“You’re shaking.”
“Am not.”
“Kate, I love my family, and so will you.” He backed her into the car and said, “You fit right in. We have a couple cops, a PI, Connor’s dating a prosecutor. Jack’s in the military. But we don’t have an FBI agent.” He leaned over and kissed her. She sucked in her breath, not expecting the onslaught of emotions that hit her from his short speech.
“My family will love you as much as I do,” he whispered in her ear. “Please let me take you home.”
She wrapped her arms around him, held him tight. “I don’t deserve you,” she said.
“Right back at you, Kate.”
She laughed. It felt good to laugh; it had been way too long. “Let me work the case, okay? It makes me feel useful.”
“Then I’ll join you.”
“Why don’t I meet you there later?”
“For dinner?”
“No, I don’t want to put your mother out.”
“I’ll cook.”
“You cook?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Absolutely. My mother taught me. Said the quickest way to a woman’s heart was cooking.”
Kate laughed again. “Okay, you have a date. I’ll be there in a few hours.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to join you?”
“Yes.” She paused. “You, um, don’t live with your parents, do you?”
Dillon smiled seductively. “Nervous about sleeping together under my parents’ roof?”
Her eyes widened. She couldn’t imagine a man of Dillon’s confidence and prestige living at home.
He laughed, kissed her. “I have my own house, Kate. But the expression on your face was priceless.”
Dillon rode with Jack and Lucy back to the Kincaid house.
“Did anything I say help?” Lucy asked.
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Lucy, sometimes it’s the smallest details that help in catching a criminal. I’m very proud of you.”
“Is Patrick going to get better?”
“The doctor’s are hopeful,” Dillon said cautiously.
“You’re lying to me again.”
“I’m not lying to you, Lucy. Patrick is healthy. The surgery was hugely successful. They believe he will recover. But the human brain is still a mystery. It might take some time.”
“Or he might never come out of the coma,” she said defiantly.
“He might not. But I don’t believe that. And you shouldn’t, either.”
After Dillon checked in with his parents, made sure Lucy was okay, and informed everyone that he was making dinner for a special guest that evening, he walked the four blocks to his house.
He could hardly wait for Kate to come home with him that night. He understood her hesitation-the Kincaid’s were a bit overwhelming to outsiders. But Lucy was home and safe. Jack had returned, even if it was only temporary. And while Patrick was still in a coma, the doctors assured Dillon that everything looked promising for him to make a full recovery.
Dillon wanted to introduce Kate, the woman he loved, to his parents. It surprised him how quickly it had happened, but he was nearly thirty-nine years old. He hadn’t been in love since med school when he dated the same woman for three years. That time, it had taken him months to realize that he was in love. Now, he knew it without reservation. Dillon loved Kate Donovan. She was just going to have to get used to it.
He turned the corner and saw his small, comfortable bungalow. Kate would fit in here, with his family, but she also might want her old life back. Maybe move back to Virginia and reclaim her job. He would support her in whatever she decided, but more important, he would be there with her.
He walked up the porch stairs, unlocked his door. It didn’t budge. “Damn,” he muttered. He always bolted the front door when he was home, primarily using the kitchen door as his entrance and exit since it was closer to the garage. When he left on Thursday, he must have gone out the back door.
He strolled down his driveway. The small rose garden he cultivated along the drive needed pruning. He might need to hire a gardener to tend to the landscaping, especially since he planned on spending a lot of time on the opposite coast. Frankly, he’d been too worried about Lucy to remember anything that day. He took the steps two at a time to his kitchen door. Unlocked it, entered, bolted it.
A smell hit him. Food. Had he left garbage in the house? He wouldn’t be surprised; he had left in a hurry and it had been four days.
He crossed the kitchen and opened the cabinet door beneath the sink and pulled out the small, lined trashcan he used. He was about to pull out the garbage bag to take it outside when he saw an empty can of chili on top.
He hadn’t eaten chili in ages. Someone had been in his house.
Quietly, he put the trash back under the sink. Every nerve was on alert and he listened to the sounds of his house. The silence. A creak.
The sound of someone breathing behind him.
Dillon slowly turned around. He didn’t see anyone.
Then Adam Scott stepped into the kitchen from the dining room.
He had a gun.
“Adam.”
“Trask to you.”
Dillon couldn’t get out the door; he’d bolted it when he entered. Out of habit. For security.
But that didn’t help when the killer was already inside.
“What do you want?” Dillon asked. He gave his kitchen a quick once-over. Nothing was out of place.
Except that his butcher block of knives was no longer on the counter next to the stove. Scott must have been here a while. Not just in Dillon’s house, but watching the Kincaid family. Anger ran through Dillon’s veins. The arrogance of this bastard! But that also told Dillon that Scott had another flaw, one he planned to exploit.
“Not you. You’re a means to an end. Thank you for being so predictable.”
Dillon dug deep into his training and well-honed instincts. Adam Scott was here for one thing: Lucy. Because Lucy was bait. For Kate. “You’ll never get to Lucy.”
Scott laughed. “You don’t know women very well, do you?”
Dillon knew exactly what Scott meant and he fumed. Lucy was intensely loyal, and an unscrupulous person could easily manipulate her guilt and fear. Scott would certainly not be above inducing a damaged woman to make a dangerous choice. He made his life out of it. Dillon wanted to believe Lucy was stronger than that, but right now she was too vulnerable.
“But you don’t really want Lucy,” Dillon said.
“Think again.”
“You want to bring Monique back from the dead.”
Scott’s face twisted in shocked frustration. “I knew that backstabbing asshole would talk.”
“I saw a picture of Monique, back when she went missing. She was beautiful. She looks very much like Lucy.
“How long did it take you surfing the Internet, manipulating teenagers, getting them to send their picture, before you found Lucy?”
“I’m not stupid, Dr. Kincaid. I know exactly what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. You’ve never met anyone like me, so your machinations won’t work. I enjoy what I do. But it’s all about the money.”
“I agree, money motivates you. Probably because your father disowned you and took everything that was rightfully yours. You were an only child, you wouldn’t have had to share with anyone, but-” Dillon recalled the notes Quinn had on the Scott family, “-he left his sizable estate to a museum.”
Scott scowled. “You’ve been working with the feds. They’re probably having a field day trying to figure out where I’m going.”
“They believe you were coming here to San Diego. You know you’ll never get to Lucy, even if there was some way you could contact her. She’s protected by a bodyguard, and the police are patrolling the house regularly.”
“But they weren’t watching your house, were they?” Scott snickered.
“But you really don’t want Lucy.”
“Right, right, I want the fictional Monique.” Scott attempted to look bored and amused, but failed. In his cold eyes, Dillon saw the truth.