Allison Brennan - See No Evil Read online

Yet Julia didn’t have the decency to stay away. No, she’d called on him to find her niece three years ago—begged him, manipulated him. Used him and his family. “What if it was your sister? What if Lucy ran away? Emily’s even younger. I don’t trust anyone else with her safety.”

  Trust. Julia Chandler didn’t know the meaning of the word. But she loved her niece and the comparison to Lucy worked. Family meant everything to him, and Julia knew it, used it. It wasn’t the first time.

  She stood here on his porch to try to manipulate him again. Try was the operative word, because Connor wasn’t going to fall for her plea this time. He’d heard the hot news about Montgomery’s murder driving back from the gym. If she thought he gave a shit, she was even stupider than he thought.

  He should have said no the first time. He’d definitely say no now.

  Tossing his keys back and forth, palm to palm, he stared down the prosecutor. He didn’t care how many perps she put in prison, how many rapists she went after or murderers she convicted. Five years ago, as a hot new assistant district attorney, she’d had his balls in her brass palm. Julia forced Connor to do something he’d sworn he’d never do. Squeezed until he turned in his resignation.

  “You’re the last person I expected to be waiting on my doorstep.”

  “I need your help.”

  “Oh? I thought you were here to take me to bed.” He let his eyes roam from her head to her full breasts, down to her narrow waist and long, long legs. He wished he didn’t find her so damn attractive; it would be much easier to hate her.

  She reddened at his obvious perusal and he gave a half smile. “There’s at least five hundred certified dicks in San Diego, I’m sure one of them would be more than happy to take your money and do whatever job you have.”

  “May I come in for a minute?”

  “No.”

  “Connor, please. This is important.”

  “It’s always important with you.”

  “I don’t want to have this conversation standing here.”

  “I don’t want to have this conversation.”

  The change in her demeanor was almost imperceptible, but Connor watched carefully. Her left hand clutched her purse, her right flexed. “If it weren’t for Emily, I wouldn’t be here at all.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t use Emily as a way to get to me.” Why did he expect better from her?

  “I’m not, it’s just—”

  “I heard about Montgomery’s murder on the news. I have no desire to get involved in a police investigation. Missing person? Sure. Bring it on. Emily ran away? I’ll find her. Write out the check and leave it in my mailbox. No need to show up here again.”

  He turned, put a hand on his doorknob, hating himself for wanting to know why Julia had come to him. He wanted to go inside, shower, eat breakfast, and head back to the gym to work with the high school dropouts who thought gangs were the answer to their problems. He didn’t have a regular job, thanks to Julia Chandler, but damn if he was going to hide for the rest of his life.

  “Judge Montgomery was murdered in his home office.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” He slid his key into the lock.

  “Emily was found unconscious. The police think she tried to kill herself.”

  He stopped, glanced at Julia. Little could have surprised him more. He’d kept in touch with Emily. Irregularly, because she was Julia’s niece. But suicide? Against his better judgment he asked, “Is she okay?”

  “She’s in the hospital, but I don’t think she tried to commit suicide. I don’t have the doctor’s report yet.”

  “Why do you need me?”

  “The house was secure from the inside. She was apparently the only one home when Victor was murdered.”

  “They can’t think Emily killed him.”

  “They do, and they think she had help. Detective Hooper is in charge and he knows about the threats Herman Santos made on Montgomery’s life. Maybe someone threatened Emily, she had to let them in. I don’t know what happened. All I know is that Emily didn’t kill him. I know it. You know it. But I can’t be involved in the investigation. Stanton warned me off right away. But I am Emily’s aunt and no one can keep me away from her.”

  The bastard Stanton didn’t know the meaning of the word family. Though Connor couldn’t disagree with his reasoning on this case. Julia had to stand back. Something Connor knew would be virtually impossible for her to do. “And you want me to do what exactly?”

  “Stay apprised on the investigation. Prove Emily didn’t have anything to do with it.” She paused. “I hired Iris Jones.”

