Allison Brennan - Fear No Evil

“Don’t watch,” Kate said, turning the laptop back to her. Her fingers typed quickly, Lucy’s screen was minimized, and five minutes later she’d shut down her laptop. “There’s been no further communication from Trask or the undercover agent, Mick Mallory.”

“He’s letting this happen.”

“If he exposed himself, he’d be dead,” Kate reminded him.

“I don’t care.” Dillon stared out the window but didn’t see the desert or the bright morning sun. “The FBI doesn’t even know where Mallory is. They don’t know if he’s dead or alive.”

“We know he was alive last night.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better. He’s done nothing to help Lucy, and now-” He didn’t state the obvious. Now Lucy was being raped again, and with each passing minute, her death drew closer.

“This might not make you feel better, Dillon, but for what it’s worth, this is the first time in five years that I think we’re going to stop Trask.”

“Before or after he kills Lucy?”

Jack became tense as they approached the landing strip. He’d kept the controls after leaving Red Rock so Kate could get some sleep, but Dillon knew she hadn’t slept a wink. She’d stared out the window the entire flight, checking her laptop every thirty minutes. Thinking? Planning? Regretting? Dillon wished he could find a way to talk to her, get her to share what was really troubling her. But he had Lucy on his mind, and he wouldn’t be able to think until his sister was safe.

“What’s wrong?” Dillon asked Jack.

Jack looked at him, surprised. “Nothing.”

“You’re worried about something.”

For a minute, he didn’t say anything. Then, low, “It’s funny. We have barely spoken in twenty years and you can already read me. Because you’re a shrink?”

Dillon shook his head. “Because I’m your brother.”

Jack glanced at Kate, who appeared to be sleeping.

“I’m just running through the op. Adam Scott wants Kate on the mountain at two p.m. A little less than two hours from now. We’re going to land in fifteen minutes. I have transport, but it’ll be cutting it close. Still, I don’t know what his game is. Why call her out to the mountain in the first place when his headquarters is eighty miles away?”

“If we can believe the second transmission.”

“Kate does, otherwise she wouldn’t go to the island. She’d come with me to Mount Baker.”

Dillon nodded, weighed the information. “He doesn’t know about the undercover agent, or that the agent contacted Kate. He doesn’t know about Lucy signing to us that she’s on an island. So he’s leading Kate away from Lucy in order to isolate her, to make sure she didn’t bring anyone. That she’s alone. Then he’ll either kill her there, or bring her to the island once he believes she’s alone.”

“And when she doesn’t show?”

“He’ll attempt to contact her to see if she was delayed.”

“He isn’t going to be on the mountain alone,” Jack said. “That would be stupid.”

Dillon shook his head. “No, he’s holding the ace: Lucy. If Adam Scott is on the mountain, Lucy will be nowhere near it. He’ll be in communication with his team. He’ll call for her death in a minute if he thinks it’ll buy him time or allow him to escape.”

“I’ll identify him, follow him. He’ll be pissed because Kate didn’t show, but he’ll also be expecting a tail.”

“Expect the unexpected,” Dillon said. “He’s not going to be alone. He has a trick, something that he will use to get to Kate. To force her to come with him. He could have another woman. Or I could be completely wrong and he will bring Lucy with him.”

“I always expect the unexpected,” Jack said.

“Lucy’s not with Trask,” Kate said.

Dillon glanced over his shoulder. She was staring at her laptop. “She’s still onscreen.”

Abigail was surprised when Vigo met her at the airport at two Eastern time.

“Surprise,” Vigo said and flashed his award-winning grin.

Abigail refrained from grinning back. The man was incorrigible. “What are you doing here?” She slid into the passenger seat, grabbing the dashboard when Vigo pulled quickly from his parking place.

“Peterson asked me to run Ullman’s finances and clients. Surprise, one client is Adam Scott. Double surprise, Ullman is the stockbroker for all the corporations on which Adam Scott sits on the board. And for a triple play, Ullman carries his proxy.”

“So he definitely knows something.”

“I’d say he knows everything. We may need to bring him in. Consider him armed and dangerous.”

“So why did you come up yourself?” Abigail asked.

“Peterson wants the best on this case and, well, that’s me.” He smiled again and Abigail laughed.

At Ullman’s Madison Avenue highrise, Vigo and Abigail flashed their badges and security cleared their weapons. “Let’s get up there before one of Ullman’s friends calls that we’re here.”

Paul Ullman had a spacious contemporary office with white carpets and black-and-silver furniture, against the backdrop of the Manhattan skyline. Abigail winced at the shine, polish, and prestige. “Phony.”

Ullman himself was a short, wiry man of thirty-seven with black, slicked-back hair and dressed in an impeccably tailored Italian suit. He walked into his office via a side door, immediately clasped the hands of Vigo, then Abigail. “So sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, then, all in one breath, “I was in a meeting, couldn’t get out, I hope you don’t mind.”

“We haven’t been here long,” Abigail said.

“Good, good, please sit down.” He motioned toward a black leather couch in the corner. “Please.” He sat on the arm of the chair across from the couch. When neither agent sat, he stood, his hands shoved in his pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “What can I help you with?”

“You’re Adam Scott’s stockbroker and carry his proxy for all his boards, correct?” Abigail said, cutting immediately to the heart of the matter.

Ullman blinked rapidly several times. “Scott? Um, I’d have to check-”

“You went to school with him, I’m sure you remember him.”

“Of course, but I-”

“When was the last time you saw Mr. Scott?”

“I don’t know. Years. We do business only through e-mail and correspondence.”

“When was the last time you corresponded with him?”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“Do you know what the penalties are for laundering money?”

“Laundering?” Ullman paled even more, if that were possible against his already ghostly pallor. “No, I’m a legitimate businessman, I don’t do that. You can check my records.”

Vigo spoke up for the first time. “We will, thank you very much.”

“I, um, my company. My lawyers. I would need to see a warrant.”

Vigo frowned, started searching his pockets, pulled out an envelope. “You mean like this?”

Ullman snatched the papers, read them, his mouth working but no sound coming out. “I, I…I need to get my attorney.”

“Do you remember Trevor Conrad?”

“I’m not talking to you without my attorney.”

Vigo put his hands up. “That’s your right, of course. Just don’t leave the room while you call him. And while you’re at it, Special Agent Resnick will take a little look at your computer. It’s covered there, in the warrant. Page two.”

Trask listened to his attorney.

Not good. For five years they hadn’t been able to trace him, and now all of a sudden the feds knew about Trevor Conrad.

Worse, they knew his real name. And that fucking bastard Paul Ullman was going to talk.

He shouldn’t have used Trevor’s name with Lucy. It had been arrogant, cocky. He could see that now, but at the time it had been fun. Part of the game.