Fear No Evil (21 page)

The contact had originally interested Trask. Few people knew Roger or how to contact him. But it was Skud McGinley who’d set up the meeting—Skud was an old friend from the early days of Trask Enterprises who’d been in and out of prison for a variety of drug-related charges, then got life for whacking his old man for the insurance money. He and Roger had kept in touch over the years, and Skud had met Mick in prison.

Trask believed it. Skud couldn’t be bought, he was as ornery as they came. Hated authority. So if Mick was a plant, it had been planned for well over a year. He had to have been in prison at some point to meet up with Skud. That’s deep cover, and Trask didn’t think any of the FBI pricks had the balls to do any real prison time.

Everything checked on Mallory. So Trask went to look for Bowers. There were several of them in the country, but Mallory had been arrested in Massachusetts—Bowers should have lived there at one point. Trina—that was the name on the court documents, but those could be forged. Trina could stand for Katrina, Trinity, Christina, any number of names.

Court documents. He looked through the transcript. Looked legitimate, but he didn’t have an original. And he didn’t have time to send someone out to Massachusetts to pull the hard copy.

There was no Trina Bowers who would have been twenty-four six years ago. There was no thirty-year-old Trina Bowers in Massachusetts or the bordering states.

Then he found it.

“Trina” filed charges that Mallory had followed her home from her place of employment, a law firm in downtown Boston.

Branson, Ordello, Kimball & Associates.

Sounded legitimate, but no such firm ever existed.

The devil was in the details, and Mick Mallory had just been sacrificed by those details. Probably some FBI bureaucrat screwing up. No surprise there.

Did Kate Donovan know him?

No matter. Trask would serve his head on a silver platter to Kate. Then he’d make her watch Lucy die.

Don’t rush, he admonished himself. He had more work to do. He pulled down the digital film of the feds who’d walked into his trap off Baja. They looked like cops, a little too rugged to be feds, but they were probably among the cream of that particular crop. They looked familiar, but Trask knew he’d never met either of them.

Trask ran their images through his photo-recognition program.

Almost instantly their identities popped up. He straightened, tense.

Patrick James Kincaid, thirty-two, San Diego, California, sergeant in the San Diego Police Department.

Connor Mateo Kincaid, thirty-five, San Diego, California, private investigator.

Lucy’s brothers.

Something wasn’t right. Why weren’t the feds working on this? Why would they bring in outsiders? He’d sent the false Baja coordinates to Kate, which meant she was in touch with the Kincaid family.

Did that mean she hadn’t called the FBI? Playing maverick herself? Why work with the Kincaid family? How had they gotten together?

He ran the third image through his program, wondering if the man was another Kincaid brother. Instead, he learned that the man was Quincy Peterson, special agent in charge out of Seattle. Peterson…the name wasn’t familiar. He must be new, or hadn’t been involved five years ago. Different team. Maybe the feds were falling apart. They’d trusted Kate Donovan’s information and come up dry several times.

He smiled.

He’d done his research on Lucy and knew she was high risk—her family were cops and military, the epitome of authority.

In the beginning, nearly a year ago, he’d joined a Georgetown chat room and waited for the right girl. Listened, watched, conversed with the students. He’d picked Trevor Conrad as his identity because Trevor had planned on going to Georgetown all those years ago. Had he lived, of course. Seemed a fitting tribute.

In January, incoming freshmen started flooding the chat rooms. That’s when Trask really perked up. Young, eager, excited. They assumed everyone in the chat room was a student, freely shared information about where they lived, what they planned to study, their families, their photos.

He and Lucy started talking about things they had in common, such as speaking French. It was fun to pull out his rusty high school French and use it with Lucy. It only took a couple of weeks before she was sharing everything about herself with him. He knew her real name. Her hometown. That her father was retired army and her mother had escaped from Cuba. He learned about her brothers and sisters and wondered if he should seek out another girl. A kid with that much firepower around her could be dangerous to him.

Then she sent him her picture.

Her resemblance to Monique was remarkable. The same long, thick wavy hair. The big brown eyes. The flawless tan complexion, though Lucy’s was from her heritage instead of the sun. Tall, slender, with curves in all the right places.

