See No Evil

by Allison Brennan

  “Not if someone drugged her or manipulated her. Faye was taking the entire blame for all the murders. We knew someone else was involved, but we didn’t know about you. We knew about Michelle, though, and we were looking for Laura Chase. Tristan, you would have gotten away with it, at least long enough to disappear and leave the country.

  “Michelle feared Faye would turn her in. That’s why she got her to kill herself. Michelle did it to protect herself.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Michelle spat out viciously. “By the time the police figured anything out, I’d be as far away as Tristan.” But Michelle’s eyes kept darting to the man who, until now, had barely moved from the door.

  “You killed Faye?” Tristan stepped toward Michelle.

  “She was going to destroy you,” said Michelle. “Destroy all of us.”

  Tristan shook his head slowly back and forth. “Faye worshipped you. She turned herself in to protect you just as much as to protect me.”

  “Bullshit,” Michelle said. “Faye would never have raised a finger to save my ass. When I saw those pictures, I realized the truth. You used me. You and Faye must have had a grand laugh at my expense.”

  “You know nothing of my relationship with Faye.”

  “Relationship? You call that little sex-and-vampire act the two of you had going a relationship?”

  While Michelle and Tristan were focused on each other, Julia began to scoot along the railing toward the spiral staircase at the far end of the loft. She gritted her teeth at the sharp stabs of muscle pain as her body regained sensation.

  Tristan glared at Michelle, his hand reaching inside his pants pocket, eyes sharp with wild intelligence. “You know what? I recruited Faye. I brought her in from the very beginning. Then I told you to recruit her. But she was already on board.” He barked out a laugh. “Faye had as much control over you as you thought you had over her.”

  Michelle’s face contorted with rage. “You’re as crazy as she was. I didn’t kill Faye. She voluntarily used the knife I gave her on herself. Why? Because I told her you wanted her to.”

  Tristan pulled a butterfly knife out of his pocket, the click-click of metal on metal as he flicked his wrist to unsheathe the blade. Julia bit her tongue to stop a yelp from escaping.

  He brought the knife up without hesitation.

  “You bitch!” he screamed.

  Michelle raised her gun and fired.

  Tristan’s body slammed back against the wall, a smear of bright red blood blending with the black ink of the painting behind him. His knife dropped to the floor.

  “Perfect,” Michelle said. “I’ll have time to get away after all.” She turned to Julia and smiled.

  Julia’s blood ran cold.

  THIRTY-TWO

  “THERE ARE AT LEAST three people inside,” said SWAT team leader Tom Blade from his command post in the rear of Tristan Lord’s warehouse/art studio. There were no windows on this side of the building—it was all brick—but Blade had a team up on the roof using an amplified infrared imager to detect body heat inside.

  “Let’s go,” Connor said impatiently. Julia had been missing three hours.

  “Wait.” Will caught Connor’s eye. “There’s no way to get into the building undetected. They’re on the third floor. They can see the whole open space below them.”

  “We can’t just sit here and twiddle our thumbs!”

  Blade motioned at the blueprints. “There are skylights here and here. We have men on the roof already and they’re working on unsealing the windows. We can get in here”—he pointed—“on the far side of the third floor.”

  Connor stared at the plans. “Why not go in here, on the bottom floor? This doorway is under the third floor. They can’t see anyone, and we’ve already disabled the alarm.”

  “There’s no easy way to get to them,” said Blade. “A metal staircase going up. No way to get up there undetected.”

  Connor wasn’t sure. “But if they come down, we’ll have the element of surprise.”

  Blade thought about it. He was a sharp cop, but had been promoted to the position only six months ago after his boss was killed in the line of duty. Connor suspected Blade was uncomfortable in his role as leader.

  Will leaned over and told Connor, “We’ve found Laura Chase.”

  “What does she have to say?”

