There had been no movement for twenty minutes after the rendezvous time Adam Scott had given Kate. What was his game?

Jack considered heading to the Hummer. He could look underneath, see if it was rigged with a bomb. But what if Trask was watching from the tree line? What if he was waiting for Kate to get antsy and show herself? Jack had already done periphery surveillance, but he didn’t know exactly who he was up against. He had to assume Trask had a plan.

He watched the Hummer closely. It bounced, very slightly. Someone was inside.

The door opened. Jack looked through the scope of his rifle.

Two men emerged. One was Trask. The other man was handcuffed and didn’t look completely conscious. His head lolled back and forth, but he was moving forward.

Trask had a gun to the man’s head. Who was he? A setup? The undercover fed Kate had told him about? Someone else?

“Kate Don-o-van,” Trask called out mockingly. “Come out, come out! Or do you want another death on your conscience? Because I certainly couldn’t care less about killing this traitor.”

Trask paused. Jack didn’t move, lying low in the pine needles.

Scott spoke, his voice echoing in the silence. “Kate, show yourself or this fed dies. Then the girl.”

Jack didn’t move.

“You want to kill me, don’t you? If I don’t check in, the girl will die. Painfully. Roger knows how to avoid all the major organs. She’ll bleed to death. Slowly. Like your dear friend Paige.”

The bastard grinned. “Paige. I almost wish I could kill her all over again.”

Jack’s finger rested on the trigger. He couldn’t take Trask out. The Hummer partly obscured the target. Jack was a good shot, but if he missed-and at this distance he couldn’t be guaranteed a clean kill-Trask would order Lucy killed.

Trask frowned, grabbed his pocket, and extracted a phone. His face clouded and twisted as he listened to whoever was on the other end.

He shot the hostage in the back.

Jack didn’t fire. He had a less than fifty percent chance of hitting him and Jack wasn’t willing to risk Lucy’s life with those odds. Dillon and Kate hadn’t had enough time to get to the island. Jack made the difficult decision to let Trask go.

The killer jumped into the Hummer and sped off.

Jack waited a good five minutes. He heard the vehicle leave, didn’t hear it stopping or idling. Didn’t mean that Trask couldn’t stop the car and backtrack, hoping to lure Kate out with the half-dead man face-down in the dirt. Jack proceeded cautiously.

He reached the fallen man. Checked his pulse. Faint, but steady. The wound was bleeding slowly. From the location Jack suspected the man’s right kidney was destroyed, but he was alive and would probably live if he had surgery.

Jack pulled out a cloth and applied pressure to the wound, securing it with tape from his emergency first-aid kit. He called his pal who was waiting a few miles off. “I need a copter at my location ASAP. Man down, critical.”

“ETA ten minutes.”

Jack turned the man over, searched his pockets for ID, and found none. No identification of any kind.

“Lucy.”

The man’s voice was faint, but Jack couldn’t miss his declaration.

“What?” Jack slapped him. “Buddy, wake up. Help’s coming. What about Lucy?”

“Sorry.” He hadn’t opened his eyes and Jack didn’t think he was fully conscious.

Shit. Was Dillon walking into a trap just like Patrick and Connor had?

Jack needed to get to his brother. He didn’t harbor any illusions that they’d be best friends again, but they had an understanding, and dammit, Jack didn’t want Dillon to die.

They circled the island. Dillon was unusually silent, and for some reason that bothered Kate.

The air was warm, but the water was icy cold coming down the Strait of Georgia. The fog had burned off, it was midafternoon, and the day was clear, bright, and beautiful.

Kate wished it was gray and misty. What happened to the rainy city? What happened to gray skies? She’d never believe what people told her about the Pacific Northwest again.

“Are you okay?” she asked, pretending to look at a map while she scanned the shoreline for any hint of people, particularly people with guns.

“As okay as I can be under the circumstances.”

He had on sunglasses, and Kate wished she could see his eyes. They spoke to her in a way he didn’t, saying things his words couldn’t express. But with the shades, he looked harder, more focused. More like the life Kate wanted to leave behind, instead of the future that for the first time she thought she might have. After they saved Lucy.

She was ready to give Trask up. The FBI had his real identity, they wouldn’t let go until they had him in prison. Quinn Peterson told Dillon they’d hit his financials. It was only a matter of time, and for the first time Kate was okay with that. The most important thing was to save Lucy Kincaid. Then maybe she could face the OPR and appeal for leniency. Rebuild her life.

Rebuild it with a man like Dillon Kincaid.

Not that she harbored any illusions that Dillon would want to be a part of her future. It was more the idea of a man like Dillon Kincaid in her life. A man who was steady, self-confident, smart, and not a cop. She needed to rethink her life and her choices and decide what she wanted to do, what she could do, when this was over.

But for now, she put those thoughts aside. She might not survive. She accepted that. But she’d give her life to ensure that Lucy did survive. And Lucy’s brother.

“There,” she said pointing to a rocky spot on the shore.

“That cliff?”

She nodded. “We’ll scale it. It looks solid.” She glanced at him. “Can you?”

“Yes.”

They’d passed a dock on the opposite shore, but there were no boats. Because Trask was attempting to meet Kate at the base of Mount Baker? Or because no one was here? It was safer to land on this side of the island, where the dense trees and bushes gave them cover.

“If the numbers sent by the undercover agent were even a fraction off,” Dillon said, “we could be miles from her.”

“I know. But we’re close. I feel it.”

Kate tied the boat to a water root, made sure it was secure, and pulled herself up by a branch that hung over the water. She shimmied along the branch to the short cliff, then used roots and vines to work her way up the fifteen feet to the top.

Dillon followed her path, agile but heavier than Kate. The vines she used started to pull under his weight. He was only a foot from reaching the top when a vine gave out and he was suspended over the water, holding on to a branch that dipped, threatening to break.

“Grab my hand,” Kate said, laying flat on the ground and reaching down as far as she could.

“I can do it,” Dillon said, trying to pull himself farther up the weak branch.

“Grab my hand,” Kate repeated.

“I weigh a hundred pounds more than you.”

“Dammit, Dillon, I can handle it. Give me your hand.”

The branch dipped and his sunglasses fell into the water. He swung toward her. She grabbed his arm, holding it in both hands as his feet sought purchase in the rock. His toes found just enough hold to help her bring him up over the edge.

He laid on the ground next to her.

She jumped up, offered her hand. He took it and she helped pull him up. They stood face-to-face, breathing hard, her black tank top covered in sweat and dirt, his green T-shirt molded to his body.

He touched her chin. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“This way.” She motioned toward the thickest part of the trees, grabbing the backpack she’d dropped when helping Dillon up the rock face.

They ran low through the thick trees and bushes, which shielded most of the sunshine, making the island dank and cool. The branches and sharp leaves scraped their bare arms along the way, but they didn’t slow down. A branch hit Kate in the lip and she bit back a cry.