See No Evil (17 page)

EIGHTEEN

J
ULIA WAS TOO
damn sexy in that dress.

She sat in the passenger seat of Dillon’s Lexus on their way to Bowen’s house in the prestigious Rancho Santa Fe area. Her hair done in a sort of fancy twisty thing with some loose curls hanging down and some pinned on top. Her makeup was impeccable, highlighting her aristocratic features and lush, red lips. But it was the dress that did Connor in, a green number that hinted at all her curves without showing a damn thing.

Connor didn’t really like the fact that Dillon was playing Julia’s escort. Their plan was solid: Connor would check in with them, then disappear and do his own thing—namely search Bowen’s office for any material regarding Wishlist. Dillon and Julia would tag Bowen, identify Jason Ridge’s parents, and work that angle in a diplomatic manner.

But Connor wouldn’t mind having the beautiful counselor on his arm instead of his brother’s.
They’re not out on a date,
he reminded himself, though would he care if they were?

Yes.

He hadn’t meant to kiss Julia yesterday. But today it was all he could think about.

“What do you think, Connor?”

“Excuse me?”

“Daydreaming, obviously,” Julia said. “I
said
I couldn’t reach Michelle O’Dell today. I talked to her mother, though, and she was very nice. Michelle attends Stanford. I tried her a couple times, her answering machine was on. I’ll try her again tomorrow morning.”

“Call her early, if she’s a typical college student she’ll have stayed up all night and be sleeping late on Sunday,” Dillon suggested.

“Good idea, I’ll do that.”

“Yeah,” Connor said, not exactly sure what he’d missed in the conversation. “What’s this fund-raiser for, exactly?”

“It’s a charity event for the San Diego Arts Foundation,” Julia explained. “The Chandler Foundation is a major sponsor every year. I don’t have a lot of the details because I don’t follow Foundation business, but it’s a worthwhile cause. The money raised goes to bringing big exhibits to town, as well as scholarships for underprivileged youth who show artistic talent.”

“So how much does a major sponsorship cost?”

“I think we put in a half million every year.”

Connor’s chin almost hit the floor. He’d known Julia was rich—everyone in San Diego knew about the Chandler family—but knowing someone was rich, and knowing
how rich
someone was were two completely different things.

“And you’re a public servant making what? Forty, forty-five thousand a year?” Connor said.

“Your point?”

She sounded pissed.

“I was joking.”

“No you weren’t. Did it ever occur to you that I like my job? Money doesn’t buy everything. It certainly hasn’t bought Emily happiness, and it hasn’t been able to bring my brother back from the dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

And he was. He hadn’t meant to insult her, and he definitely didn’t want to hurt her.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly, staring straight ahead through the car windshield.

Smooth move, Kincaid.

The show must go on.

Three days after her husband was brutally murdered and her daughter was put under psychiatric observation in the hospital, Crystal Montgomery had donned a long black gown, put on diamonds bought with Chandler money, and was attending one of the premiere charity events of the year. Julia could hardly believe her audacity.

“Are you okay?” Dillon Kincaid kept his voice low.

She glanced at his handsome face, gave him a smile. “I’m fine.”

She wondered where Connor was. They’d checked in fifteen minutes ago and Connor had vanished. She hadn’t meant to jump down his throat after he made that comment about her money, but she’d fielded so many insensitive comments over the years that it was a defense mechanism.

While she couldn’t see Connor, she spotted Dr. Garrett Bowen right off, standing with an attractive woman in her forties wearing a long red dress. “Do you know her?” Julia asked Dillon.

“I don’t get out much,” he teased. “Haven’t seen her before.” He pointed to one of the paintings in the large gathering room. The party planners had brought in dozens of exhibits, large and small, on easels and stands, to fill Bowen’s tastefully decorated home. But Bowen himself had numerous paintings and sculptures that he obviously owned based on their placement on walls, one of which Dillon gestured toward. It consisted of various vertical black lines of differing widths.

“Interesting,” he said.

She turned her head this way and that, trying to figure out what it was meant to convey. She wondered if the painting would look different from a distance.

“I’m joking,” Dillon said.

“Good. Now that one
is
interesting.”

They walked across the room to a picture displayed above the fireplace. It was a watercolor with vivid colors. She wondered if there was some blending of mediums going on, perhaps watercolor traced in oil-based paints. Whatever it was, the image was spectacular. From a distance, the picture was obviously a woman sitting on a grassy knoll. But from close-up, several distinct images of children emerged.

“Definite talent there,” Dillon said.

“Thank you.”

Julia jumped, turning to face Garrett Bowen. “You’re a painter?”

“No, no. My nephew. He’s very gifted. It’s one of the reasons I am a patron of the arts.”

Bowen turned from her to Dillon. “What brings you here tonight, Dr. Kincaid?”

Julia couldn’t miss the hostility in Bowen’s voice.

“Julia asked me to escort her, and I was happy to oblige,” Dillon said formally.

Bowen didn’t believe him, but didn’t argue. “Crystal’s here. Let me find her for you,” he said to Julia.

“No need,” Julia said, more curtly than she intended. It was then she realized Bowen’s comment had been meant to throw her off balance. It had worked.

“Why are you here tonight?” Bowen asked Julia.

“Keeping my eye on you.”

“I’m not under arrest, Ms. Chandler. I’m not guilty of anything.”

“Guilt can be subjective, can’t it?”

“What is it you want from me?”

“Nothing right now. I’m a firm believer that no crime is perfect. Evidence always talks. Sometimes we don’t hear it right away, but it’s there whispering.”

“I had nothing to do with what happened to Judge Montgomery,” Bowen said.

