Allison Brennan: Fear No Evil

But this case sent Kate’s instincts into orbit, and when witness after witness turned up dead or missing, she knew she was on to something. Or someone.

Trask.

She and Paige had managed to get to one person inside Trask Enterprises, a terrified woman named Denise Arno. They had promised her immunity, anything and everything, to set Trask up.

But something happened that night in the warehouse. Kate still wasn’t sure why their backup was missing, or how Trask discovered that Denise had turned on him. But suddenly it was Paige, Kate, and Evan against five well-armed men, and poor Denise was presumed dead.

After that failed operation, Trask and his sidekick, Roger Morton, went underground. But Kate had seen him -the man behind Trask Enterprises. They could no longer be public in their pornography operation because the FBI wanted both Trask and Morton for questioning in the death of two agents. Roger Morton himself had even been captured on camera raping Paige.

Still, five years later, they had enough money, shell corporations, false names, and real people to keep all the balls in the air while they stayed in the shadows. Kate knew Trask was still behind many of the major sex sites out there, pulling in millions of dollars, all to pay for his one big show every year.

Her computer beeped, bringing her attention back to her computer. She looked at the screen. It was him, Trask. The countdown had already begun.

47:35:09.

She took only small pleasure that it had taken less than twenty-five minutes to isolate his feed.

The first four hours were free. After that, the audience had to pay to keep watching.

It cost twenty-five thousand dollars to watch the psychological and physical torture of a young woman. Watch her fear grow. Watch her be raped.

Watch her be killed.

An added bonus to those who paid was a “best of” series of highlights from previous rapes and kills.

Rapes that were under the false disclaimer of “fantasy role-playing.” Kills that Trask claimed were staged. But Kate knew the difference between fake blood and real blood. She knew the difference between the eyes of the living and those of the dead.

The first four hours cost nothing, to draw in the perverts and give them a taste of what was to come. Encourage them to mortgage their houses, cash in their retirements, steal from their friends and family to pay for the privilege of actually watching a woman die.

The room where it happened was usually plain, devoid of identifying features. Wood paneling, like in the cabin where Paige Henshaw had died. Little or no natural light.

Trask’s latest victim looked college age and was very beautiful-Trask preferred to kill pretty girls. This girl was still clothed, her face both terrified and strong under the glare of two spotlights from behind the camera. Kate stared into her eyes. This one was a fighter. She would not give in.

Kate ran to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. She puked until there was nothing left, and still dry heaves wracked her body.

Trask was back and he had another victim. Forty-eight hours and this defiant girl would be dead.

Correction, forty-seven hours twenty-two minutes and ten seconds.

Kate sat back at her computer terminal and brought up her secure e-mail server. She sent a message to the only person she still trusted in the FBI.

HE’S BACK. CLICK HERE FOR THE FEED.

K.

She hesitated just a moment. There was always a chance the authorities could find her. Extradite her and bring her before the Office of Professional Responsibility-the FBI version of Internal Affairs. Losing her job was the least of Kate’s concerns. She’d been running for five years; she had no job to return to. It was losing her freedom, being prosecuted for the botched operation that resulted in her lover, Evan, and her partner, Paige, being killed.

Her former boss, Jeff Merritt, had threatened her before she went after Paige alone all those years ago. “ It’s your fault Paige was kidnapped. If she dies, it’s on your head and I will make sure you end up locked in prison for life .”

For five years she had quietly sent the FBI everything she had learned, but every lead had turned into a dead end. Two years ago she’d been close, but Trask had set up a trap and a team of top federal agents had nearly lost their lives, further setting Kate’s former boss against her. He wanted her head, and Kate knew he’d gladly sever it from her body.

But could she do nothing? It wasn’t her fault that the previous locations she had isolated had become dead ends. Trask was a computer genius. Even when she thought she’d uncovered all his tricks, he came up with new ones.

What else could she do except analyze every trick he used and keep looking for him through the vast Internet? There were millions of satellite transmissions, but only one was his. One would lead to him. She’d been close many times, but he was always a step ahead. When she slept, she heard him laughing at her failures.

Kate stared at the live feed. Watched as the dark-haired beauty was tied to a chair. Watched the camera zoom to her face. The fear in her young eyes, the strength of her profile. A knife at her neck, menacingly wielded by a man Kate didn’t recognize. She captured his image for analysis.

The sound suddenly came on, loud, vibrating. Music. Then it was cut off, replaced by Trask’s voice, low, proper, formal. “Meet Lucy. Watch her for free until the countdown hits forty-four hours. Then click on the link for a secure business transaction. Isn’t she lovely?”

Lucy gasped, her breath coming fast, louder, her body shaking. The onscreen creep moved the knife away and Kate watched a small trail of blood flow from the poor girl’s neck. Down to her jacket.

“Let me go!” Lucy screamed.

Laughter was heard in the background.

A disclaimer scrolled along the bottom of the screen:

“Kill the Whore” is fantasy rape role-playing. All players are actors. No one is seriously hurt during the production of this special.

Kate hit Send. Then she grabbed her coffee mug and threw it against the far wall.

THE KINCAID FAMILY mobilized to find Lucy. The detective, Carina, pulling in law enforcement personnel; the computer e-crimes expert, Patrick, creating an online timeline; PI Connor working his sources.

And Dillon was asked the same question a dozen times.

“Who would do this?” his mother asked this time. “Who would take our Lucy?”

“We’ll find her,” he grimly replied.

Dillon knew all too well the type of psychopath who took a girl like Lucy. As a forensic psychiatrist, it was his job to get into their heads, to listen to their abnormal fantasies, to learn what made them hurt people, in the hopes that someday the authorities could reduce violent crime, make society safer.

And all Dillon’s insider knowledge made sitting here, in the kitchen, trying to console his mother, that much more frustrating.

He knew what kind of person would kidnap Lucy. He knew what kind of fantasies he harbored, what he would do to her simply because he could. Killers didn’t feel remorse or emotion or guilt like normal people. They enjoyed inflicting pain. That Lucy was with such a person terrified Dillon.

Nick Thomas walked into the kitchen, making eye contact with Dillon.

“What?” Rosa Kincaid asked. “Did you find her?”

“No, ma’am. Not yet. I’m sorry. Where’s the Colonel?”

“In his office. On the phone. Calling everyone we can think of.” Rosa looked at Dillon. “It’s been sixteen hours. That’s bad, isn’t it? Justin was killed immediately after-”

Dillon pulled his mother into a fierce hug. “We’re going to find her. You can’t compare this with what happened to Justin.” Eleven years ago Dillon’s seven-year-old nephew had been kidnapped from his bedroom and murdered. The random act of violence had changed everyone in the family. Dillon had planned to go into sports medicine; instead, he became a forensic psychiatrist in an attempt to make sense of what was so wrong in the world.