So Trask decided taking Lucy was a challenge he was up to. Screw her family. He’d done this enough times without anyone, except Kate Donovan, getting close. They’d never find her. The pleasure of taking down such a noble and self-righteous family appealed to him.

If Connor and Patrick Kincaid were out of commission, either dead or injured, there were three viable Kincaids left since the oldest, a woman, wasn’t in contact with the family. Jack Kincaid, thirty-eight, was in the military, and even Trask, who could break into virtually every secure computer network, didn’t know where he was deployed. His file was beyond top secret. All Trask had was his rank, colonel. For all he knew, Jack Kincaid was working in Iraq or black ops in South America. He didn’t even have a photograph of him.

Dillon Kincaid, thirty-eight, was a psychiatrist. Certainly no threat, and Trask hadn’t spent a lot of time researching him other than knowing that he consulted with the District Attorney’s Office on criminal cases and had his own client list. Trask had no use for shrinks. What good were they anyway?

Carina Kincaid, thirty-three, was a cop engaged to another cop. Where were they? Looking for Lucy? Staying home? Trask brought up their most recent photographs, stolen off Lucy’s computer before he’d abducted her.

He hadn’t seen either of them, but he kept their images in mind. Carina Kincaid and Nick Thomas were a potential threat simply because of their law enforcement background. He’d kill them on sight, minimize potential damage.

He pulled down Dillon Kincaid’s photo as well to familiarize himself with the doctor. Just in case. You couldn’t be overprepared.

First things first. Mick Mallory had to die.

And Trask decided how best to execute him. He could hardly wait until Kate showed up at Mount Baker.

He checked his computer. Yep, she was gone. She hadn’t logged onto her computer for more than two hours. He didn’t know exactly where she was in Mexico; he’d misled her hoping she’d slip up and tell him. But it would take her at least twelve hours to get to Washington and she said she’d be at the mountain by two o’clock. He still had plenty of time.

He went to find the infiltrator. They had a trip to take.

NINETEEN

D
ILLON’S CELL PHONE RANG
and Kate jumped. They were flying low over the desert. Kate had turned off the transponder to avoid being detected by radar. It was still dark, though the sun was tinting the eastern horizon.

“Who is it?” she asked.

Dillon didn’t respond. They hadn’t spoken in more than four hours. He’d slept uneasily, his thoughts flowing from Lucy to Kate to his brother Jack, whose motives he still didn’t understand.

Caller ID was unavailable. Dillon answered.

“Dr. Kincaid.”

“Doc, it’s Quinn Peterson.”

“Is Patrick okay?”

“He’s out of surgery.”

“And?”

“That’s all I know. I’m at headquarters. I have some information about your Stonebridge Academy theory.”

“And?”

“Roger was close to three people in school. His roommate, Paul Ullman, is one. Ullman is a stockbroker for one of the big five in New York. Lives in a penthouse, high security, and nets five million a year. He’s from old money out of Vermont, estranged from his parents, and takes care of his mentally ill sister, who’s in an expensive assisted-living facility in Vermont.

“Adam Scott is a year older. Expelled with Roger and Paul over something Morton wouldn’t disclose. My agent out there is going to make a trip to the school, should only take a couple hours for her to get there and report back. Might be something. Morton got Roger back into Stonebridge, as did Ullman’s parents. But Scott never went back.”

“Why?” Dillon asked.

“Morton didn’t know. But get this: Roger’s other close friend was named Trevor Conrad.”

Dillon leaned forward. “Trevor Conrad? Where’s he now?”

“Dead.”

“Are you sure?”

“Died on campus apparently. In an accident. Morton clammed up.”

“There was no Trevor Conrad on the list,” Dillon said, fearing he’d missed an obvious connection when he was putting together the list of names for Peterson.

“No, but when the agent asked who else Roger was close to, Morton named the kid.”

“And you’re sure he was a student at the school?”

“Yes, according to Morton they were roommates the year of the expulsion. I’ll let the agent know that we’re interested in more information about Conrad.”

“Could his accident have something to do with the expulsion?” Dillon pondered out loud.

