Fear No Evil by Allison Brennan Page A

thought Patrick, the computer expert.
    As soon as Jack and Connor lowered their weapons, she followed Dillon’s eyes to the screen. Her dance over, Lucy was being shackled to a straight-backed chair by two men. She fought them, the freedom of her dance over.
    Dillon walked to the screen. “Which one is Trask?”
    “Neither,” Kate said. “He won’t show himself on camera.” She paused. “I’m the only one who has seen him and lived.”
    Dillon turned to her. “Did you work with a sketch artist?”
    “You don’t understand.”
    “You didn’t tell anyone? What if we can get his picture out?”
    “The man I saw is a chameleon. Of course I gave a description, even while I was on the run from my own government. Do you think I’m so callous that I would let women die in order to protect myself? Because of me they have his fingerprints. Because of me they have a description. Lot of good that did catching him!” Kate turned to the screen, jumping when one of the men slapped Lucy across the face.
    “And because of me my two best friends died.”
    Dillon almost didn’t hear what Kate had said. He tore his eyes away from Lucy on the screen and touched Kate’s arm. All muscle. In her midthirties, her shortish hair was so blond it was nearly white, pulled into a haphazard hair band with loose strands falling out, tucked behind her ears. Her face was devoid of makeup, fresh and clean, worry lines creasing her forehead, her red lips dipping into a frown. This woman had so much pain and sadness in her face, taking the crimes of others as her own personal cross to bear.
    Her computer beeped as Dillon was about to question her. Connor, Patrick, and Jack filed into the room. Jack remained at the door, on alert. Patrick sidled over to the computer system.
    “What’s that?” he asked.
    “A message.” She clicked on it. “From Quinn.”
     
We’re still checking your data. Hold.
     
    “What is he checking out?” Patrick asked.
    “The coordinates I sent about thirty minutes ago. But I think it’s a trap.”
    Dillon asked, “What coordinates?”
    Kate tensed, obviously feeling a touch of claustrophobia with all these men, these Kincaids, in her personal space. Dillon glanced around the functional room. It was large, but sparsely furnished. A bed in the corner. A nightstand. No personal effects anywhere. Two doors probably led to a closet and a bathroom. There was a whole wall of weights. And another full wall of computers and computer screens. Systems he didn’t understand, but by the expression on Patrick’s face, his little brother was impressed.
    “Kate?” Dillon said softly.
    In a move that surprised Dillon, Jack said, “I need to check on my men.” He walked out, shutting the door behind him.
    “Who did you bring?” Kate asked, panicked.
    “Jack—” What could Dillon say about his brother when even he didn’t know the truth? Dillon didn’t even know if Jack still worked for the government, or if he was truly a mercenary. “Jack’s a soldier down here. I contacted him and he and his unit helped us get up the mountain.”
    “The terrain is dangerous,” Kate said, “but it’s safe this far up. The observatory is university property, and they pay handsomely for the land.”
    “So what coordinates did you come up with?” Dillon repeated his question.
    Kate motioned toward her computer. “Have a look.”
    Patrick sat down almost before she finished the invitation.
    “I’ve been pinging constantly, trying to get a lock on the coordinates of the originating feed,” Kate said.
    “Pinging?” Dillon asked.
    Patrick translated. “It’s where one computer can see if another on a network is online. A ping is sort of like calling a phone number and hanging up when you get an answer. You know someone is there, but you don’t want to talk to them.”
    Kate smiled at the analogy. “Trask is good—very good,” she said. “He has the feed going through numerous routers, using legitimate servers to