Allison Brennan - See No Evil

“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.

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.

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.”