Allison Brennan - Fear No Evil

“They could be fucking twins.”

“SENATOR PAXTON?” Dillon asked.

“New York,” Quinn said. “His daughter disappeared more than twenty years ago. Ironically, his political career took off soon after. He was a state representative, then ran for attorney general on a strong public safety campaign. Won, parlayed that into the governorship eight years later, and then, when there was an open seat, ran for the Senate. He’s been there for four or five years now.”

“And his daughter was never found.”

“Not to my knowledge. I think I would have heard. The FBI was involved, and it was a case that we studied at the Academy. Can someone vanish off the face of the earth? The only way anyone can disappear is to completely assume another identity, be reclusive and live in the middle of nowhere and see no one, or be dead. The conventional wisdom was that she was dead, but there were no signs of foul play, no evidence, and if I remember currently no known boyfriend in the picture. So if Roger Morton is telling the truth, Monique never told her father she was dating Adam Scott. Never brought him home. And since he wasn’t a student at her school-he went to an all-male boarding school in Connecticut-he wouldn’t even have been looked at unless one of her friends had mentioned him.”

“So Adam Scott got away with murder,” Dillon thought out loud. “Was she the first? If it was truly an accident like Morton said, he may have learned that he experienced more sexual satisfaction during scarfing. Only instead of using a scarf or cloth, he used his own hands.”

“How does that fit in?”

“Consider this. He kills Monique while having sex. They’re going at it, probably consensual at first. He puts his hands around her neck and feeds off the fear on her face. He isn’t planning on killing her. But the excitement of her fear keeps him going too long. He climaxes, but she’s dead. From then on, he can’t climax without killing. And considering his actions last night, he’s even having problems with that.”

“So Trevor Conrad is going to go to the cops and he kills him. Blows up the lab at school to cover up the crime.”

Dillon nodded. “And Paul Ullman and Roger Morton are under his thumb. They aided and abetted. Even if Morton is right and Scott killed Trevor, and they only helped cover it up, Scott would still have control over them. They knew. And Monique Paxton was a high-profile victim. Her father was a politician. Not something they’d be able to walk away from easily, even with their family money.”

“I need confirmation before I can go to the senator. At least a location where her remains are buried.”

“They weren’t buried,” Dillon said solemnly.

“Why do you say that?”

“Adam Scott would have obliterated her remains. There may be traces, but my guess is that he burned the body and spread the ashes, or used some sort of chemical to quickly eat away the flesh.”

Quinn nodded. “Because there was physical evidence on the body.”

“Exactly. His sperm, his DNA, skin under her fingernails, marks on her body. He had to literally destroy her to save his life. His DNA isn’t in the system. Whether he subconsciously knew he was going down this murderous path, or it was a natural sense of self-preservation, Adam Scott vanished Monique Paxton.” Dillon glanced at Quinn and said, “I think it’s safe to give Senator Paxton the news.”

A man approached them. He was shorter than average with graying blond hair, a goatee, and dark circles under his eyes.

“Merritt,” Quinn mumbled.

“You interviewed Morton without me?” Merritt said without preamble.

“It’s my case, my jurisdiction,” Quinn said.

“I told you nothing happens on this investigation without me being informed.” He glanced at Dillon. “Who are you?”

“Dillon Kincaid.”

“The victim’s brother? What the fuck is he doing here?” he screamed at Quinn.

“I’m not going to get into this with you right now,” Quinn said, keeping his voice low. “I’ve already talked to my superior about you sending Mick Mallory in to assassinate Adam Scott.”

“That’s a lie!”

Quinn raised an eyebrow.

“Peterson, I’ll have your badge.”

Another man approached, younger, in a three-piece suit that fit stiffly. “Agent Peterson?” he asked formally.

“What is it, Carl?”

“A message. It’s important.”

Quinn took the paper and swore. Merritt gloated. “This isn’t over,” Quinn said. “You’re not going to railroad her.”

“I’m not railroading anybody. I simply want her in jail where she belongs.” Merritt turned and walked off.

“What?” Dillon asked. “You won’t put Kate in prison.”

“I’ll do everything I can to keep her out,” he said and handed Dillon the note. It was from the director of the Office of Professional Responsibility.

Quincy Peterson, SAC, Seattle Field Office, FBI:

We are remanding Katherine Donovan, SA, Arlington Field Office, into your custody pending resolution of ongoing investigation. You are to produce SA Donovan at headquarters in Washington DC Monday, June 10, 2007 at 0800 for a formal debriefing and interview.

SA Donovan is considered a flight risk and must not be allowed to leave on her own recognizance.

Dillon frowned. “But this is good, right? You have custody of Kate, not Jeff Merritt.”

He nodded. “I just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.”

Kate had been sitting in the interview room for hours. A secretary brought her lunch, but she only picked at it.

She hated being caged.

Her room at the observatory was smaller than the interview room she was being detained in, but she had the freedom to come and go as she pleased. Knowing she couldn’t leave this building unnerved her.

She finally sat after pacing for what seemed like hours. When Dillon had walked in this morning after seeing his sister off, she had been surprised and grateful. And deliriously happy. After last night, she had feared that the connection they’d made would be short-lived. Dillon had a life, a career, his family in San Diego. A family who depended on him. Who was she to claim him? Who was she to want him to stay with her instead of returning home?

But she didn’t want him to go. She couldn’t stop him, of course, but deep down she wanted him with her. She was strong-she would face whatever happened with the OPR. She owed it to Paige, to Evan, and to herself to tell the complete truth to the best of her knowledge.

“I’m sorry, Paige,” she mumbled. But Dillon was right. Paige would never want her to live like this-on the run, in fear-to protect her name. And Evan deserved to be recognized as a hero for his actions, coming in at the last minute to try and save the situation, calling in the police. Their sirens chased Trask away and saved her life.

“Thank you, Evan,” she said. Evan would have liked Dillon, and that thought gave her peace. She had loved Evan dearly. He was smart and fun and dedicated. But Evan would never want her lying to protect Paige or anyone. And he would want her to be happy, just as she would if the situation were reversed.

Who wouldn’t like Dillon? she thought, remembering the way he had savored her body. Each kiss focused, planned, with the purpose of driving her wild. And he was smart. God, she loved smart men. Men who didn’t just survive on their brawn or common sense, but intelligent men who she could have a conversation with and not feel like she was talking to a brick wall.

That he had returned, for her, gave her even more confidence that she would find a way out of this mess. She’d probably lose her job-had probably lost it already. She certainly hadn’t been receiving a paycheck for the last five years, living on her small savings, taking odd jobs, and relying on the kindness of Professor Fox. But if she could clear her name, come out of hiding, she could get another job. Maybe not in the FBI, but there were police departments everywhere.