  “I should have said we’ve found where she’s been living. Under a new identity: Marisa Wohler. The police in Maine talked to her ex-husband and got her phone number. We traced the number to a Marisa Wohler, then e-crimes traced Wohler. She miraculously appeared eighteen months ago. There was no record of her in San Diego, California, or in the rest of the country prior to November 2005. Get this,” Will added, “she’s been living around the corner from Garrett Bowen’s mansion in Rancho Santa Fe.”

  Connor stared at the rear door of the art studio. Two SWAT team members framed the exit. He said to Blade, “Let me go in.”

  Before he could answer, a gunshot sounded in the building.

  Blade was on the com with his team on the roof. “Do you have a visual?”

  “Negative.”

  Blade glanced at Connor, then told his team. “Possible hostage situation. Proceed with caution.”

  Connor drew his weapon and followed the SWAT team inside. As soon as the door opened, another gunshot sounded.

  Julia!

  “God, I really hated him.” Michelle was looking contemptuously down at Tristan. Her face showed no emotion, nothing but a mild irritation.

  Stumbling, Julia scrambled for the staircase as soon as Michelle turned her back.

  “Stop or you’re dead.”

  Julia stopped.

  “Sit down, against the railing.”

  Julia hesitated.

  Michelle fired the gun into the ceiling. Dust rained down on Julia and she sat back against the railing. She’d been so close!

  “Move back to your original position, Ms. Chandler.”

  Reluctantly, Julia did as Michelle commanded.

  “Good.” Michelle smiled as if Julia were a prize student.

  “The police know everything.”

  “Like I care? I’ll be so far gone they’ll never find me. Let’s make this fast.” Michelle popped out the cartridge of the 9mm and Julia recognized it as her own gun. Michelle pressed the gun into Julia’s hand, then put it on the floor next to her. Michelle put on gloves and picked up the knife Tristan had dropped.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s perfect. He stabs you and as you lay dying, you shoot him. The police will figure it out, but it’ll take them a couple days, and by that time I’ll be on some beach far, far away.”

  There was no doubt in Julia’s mind that Michelle would go through with her plan without hesitation or remorse.

  Julia reached for the gun. The cartridge was gone, but there was a round chambered. She had only one shot.

  She put the gun behind her back and slowly stood, shaking off the nausea sweeping through her.

  Michelle whipped around. “Sit down!” She strode over to Julia, knife in hand, irritated.

  Julia swallowed nervously. “Michelle, let’s figure out a solution to this. No one else needs to die. I have—”

  “Shut up.”

  “—lots of friends in the—”

  “I said shut up!” Michelle stomped her foot hard on Julia’s shin and Julia winced, biting her lip.

  Michelle was listening. Something downstairs had caught her attention.

  Julia didn’t hear anything unusual, just her rapidly beating heart vibrating in her ears.

  “Someone’s downstairs,” Michelle said. “Change of plans.”

  “You won’t get away with this.”

  Michelle laughed. “You sound like a stupid television show. Get up.”

  Julia sagged. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Then you’ll die here.”

  “So will you,” Julia said, pulling out the gun from behind her back.

&n
bsp; Michelle’s face contorted in anger as she brought the knife up in her fist. Julia pulled the trigger. The one bullet hit Michelle in the upper abdomen. Reflexively, Julia pressed the trigger again, even though she knew there were no more bullets.

  Michelle’s blue eyes reflected shock and disbelief. She raised her hand, the knife still clenched tight in her fist. Her body shook violently as blood seeped from the wound.

  Michelle lunged forward, the sharp blade coming down fast toward Julia’s face.

  Julia grabbed Michelle’s wrist. The momentum brought the knife to Julia’s cheek.

  Julia winced at the sudden sharp pain, but didn’t loosen her hold on Michelle’s arm. She dropped the empty gun and used both hands to hold Michelle’s knife hand away from her. Michelle fought back, her mouth soundlessly opening and closing, her left hand reaching for Julia’s neck.

  Julia squirmed from the woman’s grasp, but Michelle was above her, gravity aiding her momentum and fury.

