Fear No Evil

THIRTEEN

AS SOON AS THEIR PLANE LANDED, Patrick got Qui

The four men trekked two miles on foot to where Agent Peterson and a small group waited. Lucky stepped forward and pulled a paper from his jacket. “I’ve already mapped it out.”

He’d been working on a map earlier in the back of the plane. “We’re here now, the target is here.” Lucky had the two points circled and pointed to a small red circle off the coast. “The island is two miles out, but I think we go in by sea. A copter would be too noisy.”

“We have an unmarked Coast Guard vessel,” Peterson said.

Lucky stared at him. “In Mexican waters?”

Peterson’s face remained blank.

“We can get to the island inside an hour, rescue the target, and get back here,” Lucky added.

“We have transport waiting at the embassy two hours away,” Peterson said. “And a copter on standby. I just need to call when we have the target. But remember, we need to be careful. This could very well be a trap. Keep your eyes open.”

“I have an explosive-detecting device,” Patrick said. “It’s primarily used for checking for explosives on commercial aircrafts and is calibrated for the most common explosive materials.”

“Then you lead with me,” Peterson said. “Trask likes bombs, but they’re usually simple, time-detonated devices.”

They left in the small, unmarked boat. There were nine men total: Peterson and his team of four; Patrick and Co

The island was small, not more than one square mile. If there hadn’t been a large, dense grove of trees in the middle, Patrick would have assumed, from what he could see from the Coast Guard vessel’s deck, that it was underwater half the time. It was also dark, the sun had already disappeared, leaving a spectacular glow on the horizon but doing nothing for their visibility, and they were ru

“There.” Co

“No,” Peterson said without elaborating. He motioned for the boat’s pilot to slowly circle the island.

“What are you doing?” Co

“Recon.”

“My sister could be dying!”

Lucky shook his head. “I don’t think anyone’s here.”

They spent fifteen minutes circling the island before Peterson agreed to dock. They had to approach cautiously for fear of underwater rocks. There was a faint light in the center of the island, which was not much more than a mile at its widest, possibly a house or cabin. No boats, but that didn’t mean anything. Lucy’s captors could have left to get supplies.

Lucky stared at the brothers, his young face stern. “We go in low, quiet. Jack will have my ass if I get one of you killed.”

“I was a cop,” Co

Patrick squeezed his brother’s arm. Co

Peterson spoke up. “Watch my commands. I agree with Lucky. Low, quiet, no rushing. Years ago Trask set a trap and we walked right into it. I don’t want to walk into another.”

They navigated the boat into the inlet. Peterson left two of his men on the boat, armed.

Patrick’s gut told him Lucy wasn’t on this island. It was too quiet.

Maybe she was on a nearby island. The map showed at least eight within a three-mile radius. Easy to get the coordinates wrong. After this, they’d have to hit each one and check. They might be close; they couldn’t just give up and go home empty-handed.

They couldn’t give up on Lucy.

A small, one-room cabin stood in the center of the island. A faint, yellow light illuminated the room. Patrick took out the EDD to check for explosives. Green. They slowly approached the structure. The needle wobbled toward the yellow. Warning.

“Hold it. There may be explosives.”

Which could be a sign that Lucy was there.

Peterson held up a finger and motioned for his two men to walk around the cabin. They came back. “Nothing external. No electrical power to the cabin.”

The blinds were drawn. A single door was padlocked on the outside. Peterson checked the door frame for explosives. “Clear.”

Drake and Lucky held back while Peterson’s men cut the lock and opened the door.

At first, the smell hit Patrick. Then he saw her.

In the middle of the room was a naked female body, her face turned away from them. Her long black hair looked wet. A cell phone rested in the palm of her hand, as if she had tried to call for help.

Patrick’s stomach clenched. Lucy.

“Lucy!” Co

“Halt!” Peterson shouted and Patrick tried to pull Co

When Co

It wasn’t Lucy. It was another woman, just as young, just as i

“We have to get out,” Peterson said. “I don’t like this.”

“Look at the wall.” Co

The phone in the dead girl’s hand rang.

There was a flash of bright light, and the cabin went up in flames.

Trask watched on his computer monitor as the men entered the cabin. He’d intended to blow the place as soon as they entered, but he’d been curious to see who they were. He would now get visuals to run through his database.

They didn’t look like feds. There were two men, but there appeared to be a third outside the cabin. He wished he’d put up external surveillance, but he didn’t have an unlimited power supply on that island. When he’d left the prostitute there three days ago as part of the trap, he’d needed the generator to keep the cell phone charged.

He’d never expected Kate to fall for the trap, and had she been the one to walk through the door, he wouldn’t have blown the place. There had been a clue-one only Kate would understand-in the room that would lead her right to him.

But he didn’t want the feds or some other pest to track him down and make him rush the show.

Okay, there was a fed there. The blond with the holster. The way he moved, issued orders, definitely a fed.

He’d been right about Kate from the begi

Trask had to draw her out.

He saw her in cyberspace, among the hordes of people searching the Internet. She was sly, smart, focused. She had come close, before he’d been ready for her. He manually changed his frequency often now in order to thwart her.

But he was finally ready. Lucy Kincaid was the perfect bait. He’d send her another clue. Or maybe he’d just send her a message.

After he called the cell phone that sat in the dead girl’s hand, Trask closed his eyes to avoid the bright magnesium flash.

Soon the cabin, and all evidence, would be ashes.

And if the feds died in the process, who the hell cared?