Fear No Evil by Allison Brennan Page A

typed.
     
User not online.
     
    She glanced at Lucy Kincaid on the center screen. She was tugging at her restraints, yelling something. Fucking was one of the words. Kate smiled bitterly. Lucy was a fighter; Kate liked her.
    Dammit, Lucy, I don’t want you to die.
    Eighteen years old, her entire life ahead of her. Kate wanted to put a bullet in Trask’s head so badly she could almost feel her finger press the trigger, see the bullet enter his skull, picture his brains splatter on the wall. He deserved torture, but she’d be content with a quick death.
    Dillon Kincaid sent another message.
     
Kate, I know you want to help. You’ve been helping for five years. You lost people you cared about. You’ve been running all this time, but still haven’t forgotten the victims. I have Quinn Peterson’s file here. His private file. I know what you’ve done, and I’m in awe of you. I also know what Trevor Conrad has done to these women—you know him as Trask.
Kate, together we can find him. As I read Peterson’s notes and your messages to him over the last five years, I see who this man is. Arrogant. Ruthless. Remorseless. He’s done this many times. Before Paige. Technology gave him the ability to broadcast his sick fantasies, but don’t think you pushed him into murder.
He’d been killing for years before you and Paige uncovered his crimes. You were going after him because of a missing girl. Well, guess what? If we dig further, we’ll find dozens of women he’s killed. You sent him underground. You’ve already saved lives.
Paige did not die in vain.
Please help me find Lucy. Don’t let her be his victim. Talk to me, Kate.
     
    Her hands shook. She wanted to talk to Dillon Kincaid. He seemed to understand things even her friend Quinn Peterson didn’t.
    But she couldn’t. Who was he, really? She couldn’t be stupid. Kate already had a plan, it was solid, she had to execute it.
    She typed.
     
User not onlone.
     
    She didn’t notice her typo until after she hit enter.
     
Hello, Kate.
     
    She shut down the program, her heart pounding. He’d gotten to her, dammit.
    Movement on the center screen caught her attention. Roger Morton walked into view.
    The countdown read 44:05:00. Roger unchained Lucy, held her in front of him, his head close to hers. Kate reached over and turned on the volume.
    “…pretty for the camera, Lucy.”
    “Fuck you,” Lucy said.
    “Oh, we’ll do that, sweetheart, I promise. But for now your fans just want a sneak peek.”
    With a flick of his wrist, Roger extracted a butterfly knife and sliced open Lucy’s bra. Kate gasped, watched a thin trail of blood where the tip of the knife had nicked her breast.
    Lucy stifled a scream and said, “Y-you bastard!”
    She struggled. Roger laughed as he easily held her hands tightly behind her. Her struggles made her breasts bounce in the camera, perfect titillation for the sick perverts who watched Trask’s show.
    Roger kissed Lucy’s neck and she used her head to wallop his. The hard crunch of bone hitting bone made Kate’s head ache.
    “Bitch.” Roger was pissed. He liked feisty, but he didn’t like getting hurt.
    Suddenly Roger cried out and Lucy ran out of the camera frame. The shot had been a close-up, but there was no mistaking that she’d kicked him in the balls. She was out of view for one, two, three seconds. Then she fell into view, pushed roughly onto the thin beige carpet.
    Trask didn’t show his face, but Kate knew him from his broad build and the short-cropped blond hair. He bent over Lucy, slapped her once, then again, then kneeled as he tied her back down. She fought him, and Roger grabbed her legs. Lucy shouted obscenities, her hand working furiously. She bit Trask on the forearm and he slapped her so hard the side of her head hit the mat, her cheek instantly red with his handprint.
    Her hand. Something about Lucy’s hand. She was repeating the same motions over and over. It looked like sign language.
    Then the feed