Allison Brennan - See No Evil

Cami enjoyed it for the control, the power, the thrill.

He enjoyed it for different reasons, but for one. It was on his orders, his command, who would live and who would die. The thrill of the hunt, of marking the sinners, elated him, kept him focused. He would fix the world one death at a time.

He couldn’t fuck Cami, but he knew who would be waiting for him.

Faye Kessler had given him what he needed before, and he knew she hadn’t told Cami. Cami was a jealous, arrogant girl, she wouldn’t sit calmly on the sidelines if she knew he put his dick in Faye’s cunt when he wouldn’t do the same to her, no matter how much she asked or how much she was willing to do for him.

A woman with a closed mouth was a rarity, but one he would keep as long as it served him. Faye kept her mouth shut tight. He loved her for it…and for other reasons. There were things he could share with only her, because only she understood.

For a time, he’d worried about his attachment to Faye. After they were together, he was surprised to find himself missing her when they were apart. Her soulful eyes, her touch, her quiet understanding-he craved it. He didn’t mind wanting her, but he feared needing her.

These were thoughts for a later time. The game was still working perfectly, and he still had Cami and Faye completely under his thumb.

His girls would do anything for him. Everything for him.

And he didn’t have to bloody his hands in the process.

In less than forty-eight hours, the hammer would come crashing down on the one who had wronged him. He was truly a god.

Julia was drunk.

If she hadn’t been leaning so heavily against him on the way out of Dillon’s house, Connor wouldn’t have believed anyone could get drunk on three beers.

“You’ll make sure she gets home safely and unmolested?” Dillon asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Very funny,” said Connor. “I don’t even like her. I’m not going to take advantage of her.”

“I knew you didn’t like me.” Julia pouted.

“Like that’s a big revelation,” Connor muttered.

“And I’m not drunk.” She hiccupped. “I just haven’t eaten.”

“Since when?” he asked as he slid her into the passenger seat of his truck. He and Dillon had eaten all the pizza he brought before Julia showed up.

“I don’t know.” She hiccupped again. “Yesterday, I think.”

“Great.” He slammed the passenger door shut. Now it made sense. Three beers, empty stomach. And now the counselor was his responsibility.

He should have asked Dillon to take her home.

He started up the engine of his truck. He lived only a few blocks from Dillon, but he wasn’t taking Julia to his house.

He glanced at the counselor. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t sleeping.

“Tell me the truth, Connor,” Julia said quietly, not opening her eyes. “Do you think Emily is guilty? Do you think she helped kill Victor?”

How could he answer that? He’d been a cop, cops looked not only at the evidence but used their experience and instincts to figure out who was lying and who was telling the truth. Leave the facts to scientists like Jim Gage; the truth was cops bartered lesser evils. So did prosecutors. That’s why the two professions were usually tight. They needed each other. A prosecutor may have a solid case, but they might turn free a drug addict in exchange for testimony to nail the coffin shut on a killer.

“You do,” she said when he didn’t answer right away. “Take me home.”

“You need to eat.”

“I have food. I think.”

“Julia, I don’t think Emily did it, but you need to face the fact that she may have played some role in the murder.”

A sob escaped her chest. Don’t cry. Dammit, Julia, don’t cry. I can’t handle tears.

But she didn’t cry. Instead she said, “The last thing my brother said to me before he died was ‘Take care of Emily.’ I didn’t protect her, and she ended up being raped, running away from home, and possibly involved with a murder. I failed in the only thing I ever cared about: living up to my promise to Matt.”

Connor glanced over at Julia when he stopped at a light. He instantly regretted it. She was looking at him, her face a mask of torment, her eyes dry but full of pain. “Matt gave me the world. He gave me freedom to do what I wanted to do with my life. He became the perfect son so I wouldn’t have to be the perfect daughter. All he wanted, all he ever asked of me, was to take care of his daughter. And now…” She turned her head, looked out the window. “Emily is already going to pay the price of my incompetence for the rest of her life.”

“That’s alcohol talking,” Connor admonished.

“It’s the truth.”

Connor drove over to La Honda, a restaurant owned and operated by his mother’s best friend, Felicia, another escapee from Cuba. Though crowded, it helped being family friends. They were seated immediately.

Felicia, a small round woman, came over, hugged Connor, and smiled wide. “The usual?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’ve never brought a lady friend in before.” She beamed at Julia.

“We’re not friends,” Connor and Julia said simultaneously.

Felicia’s smile only widened as she left to fill their order, coming back immediately with two beers, chips, and salsa.

“It’s hot,” Connor warned.

“I love salsa,” Julia said, scooping a huge chunk onto a chip and popping it into her mouth.

Connor covered his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. As the heat from the habanero peppers reached Julia’s sinuses, her eyes watered, her nose began to run, and he could almost see sweat form on her brow. He had to give her credit for chewing and swallowing, before draining her water glass, and then his.

“I warned you,” he said.

“Next time, I’ll listen.”

They ate in silence, and Connor was surprised when the tension dissipated. Julia cleaned her plate, drank another beer, and lost the ghostly pallor she’d had since arriving at Dillon’s earlier in the evening.

They stared at each other in silence. Connor asked softly, “What happened with your brother? I heard he died in a car accident.”

She nodded, picked up her beer, and took a long swallow.

“Were you there?”

She nodded.

“And?”

Julia’s face contorted in pain and anger. “I was driving the car.” Softer, “I killed him.”

“You didn’t kill him.”

“I know that road like the back of my hand. Every bend and turn. It was my car, my road, and-”

Connor regretted bringing it up, but he couldn’t stop now. He didn’t have to know the truth; he wanted to know.

“It was raining and I skidded. Crashed into a tree.” Her voice was quiet, matter-of-fact, as if she were a witness on the stand. “I swerved, acting on instinct-self-preservation-and turned the car. The passenger side slammed into the tree trunk. We were going about forty. Matt-” her voice hitched, she took a deep breath, then said, “Matt was crushed. He died there, before the paramedics came. Before anyone came.”

Connor took her hand. It was soft yet firm, feminine yet strong. “It was an accident.”

Julia couldn’t believe she was telling Connor Kincaid, of all people, about the night Matt died. Her chest tightened-is this what a heart attack feels like? The pain was real, hot, twisting and climbing, taking over.

“He was my best friend,” she said quietly, not able to look at Connor. “My only friend.”

And it was true. She’d distanced herself from her family; and by doing that, she had also separated herself from the friends she’d grown up with. If she could call any of the wealthy families her parents allowed her to associate with her friends. Matt was her only true friend, her brother, her mentor, her savior in so many ways. When he was gone, she had only her work. And Emily.