
“Of course.”
She relaxed a fraction, glanced at Kate as they started down the corridor.
“Lucy, this is Kate Donovan,” Dillon said. “She was instrumental in helping us find you.”
Recognition lit Lucy’s eyes. “Carina told me you were with Dillon on the island.”
Kate nodded.
“Thank you.” Lucy’s voice was a whisper, and she dipped her head.
Dillon opened the door of an office at the end of the hall. Lucy stared and said, “You’re the FBI.”
Quinn nodded. “Quinn Peterson.”
Lucy frowned, looked at Dillon. “What’s happening?”
“Quinn wants to ask you some questions.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Lucy, I know this is hard for you. And we’re not going to talk about what they did to you.”
“You know it all anyway,” Lucy said, her voice quivering. “Everybody knows.”
Dillon wanted to address that fear of Lucy’s, but not now. “What we need to know is how Trevor Conrad found you online, what some of his messages meant, and if you heard or saw anything that might help the FBI find him.”
She shook her head again. “I don’t know anything.” She bit her lip.
“You might not think you do,” Dillon said, “but something you know might fit with something we know.”
She didn’t say anything.
Kate took Lucy’s hand. “Lucy, he’s out there and he’s angry. You beat him. He didn’t kill you.
Lucy bit harder on her lip. Her hand went up to her neck, where the bandage was hidden under a high collar. She glanced at Dillon, then at Kate.
“Okay,” she said, her voice a squeak.
Kate looked at Dillon, and as much for his benefit as Lucy’s, she said, “I told you that Lucy was the bravest woman I’ve ever known.”
Two hours later, while Dillon walked Lucy back to Patrick’s hospital room, Kate frowned at Quinn. “Well, that didn’t get us anywhere.”
“We had to do it,” Quinn said. “And we were able to establish a better time frame. Analyzing the messages from Trevor Conrad will greatly help e-crimes develop better programs to spot online predators.”
Kate sighed. “Not that it will do any good. Neither the FBI nor local law enforcement has the resources to police the Internet.”
“Maybe not, but it will give people the tools to police it themselves.”
“What I don’t understand is, how did a smart girl like Lucy get sucked into his trap?”