  They struggled for control of the knife. Julia lost her grip. She tried to roll away from the blade, but it cut deep into her shoulder. Pain shot down Julia’s arm and she screamed, clutching her bloody left shoulder.

  Michelle used that moment to push Julia to the railing, pulling her up with unusual strength. She bent Julia backward, trying to throw her over the edge. Julia’s vision blurred with the strain of keeping Michelle from killing her. Pulse racing, Julia fought the dying girl. But Michelle had nothing left to lose and wanted to take Julia with her.

  “Bitch,” Michelle spat in her face. “You bitch!”

  Michelle still grasped the knife, now dripping with Julia’s blood. Julia blinked, fear and panic making her heart race and her head swirl. Michelle brought the knife down again, but Julia moved to the right, grabbed the woman’s wrist, and slammed it hard against the metal railing.

  Michelle screamed, but didn’t relinquish the knife.

  All Julia wanted now was to get away, but Michelle kept her pinned to the rail, trying to push her over.

  Julia’s mind clouded; her vision faded. She swallowed and tasted blood.

  “You’ll die with me,” Michelle spat in her ear, the knife inches from Julia’s neck.

  “No. I. Won’t.”

  Julia didn’t want to let go of Michelle’s wrist, but her instincts told her she had to.

  She released Michelle. The killer’s momentum kept her falling forward and over the railing.

  Julia reached for her, but missed. The body hit the cement floor a moment later.

  “Julia!”

  Connor had found her.

  “Oh God, Julia.” Connor stripped off his T-shirt.

  She reached for his face, but her hand fluttered back down. She had no strength.

  Connor’s training took over. He immediately applied pressure to the wound. “Medics!” he shouted. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” He examined her body, saw blood everywhere.

  She shook her head, closing her eyes against the pain.

  “Hold on, sweetheart, the ambulance is almost here.” He heard sirens approaching. “We’ll get you sewed up in no time.”

  SWAT team leader Tom Blade came over. “Two dead. Male, twenties, over there.” He gestured against the back wall of the studio where Tristan Lord lay, his blood splattered on the wall behind him.

  “Downstairs, female.”

  Connor demanded, “I need the medics up here, ASAP.”

  “Right here.” Another SWAT team member came in. SWAT had their own field medics.

  Connor moved over to give him room, one hand on Julia’s wound and the other grasping her hand.

  “What’s your name, darlin’?” the medic asked.

  “Julia,” she whispered.

  “Julia Chandler,” Connor said, swallowing his fear. There was so much blood.

  “Looks like a nice clean wound. Kincaid here is just going to keep pressure on it while I clean up these little nicks, see if we have anything else we need to be worried about.”

  “She’s going to be fine, right?” Connor asked.

  “I am fine,” Julia said, but her voice was faint. And she was so pale.

  Connor panicked, staring at the medic. “Tell me.”

  “She’s lost a lot of blood. Keep that pressure on. I’m doing all I can.”

  “Connor,” Julia said faintly.

  “Shh, don’t talk.” His own chest burned with suppressed emotion.

  “I love you.”

  Connor’s breath caught. “Oh, Julia. I love you, too, babe. Stay here, okay? Just hold on.”

  Her eyes closed. “Julia?” She’d lost consciousness.

  There was commotion outside the door as two paramedics came up with a basket. “We can’t get the stretcher up here.”

  “I typed her blood. A-positive. She needs plasma ASAP.”

  The SWAT medic tied a tourniquet tight above the wound and the paramedics strapped her into the basket. Connor ran downstairs with one medic while the other two hoisted the basket over the railing. The art studio was full of crime scene techs and cops, but Connor barely registered the commotion. All he could think about was how pale Julia looked, how much blood she’d lost.

  And how much he loved her.

  “I’m with you,” Connor said as they strapped Julia onto the stretcher.

  THIRTY-THREE

  CONNOR PACED the emergency room while Julia was in surgery.