  “That bitch? She takes pleasure in keeping the bad guys out of prison.”

  “She’s good at her job. Someone needs to protect Emily’s rights. She’s already retained Dillon to evaluate Emily.”

  Against his better judgment, he asked, “How did Montgomery die?”

  “It wasn’t on the news?”

  Connor shook his head.

  “His penis was amputated.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Amputated?” he repeated.

  “It was shoved down his throat.”

  “Good God.”

  “Gage hasn’t said it flat out, but I know what he’s thinking. I’ve worked with him and Hooper enough. They think Emily had help, that she let people into the house to kill Victor.”

  “And you?”

  “How can you even ask me that?”

  “You’re her aunt. You don’t see her every day. She’s a troubled, closed-mouth teenager. You don’t really know her. Not anymore.” As he said it, he didn’t fully believe it. But Emily’s involvement was a possibility. It would be better for Julia if she accepted at least that possibility early on.

  Why did he even care about what was good for Julia? Let her heart break.

  Julia was angry but controlled it. She was the epitome of control, always keeping her emotions in check. Never rising to the bait. Always right, standing by her oh-so-perfect ethics. Everything was black-and-white in Julia Chandler’s world.

  Her next comment surprised him. “You’re right. I saw Emily every week, but I don’t really know her. I should have fought harder for custody. But I’m just her aunt. I know the law. It was stacked against me. Crystal is a bitch, but that doesn’t mean a court will take her only child away from her. Being a bitch isn’t a crime.”

  “I don’t know what you think I can do. I’m not a cop anymore, which I’m sure you haven’t forgotten.”

  The softness and pain that had crossed Julia’s face when she spoke of Emily disappeared and the hard-nosed prosecutor was back.

  “I don’t have to tell you that this is a sensitive, politicized investigation and I can’t have my fingers in the pie. But I’ll do anything to protect Emily. She’s my family. My only family. I want you to prove she couldn’t have killed Victor. I want not only doubt but innocence.”

  “You hired Iris Jones. I’m sure she has investigators on retainer. Use them. Don’t manipulate me.”

  “I’m not trying to manipulate you.” She stared at Connor, her dark emerald eyes full of emotion, imploring him. He hadn’t noticed the resemblance to her niece until then, but he saw it now, could almost picture Julia as a young girl, getting what she wanted with that determined look, those piercing green eyes. She wasn’t one to back down. He admired that trait as much as he despised it.

  “You have contacts I don’t have, you can go places I can’t go. Please, Connor. You have to help.”

  “Shit, Julia,” he whispered under his breath. “You’re a bitch, you know that?”

  Her eyes darkened. “That’s what makes me so good at my job,” she snapped.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think about it at the hospital. Listen to Dillon interview Emily. Maybe that will convince you.”

  “Dammit.” He raked a hand through his hair.

  “Nine o’clock.”

  “That’s twenty minutes from now.”

  “I know.”


  “Don’t count on it.”

  She reddened. “I won’t.”

  She turned on her heel and left.

  Connor watched her walk down the stairs, head high, the queen in action. Damn, damn, damn. Working with Julia Chandler was the last thing he wanted or needed in his life. He’d finally been able to put aside the crap five years ago that had cost him his job, and she walks back into his life like a nineteen-forties femme fatale. Hot and sexy and too damn smart.

  He wanted to say no. He wanted to throttle her. But in the end, could he live with himself if Emily Chandler Montgomery ended up in prison and there was a way he could have prevented it?

  Besides, he was sick and tired of working for insurance companies chasing down fraud claims. Boring for one, but more than that, it was intensely disheartening that so many people in the world were out for the easy buck that lying had become second nature.

  He went inside his small house and to the bathroom. Maybe a hot shower would clear his mind.

  He pictured Julia’s long legs and the body that came with them.

  Make it a cold shower.

