Allison Brennan - Fear No Evil

She glanced up at the screen. That man with Lucy. He was familiar. Why? Was he a fed? She couldn’t name him, but she’d seen him before, a long time ago.

She looked back at the code on her screen and it came to her instantly. The FBI training academy. A test code in one of their textbooks.

She wrote down the numbers and letters, then translated the code from memory. It was a simple code, something all trainees used to pass messages and have fun. It helped them see the patterns behind words and actions, not just learn to decode.

What did these numbers mean? They looked like degrees. Degrees of what? Or time. Military time. Wait. Both. The code had been backward, and now she saw that the numbers were definitely time of sunrise, noon, and sunset and degrees, which would be the degrees of the sun over the hemisphere.

But she didn’t know what they meant-if Lucy was south of the equator, the numbers meant one location. If she was north, they meant something completely different.

She typed frantically in her computer, searching for an online nautical map that would give her the longitude and latitude that corresponded to these times and degrees.

If in the south, she was in the middle of the ocean. If in the north… eighty miles from the location Trask had given her. Same latitude, different longitude. Was it her mistake?

She recalculated the data Trask had sent her and the mystery data. No, she knew this stuff. And her numbers were right. That meant that Trask was either messing with her, or he was deliberately sending her eighty miles away.

Why? To keep her away from Lucy. In case she brought in the feds. Once he had determined that she was alone, he’d bring her to Lucy.

He wanted Kate to watch her die. He’d get a sick, twisted pleasure in that.

Movement on the screen distracted her. She watched as the man on-screen climbed on top of Lucy. She typed frantically into the feed she’d locked onto with Trask.

Get that man off Lucy now and I’ll be there as soon as possible.

Nothing.

Dammit you fucking bastard! Don’t do this!

Nothing.

She kicked the desk. Who was she to be giving orders? Trask held all the cards. He knew where she was, but she didn’t know exactly where he was. Which feed was right? What Trask sent, or this FBI code?

Why would he send her to the wrong place?

What are you thinking, Kate? He wants to control you. If you’re nowhere near Lucy, he can do whatever he wants.

He’ll never let her go.

The man on the screen leaned over Lucy. Kissed her. She tossed her head back and forth, straining to get away from him. This man was different. He didn’t have the violent urgency to hurt Lucy that Roger had.

Did the FBI have an undercover agent there? An FBI agent who would rape to protect his cover?

She looked at the coded message again. An FBI training code from the Academy. Her gut instinct was that this man was, or had been, one of theirs.

She typed.

Don’t let anyone touch Lucy again and I’ll meet you. Fair trade. If anyone touches her, you’ll never get me. I’ll go so deep you’ll never find me.

He was there.

You’d never be able to live with yourself.

You’re right. But you won’t be the one killing me.

Nothing.

She watched the screen. The man seemed to be listening to someone off-camera, then he unzipped his jeans.

The man was leaning into Lucy, his face burrowed in her neck. But the expression on Lucy’s face changed. Almost imperceptibly. As if she were listening intently. Would Trask notice? He wasn’t a fool. Dammit, the fed was going to get himself killed. Maybe he deserved it.

Damn you, Trask!

Lucy didn’t want to be raped again. The humiliation of being naked and exposed to a camera was almost unbearable, but she was alive. Yet every time she thought about what had happened that morning, she screamed inside, her mind trying to make sense of it, trying to accept it. Her heart was crying at the pain, the embarrassment, the deep wound on her soul that the one thing that was hers, all hers-her choice-had been ripped from her. And she’d never have it back.

She had never felt helpless before, not like this. When she was seven and Justin was killed she had known what had happened-her parents never lied to her about it-but she hadn’t seen Justin dead, she hadn’t been physically hurt. The pain from that time was emotional, mostly from an overwhelming sense of loss, like part of her was missing.

Now death was a reality, the defiling sex, the humiliation of the film. Her rape was going to be replayed for everyone, even after she was gone. It wasn’t fair. She hoped that her family never saw, that they didn’t know what had happened to her. She didn’t think she could look them in the eye again.

More than anything, she wanted her mother.

Tears escaped from her eyes, and she hated herself for showing her pain and fear. She didn’t want Trevor to know how much she hurt inside. She tried to keep a straight face, blank, block everything out, but it was getting harder and harder the longer she was restrained.

“Don’t cry.”

The man on top of her, the man she’d been able to block out while he kissed her neck and breasts, had noticed her anguish and she froze.

She tossed her head back and forth, trying to avoid his lips. Avoid his eyes. In the background she heard Roger say, “Fuck her already. People are paying for a show.”

She heard his zipper. Felt him against her leg. He buried his face in her neck, his hands on her hips.

God no, please no, not again.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I sent for help. You need to trust me. Watch carefully.”

Trust him? Her rapist wanted her to trust him ? Was this some sort of sick mental game, a bastardized version of good cop, bad cop? She’d never trust him or anyone here.

“Get off me!” she screamed as loud as she could.

From the door, “Do it already. Spread her legs. Show the camera.” Then, muttered, “Amateurs.”

“Please trust me,” her rapist whispered in her ear. Then he raised himself up, looked down at her.

She closed her eyes. Just do it. Do it and I hope you die a horrible death and burn in Hell for eternity .

“Cut!”

It was Trevor’s voice.

Roger intervened. “What? Come on, we’re just getting going. Mick is a little slow to the task, but he’s finally getting into it.”

“Change of plans.”

The red eye of the camera was off. Lucy’s eyes widened. What was happening?

The man, Mick, stood up slowly. He turned to Trevor. “What the fuck?”

“You’re pathetic,” Trevor said. “Any other red-blooded man would have taken what was offered. Seven minutes to get that dick hard? What are you, a fag?”

Mick reddened. “I, I-”

“Just go. Monitor the cameras. Now.”

“What’s going on?”

“None of your business,” Trevor said and watched him leave. “Denise!”

The woman who hated Lucy came into the room. She wore a business suit with a short skirt, heavy makeup, and her hair had been styled and teased.

To Roger, Trevor said, “You and Frank play out the rape game with Denise.”

“Aw, come on, what happened?”

“Are you questioning me?”

“No, but-”

“Lucy will be back onstage in just a few hours. But I need to leave the island. I don’t want any down time from here on out.”

“You never leave in the middle of a show. You need to tell me what’s happening.”

“I need to tell you nothing.”

Lucy listened to the exchange, unsure what was going on, but seeing this as an opportunity. Both Trevor and Roger sounded angry.

Watch carefully , the man who had almost raped her had said.