Allison Brennan - See No Evil

Maybe he should have let her kill Bowen back then and go to prison. Garrett Bowen would be dead either way.

But his game was perfect. It was the players who were flawed. Not him, not his idea.

“You worry too much,” she was saying. “Payback is sweet. Now you can sit back and have everything you wanted.”

She didn’t know what he wanted. Sometimes he didn’t even know.

“Can you be sure no one saw you at the party?”

She didn’t say anything for a long minute. “Julia Chandler was there.”

“Dammit! Julia Chandler! What were you thinking? You should never have gone-”

“She doesn’t know who I am. I chatted with her very briefly, barely a word. Don’t ruin this night. This was the best night of my life. Garrett Bowen is dead. An eye for an eye. I watched him die and enjoyed every minute of it. I had to be there. You don’t understand. Sometimes I think you’re just like him-”

“No. Stop.” He squeezed his temples. “Okay, I’ll take care of it.”

“There’s no need. Julia Chandler doesn’t know…”

“But you can’t know that. She’s connected and smart. She’s looking into Wishlist. If she makes the connection to Jason Ridge, then she might-”

“Don’t say his name.” Her voice was almost a growl.

“I’m sorry.” She had become a liability, he realized.

Maybe he’d always known it would have to end up like this.

He might have to dispatch his team one more time, to tie up loose ends.

But first, Julia Chandler.

He called Cami. “I need another job done. Call Robbie. If he balks, kill him.”

Connor couldn’t get her out of his head. Worse, in his thoughts, Julia was naked, laying on his bed doing things to him that left him needing a cold shower when he woke that morning at the crack of dawn.

When he got out of the shower, his cell phone was ringing. Seven in the morning? He glanced at caller ID and saw a number he didn’t recognize.

“Kincaid.”

“Hey, Kincaid. Billy Thompson.”

“Billy, what’s up?”

“I, um, am heading to the gym to play a little ball. I thought you might want to meet me. I haven’t seen you there much lately.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy with this case.”

“I have some information.”

Connor glanced at the clock. He had time. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

Julia tried Michelle O’Dell again when she woke up early Sunday morning. Again, the answering machine picked up. This time, Julia left a message.

“Michelle, my name is Julia Chandler and I’m a deputy district attorney investigating a steroid-related death. I’d like to talk to you about Jason Ridge. Even if you think you have nothing to add to your statement, please call me.” Julia thanked her and left her cell phone number.

She hung up, frustrated. She showered, then went downstairs to review her notes. She drew out a timeline.

Jason Ridge is given a Deferred Entry of Judgment in a rape case.

Was Michelle O’Dell the victim? If it was Michelle, her mother probably wouldn’t have been so consolatory toward Jason.

Paul Judson is murdered.

Billy Thompson, a short-term member of Wishlist, had been investigated for the murder, cleared. He had posted an incriminating e-mail to the Wishlist loop. But he was innocent.

Jason Ridge dies.

Julia didn’t know much about steroid use, but she had to imagine it was dangerous. But could someone overdose on steroids like other hard drugs? She didn’t know and made a note to ask Dillon. The autopsy report said heart attack due to excessive steroid use. But what did that mean? Jason Ridge’s psychiatrist was Garrett Bowen.

Bowen’s name popped up everywhere. Everything connected to him.

Did Jason’s death have anything to do with Bowen? Or Wishlist? What if Jason was part of the group?

What if Jason’s rape victim was part of the group?

Stephanie Ridge.

After last night, Julia knew James Ridge wouldn’t say a derogatory word about his dead son. In his eyes, the kid had been perfect. But maybe Stephanie Ridge could contribute some realistic insight into her son’s death. And if it would help Emily, Julia would use every emotion at her disposal-guilt, remorse, anger if she had to-to find out the truth.

And where did Victor Montgomery fit in? The only connection, again, was through Bowen and the Wishlist-through Emily.

Julia went through the files, wondering if there was another connection. Something she’d missed. After all, she had over a thousand pages all over her kitchen table, most of them copies.

The judge who gave Jason Ridge the DEJ was Vernon Small.

Judge Small was dead. Julia hadn’t attended his funeral, nor had she particularly liked him. He was too easy on the bad guys, too hard on the good guys.

And now he was dead.

Coincidence? She didn’t remember how he’d died. He was old, that she knew. She’d assumed it was natural causes.

What if it wasn’t?

Connor hightailed it to the downtown gym. Though early on a Sunday morning, there was already a sprinkling of kids lifting weights or playing B-ball on the blacktop.

“Hey, Kincaid, we need another man. Two on two?”

Looking around for Billy, he didn’t see him. He glanced at his watch, realized he was ten minutes early.

“For a few minutes.” Connor tossed his duffel bag under the bench.

Jesus was a tall, skinny, fast-on-his-feet Cuban American kid who played hard. Mitch and Travis were long and lean six-foot-five-inch brothers who’d been in a gang until Connor busted them for possession with intent to sell and a concealed weapons charge only months before he quit the force. They’d been twelve and thirteen. They’d managed to turn their life around for the most part, but had dropped out of high school. Both worked full-time in blue-collar jobs with little future. But they were clean and spent all their free time at the youth center helping Connor keep the younger kids out of gangs.

Every so often they saved one. Jesus was one such kid. He’d landed a scholarship to Berkeley.

They played hard for thirty minutes before Connor realized Billy hadn’t showed. He called time and slapped the kids on the back. “You doing okay?” he asked.

“We’re hanging,” Jesus said.

“Keep it clean, bro.” Connor wiped down and looked around for Billy.

Ten minutes later, when Connor was ready to just leave, Billy entered the basketball courts.

“Hey, you’re late.”

“I don’t want to get fucked.”

“I wouldn’t fuck you, buddy.”

“I remembered what you said. You know, the pay it forward crap.”

Connor had tried to instill in the kids he met through the youth center that they always needed to do the right thing, even when they didn’t get a direct benefit from it. Most kids, particularly those in the gang culture, couldn’t see beyond their own wants and needs.

“And?”

“Well, I remembered something that might be important.”

“I’m all ears.”

Billy, to his credit, didn’t hesitate. “Some fine young woman came up to me a while back.”

“Does this gorgeous babe have a name?”

“She didn’t tell me. She was a white chick, blond, hot. I thought she might have a thing for black guys, so I listened.” Billy grinned.

“Yeah, you’re all hung,” Connor joked. “Nearly as well as Cubans.”

“Shit, you wish.” Billy laughed. “So Blondie comes up to me, all sexy and hot, and says she wants to talk to me about justice.”

Connor’s instincts hummed. The e-mail subject line in Emily’s post on Wishlist had justice in it.

“When was this?” he asked Billy.