  SEVEN

  JULIA DROVE BACK to the hospital from Connor’s. Never had a man, friend or foe, infuriated her as much as Connor Kincaid did. Arrogant and with a chip on his shoulder a mile wide.

  A tickle of guilt reminded her that she was partly responsible for the size of the chip. But five years ago she hadn’t asked him to break the law, she’d only demanded that he do the right thing.

  She walked into the room directly outside Emily’s and into a tense situation.

  “I have Emily under seventy-two-hour medical surveillance,” Dillon was saying to a red-faced Detective Will Hooper.

  “She may have crucial information about a murder investigation. You can’t stop me from interviewing her.”

  Dillon raised an eyebrow. “My number one concern is the health of my patient. I will be running tests and speaking with her today, and if I think she’s strong enough to go through a police interrogation, I will let you in.”

  “I’m not going to interrogate her, Dillon.”

  Dillon just stared at him.

  “Dammit.” Will ran a hand through his hair and saw Julia standing in the doorway. “You work fast, Counselor. We’re on the same side, you know.”

  “Not if you think Emily is guilty.”

  “I don’t have an opinion yet.”

  “You can’t bullshit me, Will. I’m a prosecutor. You have an idea and you’re running with it until it pans out or proves to be wrong. I know what the situation looks like. And Emily is delicate right now.”

  “You certainly didn’t think Yancy Inez was too delicate when you and I interrogated him after emergency surgery,” Will remarked, glaring at her.

  Julia fumed. “Don’t you dare compare Emily to a man who raped and mutilated women!”

  Dillon put a hand on Julia’s arm but looked at Will. “Will, you know me, and you know I’m not going to play games with the investigation. I need time with Emily. You know as well as I do if you push this and her, and she gives something up under duress—against the advice of her doctor—it’s not going to hold up in court. You do your job, I’ll do mine.”

  Will wanted to say something, his mouth working, but no sound came out. Finally, he left.

  Dillon rubbed Julia’s arm before dropping his hand. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Thank you for taking Emily’s case.”

  “I read her charts. Do you know her current psychiatrist, Garrett Bowen?”

  “I’ve met him in court a couple of times, and when Emily was put on probation last year.”

  “That was for vandalism, correct?”

  “She sprayed graffiti on the courthouse.”

  “Where Victor worked.”

  “Yes, but she said that had nothing to do with it. She’d been drinking—” She stopped. “Everyone thought it was Emily’s way of getting attention, acting out because her mother remarried.”

  “The graffiti was definitely a cry for help, but probably not for the obvious reasons.” Dillon looked pointedly at Julia. “I’m going to ask some hard questions. You can observe through the window—you’ll be able to hear everything through the one-way speaker at the nurses’ station—but you have to promise me that no matter what, you won’t come in until I tell you it’s okay. No matter what she says, what she does, you must stay out.”

  Julia reluctantly agreed.

  Dillon walked through the door. Emily didn’t move and Dillon sat in the chair next to the bed and watched her. Sleeping, perhaps. Exhausted from a traumatic night, the drugs, the drinking. Julia ached to be in the room with Emily, holding her hand, telling her everything was going to be all right, but she had to trust that Dillon Kincaid knew what he was doing. She glanced behind her at the door, wondering if Connor would show. Both praying and fearing he would. He was the best at getting to the bottom of anything, but he played loose with the rules. Isn’t that why he’d lost his job in the first place? How could she have turned her back on his flagrantly breaking the law, taking matters into his own hands?

  But isn’t that what she was asking him to do now? To get to the bottom of Victor’s murder, and Emily’s possible involvement, no matter what he had to do? Did that make her any better than him?

  She rubbed her eyes, resigned that her history with Connor Kincaid was too much for either of them, and she would have to find some other way to help Emily.

