Allison Brennan - Fear No Evil

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.

DILLON’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.”