“Could be. Morton threatened to call his attorney. We don’t have to jump through the hoops, my gal out there can threaten with the best of them, but she felt it would be easier to get the information from the school than from Roger Morton’s father. Who, by the way, hasn’t heard from Roger in more than five years. Agent Resnick believes him. The man hates his son.”

“What is Adam Scott doing?”

“Morton didn’t know. He’s familiar with the Ullman family, so he gave Agent Resnick that contact information. All he knew about Scott was that he’s from New York, his father was a judge, and his mother was from the established New England family of Mortimer.”

“That should be easy to trace.”

“I already have people on it.”

“Thank you, Peterson.”

“What has Kate discovered? We only have eighteen hours.”

“I know.” Dillon swallowed. “We’re getting closer,” he said.

“Close enough to get to the location? Shit, I don’t have to tell you this but even if we find out where Lucy is it may take us hours to get to her location.”

“I know,” Dillon said quietly. “What about your people?”

Peterson didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I think my boss has an inside man. I have someone looking into it. But…it’s under the radar. I think it’s an unauthorized operation and heads are going to roll.”

That confirmed what Kate had said, Dillon thought.

“Will you let me know when you find out?”

Peterson didn’t say anything.

“Peterson?”

“I’m watching a very interesting computer program,” he said.

“Lucy?” Dillon’s stomach clenched. They had shut down the computer to save the battery, checking on the status of the Internet feed every thirty minutes.

“No. A GPS satellite. Through your cellular service provider. You’re moving fast, Kincaid.”

“That I am.”

“Where are you going?”

Dillon was torn. He wanted to tell Peterson. He trusted him. He knew he would do anything to save Lucy’s life. Kate? He didn’t know what she would do. Her drive was focused on Trask, not Lucy, no matter what her heart said. She wanted to wait until they were closer.

Dillon felt a hand clasp his shoulder. Jack’s voice low in his ear. “Don’t.”

“Keep in touch,” Dillon said and hung up.

He whirled around and faced Jack. “Or what?”

“We have a plan, we stick to it.”

“I think we need backup.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

Dillon looked out the window. It was dawn, the sun coming up on the right side of the plane. They were flying low; it looked like they were somewhere over Arizona. Deep canyons and high plateaus in red and gold gleamed in the morning sun.

It would have been romantic if he was with any other woman on any other trip.

“How did you learn to fly?” he asked Kate.

She glanced at him, said, “My boyfriend. Evan Standler.”

“He’s the one who died five years ago,” Dillon said.

She nodded. “Evan had a small plane. Saved up every dime to pay for fuel. I put in enough time, got my license. I’ll admit I haven’t kept up on my license. It expired four years ago. But it’s like riding a bike.” She glanced at Jack. “But I’m sure the Colonel can pitch in if I get in trouble.”

Jack winked.

Kate smiled. She was beautiful when she smiled, looking like the girl next door instead of a mercenary. “I always wanted to fly.” She turned wistful. “I remember sitting on the roof of my grandparents’ house and watching the sun rise. The birds would wake up, start flying around, and I wanted to join them. I’ve always thought the Wright brothers were incredible. I mean, to see a dream, work their asses off, and achieve it. Not many of us can say that. We could barely get off the ground at the beginning of the century, and way before the end of it we’ve put a man on the moon and the rover on Mars.”

She sighed. “Originally, I wanted to join the air force. I needed a way to pay for college.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She glanced at him, smiled again. “A problem with obedience to authority.” She looked over at Jack. “I think your brother understands that.”

Jack just grunted and closed his eyes again.

“What happened to your parents?” Dillon asked.

“You
my
shrink now?”

“I’m making small talk.”

“Right.
What happened to your parents? How do you feel about that?
” She frowned, staring straight ahead, out the window.

Dillon tensed. “That’s not fair, Kate. I haven’t done or said anything to make you feel uncomfortable, other than question your motives and reasoning.”

“You’re right,” she said quietly. “I don’t know who my father was. My mother left me with my grandparents when I was five. Couldn’t stand me.”

“I’m sure that’s not—”