  Emily rolled over and opened her eyes, looked at Dillon. Dark circles framed Emily’s pale green eyes that were so much like Matt’s it was like looking into Julia’s brother’s soul. Tears clouded Julia’s vision as she remembered how she and Matt had depended on each other for everything. Their parents had one social obligation after another. Chandlers needed to maintain the act. They hid grandpa’s drinking and much, much worse. Image was more important than substance. Both her parents had affairs, but they were discreet. As long as the press didn’t know, as long as the image was clean, they could do anything they wanted.

  Matt had been the one who took care of the Chandler Foundation. He went into the business because someone in the family had to and he had a knack for numbers. Matt protected her when she shunned her heritage and decided to use her law degree for public service instead of protecting the family name. Her mother never forgave her, would have disowned her if the trust had allowed it.

  Matt understood and made sacrifices for the family so Julia wouldn’t have to. Julia needed to get away from the house, the money, the image and find herself and her own dreams. Julia accepted the good and the bad that came with forging her own path. She wasn’t always happy, but she was free to make her own choices. She’d given up a lot to do so, maybe too much. Because if being free meant losing Emily, none of it was worth it.

  Dillon gave Emily a half smile. “Hi, Emily. I’m Dr. Dillon Kincaid. We need to talk.”

  Julia unconsciously leaned forward, her left hand on the window, aching to touch her niece. She could hear everything, although the voices sounded slightly tinny through the small speaker.

  Emily’s eyes showed fear and skepticism. How could a person so young have so much negative emotion?

  “Do you know where you are?” Dillon asked.

  “Hospital.” Her voice was rough and Dillon offered her some water through a straw. He adjusted her bed so she could sit up.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit.” Her voice cracked. She was trying to put on a front, but Julia saw the pain in her eyes.

  “You drank a lot last night.”

  “I guess.” She drank some more water. “You’re a doctor?” She was looking at Dillon suspiciously.

  He nodded. “A psychiatrist.”

  “Great.” She closed her eyes and whispered, “Just what I need, another shrink.”

  “I need to ask you some questions. It’s important.”

  The door opened behind Julia and relief washed through her when Connor Kincaid wa
lked into the ward.

  Connor’s collar-length black hair was damp from a recent shower, and along with the chip on his shoulder and bad attitude, he brought into the room a rich, clean fragrance of soap, raw masculinity, and a quick glance that saw everything. He caught Julia’s eye and her pulse quickened.

  She turned to focus on Emily. “Thank you,” Julia said quietly.

  “I’m here for her, not you,” said Connor.

  “I know.” She told herself she didn’t care.

  Connor stood next to her, his presence almost overpowering. He was the biggest of the Kincaid brothers—broader, taller, darker. Dillon Kincaid had the Irish good looks of his father—brown hair, blue eyes, and fair skin—while Connor had the dark good looks of his Cuban mother—and the hot-blooded temper of his combined Irish and Latin genes.

  It was all Julia could do to stand still. So she focused on Emily and reminded herself that Connor Kincaid hated her and was only here because Emily needed help.

  Dillon was speaking in the adjoining room. “Emily, I’m here to help.”

  She shook her head. “No one can help me.” How could she sound so full of anguish and defeat? Julia stepped closer to the window. Had Emily really tried to kill herself?

  “I can help. Your aunt Julia hired an attorney to protect your rights and interests. I’m part of that. So anything you say to me is between you and me. And”—he motioned toward the window—“your aunt. If you want me to, I’ll ask her to leave.”

  “Aunt Jules is here?”

  Dillon nodded. “She’s worried about you.”

  Tears rolled over her bottom lashes. “Can she come in?”

  “Not right now. I think you and I need to talk first. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger. I want you to know that you’re safe here. No one can hurt you.”

  Emily’s voice cracked. “Is… is he really dead? It wasn’t a dream, was it?” She sounded hopeful.

  “It wasn’t a dream. Victor Montgomery is dead.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “It was so awful.”

  “What was awful?”

  “I… I saw Victor. He was… dead.”

  “You walked in after he was killed?”