Allison Brennan - Fear No Evil

K.

Mick Mallory watched Lucy dance. She was beautiful.

And she was as good as dead.

If he could have, he would have slit Trask’s throat in his sleep. The bastard deserved nothing less than death. If he could have, the feds would be all over this island.

But he had no fucking idea where he was, and no way to contact anyone. Deep cover? Hell, he’d been written off the planet.

Roger had always been suspicious of him, and Mick didn’t dare attempt anything. He had no phone, he was hired security. Had done one job, proven his worth at the expense of the life of another beautiful innocent girl.

He’d never be able to live with himself. Even killing Trask wouldn’t remove the stain of sin on Mick’s soul.

Roger had called him two days ago. Then the bastard had fucking drugged him at the rendezvous point. Brought him to the island to handle patrols.

Mick had no way of contacting anyone. It was just like the nightmare when Rayanna had died because he had done nothing.

Lucy would die over his dead body. And maybe, just maybe, his death would mean something.

But he’d much rather get off the damn island alive. Fuck orders. Saving Lucy Kincaid was more important than arresting Trask, or whatever his name was.

He’d wait until Trask and Roger were occupied. And that wack-job, Denise. She really creeped him out.

“Sexy bitch, isn’t she?”

Roger came up behind him as Mick stared at the monitor.

“Hm,” Mick grunted.

“Trask said you can have her next. Thinks you’re ready for the big time.”

Mick tensed. He’d never thought-

“What?” Roger said.

“You’re fucking with me.”

Roger laughed, slapped him hard on the back. “Trask doesn’t joke around, not with his bitches. You can have her at the twenty-four-hour mark.” Roger leaned forward, whispered. “Or maybe I’m right about you.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, asshole.”

Roger laughed again. “Yeah, you probably don’t. Be ready, Mick, or maybe we don’t need you around after all.”

Roger left the small observation room, closing the door behind him. Roger was in charge of surveillance, monitoring the security cameras that panned the island, the dock, the sky. Mick’s job was to monitor the cameras and alert Roger of a security breach. Now he looked for a landmark. Something, anything to give him a clue where he was. Only the sun told him he was on the West Coast, north of California. Probably off the coast of Washington based on the angle.

Thank fucking Uncle Sam he’d spent enough years in the military to learn something-like how to make a sextant.

He also had a 24/7 visual on Lucy Kincaid. He touched the screen. “I don’t want to hurt you, Lucy.”

But he didn’t see any other way. He’d be dead if he didn’t act the part, and if Mick was dead he couldn’t save Lucy’s life.

KATE HAD RECEIVED a one-word response from Quinn Peterson: Working .

She hated waiting. Her entire life had become a waiting game. She pushed away from the console and heard something.

Her gun was in her hand without another thought. She leaped from her chair, moving to the door, putting her back against the wall. The hum of her computers distracted her, the movement of Lucy dancing on the screen drawing her eye. She took a deep breath, focused. Listened.

Footsteps on the metal stairs.

Someone was here. It wasn’t Professor Fox. It was the middle of the afternoon and he’d be sleeping. And he wouldn’t come to her room. He always used the intercom to summon her, especially after Kate had almost killed him when he startled her that first time.

More footsteps. At least three people. Possibly four. Kate closed her eyes. Boots. Army? Hiking? She’d heard that Dominguez’s troops had been hiding out on the mountain after taking out a humanitarian aid convoy last month. The government didn’t take kindly to criminals who stole so blatantly, so Dominguez had a bullet with his name on it, from both his competitors and now the government. It was only a matter of time, not that Kate cared. She could get off the mountain whenever she wanted-by air.

A knock on her door. If this was the FBI finally coming for her, they wouldn’t have been so polite.

“Kate Donovan? It’s Dillon Kincaid. I’m here to talk about my sister.”

Kate stopped in her tracks. The guy who said all those things online? Who, without knowing her at all , had seemed to get inside her head? How could Dillon Kincaid have found her? And how could he get to her in half a day?

“Kate, please let me in.”

“Who’s with you?”

“My brothers.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“You have three brothers?”

“Yes.”

“And you all came up here because you think I can lead you to your sister? Think again. I don’t know where she is. Go home.”

The doorknob turned. It was locked.

“Go away,” Kate said. “I’ll send all the information I get to Quinn.”

But if I think I know where Trask is, I’m going after him myself.

“I’m not leaving,” he said.

“Then sit out there all night. It gets cold when the sun goes down, even in June.”

“I called in favors, traveled hours by plane, jeep, and foot, to find you. I think you know more than you’re saying. I know you can find Lucy. I brought my brother Patrick. He’s a computer expert, like you. He’s the one who isolated your transmission and located you.”

“Bullshit.” Was the FBI planning her takedown right now? She needed to get the hell out of here. No, dammit! Kate didn’t want to leave. She was so close.

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

“You’re jeopardizing everything!”

“I didn’t tell Agent Peterson where you were. He knows we know, but he didn’t ask, I didn’t tell. Please let us in.”

She closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want help, but she needed it. The Baja island-had she been right? Wrong? Was Trask there, or was it another trap? She didn’t know, couldn’t see the truth anymore.

She was so damn tired. She missed Evan, she missed Paige. She hated being alone, but she didn’t see any alternative.

She opened the door, kept her gun leveled at the man on her threshold.

Two guns were aimed at her head.

“Kill me and he still dies,” she said, staring into the green eyes of the man she assumed was Dillon Kincaid.

“Put the guns down,” Dillon said without taking his eyes from hers.

He was tall. Handsome. In shape, but no bodybuilder. He reminded her of Quinn, GQ good looks; a strong, square jaw; and intelligent eyes. Dillon stared at her, as if he could literally read her thoughts. She quickly appraised his dusty jeans, the dark green T-shirt, and his mussed-up sun-streaked, light-brown hair that, though short, fell in waves across his forehead. But it was the intensity of his eyes, their focus and strength, that took Kate’s breath away.

“Jack. Connor. Now.” Dillon stepped through the door, toward her gun, no fear on his face. “Kate, please.”

As soon as he entered, his eyes caught movement on the screen against the far wall. His expression changed, hardened. Worry clouded his face.

Kate lowered her gun, keeping her eye on the men Dillon called Connor and Jack. Brothers? Perhaps. Jack was all military, hard-edged. She knew the type. Connor had the same hard edge without the layer of dissociation. Cop, not military. Yet another man was behind them. Thinner, with fair skin and dark hair. His gun was holstered, and she instantly thought Patrick, the computer expert .

As soon as Jack and Connor lowered their weapons, she followed Dillon’s eyes to the screen. Her dance over, Lucy was being shackled to a straight-backed chair by two men. She fought them, the freedom of her dance over.