  They needed to repair extensive muscle and arterial damage, and sew up the wound. The knife had gone in between the subclavian and pulmonary arteries. Had it been any higher on the shoulder, Julia would have bled out in minutes. Connor’s heart jumped into his throat and he squeezed back the moisture in his eyes. He shuddered at what could have happened, that but for a half inch, Julia would have died in his arms.

  “She’ll be fine,” Dillon was saying. “They stabilized her in the ambulance. She’s going to make it.”

  “I know. I’m just worried.” He ran a hand over his rough face. “Did Will arrest Laura Chase?”

  When Dillon didn’t say anything, Connor stared at him. “Where is she?”

  “They’re out in full force looking for her. Her house was empty,” said Dillon.

  “She wasn’t at the art studio?”

  “No. And her car is missing. We know she’s driving a silver Mercedes registered under the name Marisa Wohler.”

  “Why? Why all… this?” Connor asked in exasperation.

  “What we’ve been able to piece together after talking to Tom Chase is that Laura was devastated and inconsolable after Shannon’s death. She’d lost one daughter, Camilla, as an infant. She immediately got pregnant again and her entire life revolved around Shannon. She’d likely had an untreated psychosis already, and Shannon’s suicide flipped a switch.”

  “So, kill the kid who raped her daughter, but why kill Bowen? Or Montgomery?”

  “Will’s still trying to figure out how Tristan Lord and Laura Chase hooked up, but we know from records in Bowen’s office that the good doctor had an appointment with Laura Chase nearly two years ago that she never showed up for.”

  “Where does Tristan Lord fit into this?”

  Will Hooper walked in. “I think I can answer that.”

  “Did you find Laura Chase?”

  He shook his head. “We have the airports, trains, ports all covered. Border patrol is on the lookout as well.”

  “So why did Tristan want to kill his uncle?”

  “The station brought in a forensic artist to look at his paintings. The gal said each painting tells a story, that Tristan Lord was a master of perspective. From different angles, primarily from above, you can see something completely different from looking at it head-on.” Will grinned wryly at Connor. “So you weren’t wrong when you saw the number ten and the girl hanging.”

  “And Bowen?”

  “We know that Tristan’s mother died of cancer when he was eighteen. A painting in Bowen’s own house shows a man with a needle over a woman lying in bed. Under a m
icroscope and ultraviolet light, you can see that some lines are made up of microscopic letters. They spell out ‘Mother was murdered’ over and over. Thousands of times. Sounds obsessive to me.”

  “Tristan thought his own uncle killed his mom?” Connor asked.

  “Tristan was probably right,” Will said. “I just came back from Eric Bowen’s house. He said his aunt Monica, Tristan’s mother, had breast cancer. Bowen’s wife died of breast cancer several years before. He watched her waste away, in pain, and eventually die so drugged she didn’t remember her husband or son. Monica Lord was in the final stages of cancer but was still mobile. Her medical records indicated that she had three to six months to live. Her doctor suspected she may have committed suicide—she was adamant about not wanting to ‘waste away’ like her sister-in-law.”

  “And you’re thinking that maybe Bowen helped her.”

  “Why wasn’t there an autopsy?” Dillon asked.

  “Her doctor signed off on the death certificate without one. Her medical history showed invasive cancer; there was no reason to think anything but cancer killed her. And Dr. Bowen didn’t want her family to think she killed herself. There’s a matter of some insurance money.”

  “Insurance money?”

  “Bowen and Tristan split over eight million dollars from Monica’s estate.”

  The surgeon came out of the operating room. “We’re done.”

  Connor asked, “Can I see her now?”

  “She’s in recovery, still sleeping. I’ll let you know when she wakes.”

  “But she’s going to be okay, right?”

  “She won’t be able to use her left arm for a while, but yeah, she’s going to be fine.”

  It was over.

  Laura Chase slowly walked to the grave of her daughter. Her beautiful, perfect daughter.

  An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.

  Vengeance? You don’t know the meaning of vengeance, God. The wrath of a mother is far greater than yours. You let them hurt my baby, my little girl. And nothing happened. No lightning bolts, no earthquakes, no floods or famine.