Julia hadn’t meant to get into it with Bowen, but she couldn’t stop herself. “You didn’t? You created that group, Wishlist. You brought vulnerable teenagers into an atmosphere where hate and anger fester, all under the guise of helping them. Does Emily look like she’s been helped?”

Dillon put a hand on her arm.

“Emily is obviously a disturbed young woman,” said Bowen. “Ask her mother.”

He was baiting her, knowing about her history with Crystal. What else did he know? Did he use people’s fear and anger against them? Had he manipulated Emily like this? Subtly jabbing, picking at old scabs?

“Let’s look at the other painting,” Dillon said to her. “There’s food in the dining room.”

“Garrett?”

The woman in the red dress who had been with Bowen earlier approached them, a cautious smile on her face.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all, Marisa.”

Marisa smiled at Julia. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Chandler.”

“I’m sorry, have we met?” Julia took her hand.

“Not formally. I of course know about the Chandler family. Garrett has been giddy as a schoolboy about the Foundation’s support of Tristan’s work.”

“Tristan?” Julia asked.

“My nephew,” Bowen said. “Ms. Chandler, Dr. Kincaid, please meet Marisa Wohler.”

“Where’s Camilla?” Bowen asked her.

“She’s in the little girls’ room,” Marisa said. She smiled at Julia. “Cami is my daughter. Garrett is wonderful with young people.”

Something tickled Julia’s instincts. “Is that how you met?”

Marisa was about to say something when Bowen said, “Marisa, you haven’t spoken with Tristan yet.” He gestured toward the main living area where a tall, oddly attractive young man with a shaved head held court to a large group of admirers. “You’ll excuse us,” he said to Julia, avoiding eye contact.

Connor located some key computer files in Bowen’s office, but he didn’t have time just then to go through them. He hurriedly made electronic copies, then put the CD in his breast pocket. He made sure the desk was exactly as it had been when he walked in. He shut down the computer and started for the door.

The door opened when he was halfway across the room and Connor froze. Fortunately, he was no longer behind the desk.

“Who are you?”

Young and blond, she wore a skimpy dark-red gown that Connor wouldn’t mind seeing the counselor wearing. On the teenager, the sexy dress made Connor uncomfortable. His dad would lock his little sister Lucy in her room before letting her out wearing something so revealing.

Connor felt old.

“A guest,” Connor responded. “I was looking at the art in the halls and noticed the picture above the desk in here. Exquisite.”

“Garrett doesn’t like strangers in his office.” The girl walked over to him, utterly confident in four-inch heels. Slits up both sides of the gown ended at the top of her thigh. She put a hand on his chest. “But I won’t tell.”

Connor tensed. “There’s nothing to tell. Who are you?”

“Camilla Wohler. You can call me Cami.”

“Maybe I should ask what you’re doing upstairs.”

She laughed seductively, leaned forward and breathed into his ear. “My mother is dating Garrett.”

“How interesting.” Connor took a step back.

She shrugged, a pout on her face. “I don’t really care. I’m nineteen. If he makes her happy.”

Her tone was off. It wasn’t clear whether she really cared if her mother was happy, or whether she didn’t think Garrett Bowen was good for her.

This was an opportunity Connor couldn’t pass up. “Do you like Dr. Bowen?”

“I don’t hate him.” Cami touched his arm. “Nice tux. It’s not yours, though.”

Connor didn’t know why the observation made him uncomfortable. It’s not like he cared if he owned a tux or not. It was the girl’s tone, almost derisive.

“And you know this how?”

“You’re wider than the owner.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “And a half inch taller, I’d guess.” She glanced at his ankles.

True. The suit was his father’s, and while Connor and Patrick Sr. were both built roughly the same, Connor was a little bigger all around.

“You’re a fashion expert?”

“I’m an expert in a lot of things.” Cami leaned toward him, her mouth inches from his.

He took her hands off his shoulders and held her wrists. Instead of being shocked or hurt, Cami smiled. “You like it rough, don’t you?”

“Not with nineteen-year-old girls.” He took a step back.

She pouted, her bottom lip fuller, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t know anything about me,” she said.

“Nor you about me. We’re even.” He walked past her and to the door. He needed to get out of the room, not only before Bowen discovered him but to get away from Cami Wohler, who was very unlike the young women he was used to.

“Where are you going?” she demanded.

“Back to the party. I suggest you do the same.”

He didn’t wait for her to follow. He walked out and shut the door behind him.

Cami stared at the closed door. The arrogant bastard. How dare he call her a
girl.
She wasn’t some giggling kid, she was a
woman
who knew more about what turned men on than they did.

The door opened and closed again. Skip came in. “Who was that?” he asked, angry.

“He was in here when I arrived.”

Skip walked over to her, grabbed her arms. “Did you have sex with him?”

She laughed. “Right, I just got down on my knees and gave him head. I don’t even know him.”

“Like that’s stopped you before.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No.”

Oh, was he jealous! She could play off that. Already the insults of the jerk who just left were fading. “I thought you might want to watch me fucking another man.”

His grip tightened.
“No.”

She whispered, “You’re going to leave bruises.”

He jumped back, dropping her arms. He didn’t like marking her, especially where it could be seen. His dark fantasies were deeply hidden—as long as he couldn’t see the physical evidence of his anger, he’d do anything to her.

She walked toward him. “You love it. You want to put your mark on me. You want to draw blood and suck it like a vampire.”

“You’re sick.”

She exposed her right breast, the one he bit three nights ago in the heat of climax. The red welt his teeth made had turned dark purple, the individual bite marks still prominent. “You liked it.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t do that.”

“Of course you did. As you dug your nails into my ass and fucked me.”

“Stop it, Cami. Right now.” He tried to cover her up, but she slapped his hand. Skip slapped her across the face.

She laughed. “Tonight, when this is done, come to my apartment.”

“No.” He pulled the dress back over her breast.