See No Evil

by Allison Brennan

  Julia loved her house and its ocean view soothed her soul. The road in front of her house had the opposite effect. It was the road Matt died on. She’d almost sold her house after his death, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. This house was more than just a place to sleep, it was a symbol of her independence from her family and the Chandler name. It was her refuge. Matt had told her he saw her happiness etched in the fine woodwork she had herself lovingly restored.

  So she kept the house and drove down the winding stretch like an old woman, slow and cautious. There were five other driveways off the road before it merged with a street leading to Highway 1.

  Passing Mrs. Hutchinson’s driveway, in her rearview mirror Julia saw a large black pickup truck pull out behind her. For a split second she thought it was Connor, then remembered his truck was dark blue, not black.

  Mrs. Hutchinson’s son must have gotten a new vehicle. He came by to check on her several times a week. Julia was about to wave in the rearview mirror, but the truck was now tailgating. She frowned, pressed the gas pedal down a hair more. Her heart suddenly started beating faster as she neared the spot where she’d gone off the cliff and slammed into the tree six years ago, killing Matt.

  The truck was inches from her bumper. Julia didn’t recognize the driver and couldn’t make out details other than he had dark hair.

  Hands clutching the wheel, Julia sped up. The truck bumped her hard. She swerved, compensated, and then he hit her again, even harder. Her head hit the steering wheel, her seat belt locked into place.

  She could only think about survival as her tormenter sped from behind and pulled his truck parallel to her Volvo.

  She braked as fast as she dared, hoping to let him pass, but he turned his truck into her car, though not enough to force her into the gully on the right. Had she not been braking, the impact could have forced her out of control and the drop on the left was precarious.

  She’d gone off that rocky precipice before.

  She was still half a mile from the main road, where traffic was steady. On this cliffside stretch, cars were rare. Her quiet, small neighborhood used to make Julia feel safe.

  Her heart pounded as the truck sped up, then turned and stopped. She swerved right to avoid hitting him and her right tire dropped hard into the gully, fishtailing her car. The sudden impact caused her air bags to explode.

  She was a sitting duck here in the car. She coughed, could barely breathe. The chemicals from the airbag burned her throat and lungs.

  She reached into her purse and fumbled for her gun, mentally thanking Connor for listing all the places she was vulnerable outside her house. This morning she’d packed her gun in her purse as a precaution. She’d never thought she’d need it.

  She released the seat belt and opened the car door. The fresh air began to clear her lungs. She squatted behind the door. Her assailant was out of his car, about to walk around the front and toward her. What was in his hand? A gun? A knife?

  Before she could get a better look at the guy, he ran back to the truck, jumped in, and floored it. Down the road.

  Julia watched the black truck sideswipe a dark blue truck heading up the hill. Connor! He swerved and began to turn to go after the black truck.

  A part of her wanted him to come comfort her. Julia was shaking, her gun—the gun she’d only fired on the range once a month—tight in her grip. She wanted Connor to hold her, tell her she was safe.

  But the rational part wanted him to go after the jerk who ran her off the road.

  She stood and waved at Connor to go after the truck. He paused, then completed the three-point turn and followed her attacker.

  Her act of bravery was over. She walked away from the car, wiping her face to rid her skin of the stinging powder from the air bag. She found a spot ten feet behind the car where she could sit on a large, relatively flat rock in the gully. She sat, leaned against the crumbling, uncomfortable cliff, and closed her eyes.

  Connor didn’t feel comfortable leaving Julia alone and unprotected, but he had to trust she was okay when she waved for him to give chase. Unfortunately, he lost sight of the black truck once he hit Highway 1. Connor looked both ways and couldn’t tell which way he’d gone.

  Shit.

  He dialed 911 and called in the description of the truck, sans license. Lot of good that did—black Ford 150s were a dime a dozen, and unless he got pulled over for driving without plates Connor didn’t hold out much hope they’d get him today. Maybe the evidence at the accident scene would turn up something valuable.

  As he talked to dispatch, he turned around, tires squealing, and hightailed it back to where he’d left Julia.

  If anyone touched her, he would… what was he thinking? She wasn’t his to protect. Still, he couldn’t forget his gut feeling when he feared she’d been hurt.

  He relayed their location and hung up after the dispatcher said a patrol was less than five minutes away.

  Julia was leaning against the cliff behind her car, gun in hand. When she saw Connor’s truck pull up, she visibly relaxed.

  He rushed to her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, but tears streamed down her face. “You didn’t get him?”

  “No. There were no plates on his car either.”

  “I noticed.”

  “I called nine-one-one,” Connor said. “With any luck, someone will spot him. What happened?”

  “I passed Mrs. Hutchinson’s driveway and he drove out behind me. I thought he was her son, but he followed closely, then rammed my car twice. He forced me off the road, got out—”

  Julia looked up at Connor, her green eyes bright with tears, a bruise already forming on her forehead. “I grabbed my gun. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  He gathered her into his arms. She held on to his neck tightly, her body shaking with fear, relief, and sobs. They sat in the gully. She buried her face in his neck, her breath hot in his ear, her tears wet on his face.

  Connor remembered their kiss all those years ago. He’d kissed a lot of women, but he’d never forgotten kissing Julia Chandler. He couldn’t forget her lips, her taste, her scent. Now, Connor wrapped his hands at the base of her head, her hair soft and silky entwined in his rough fingers. Pulling her head away from the nook in his neck, he gazed at her beautiful face.

  Connor pulled her lips to his and kissed her hard, hating himself for wanting her, hating himself for being unable to hate her. He should, but she was too damn gorgeous. She made his head spin.

  Dear Lord, she tasted like heaven.

  Julia gasped when Connor kissed her, then her lips parted and she responded with an unexpected need for him. The light kiss the other day had whetted her appetite for more, had made years of guilt and anger wash away. She’d never been able to forget how good it felt to be held by Connor Kincaid, but even that exquisite memory was faulty. Being in his arms now, having his piercing eyes focus solely on her, was even better than she’d remembered.

  “Oh God, Julia,” he murmured as his hot kisses moved from her swollen lips to her neck. She quivered beneath his hands. With one hand she grabbed his collar-length hair, her other clasped in his. He kissed her neck and she arched back, wanting him to continue down, to give the same attention to her body as he had to her lips.

  When his hand squeezed her breast through the thin material of her filmy sundress she gasped, and then his lips found hers again and she felt the hardness in his lap.

  There were sirens in the back of her mind. She sat up, looked over the edge of the gully just as Connor took her hand and pulled her up. A police car came into view and she brushed the dirt and gravel from her dress.

  Connor looked her in the eye. “We’re not finished.”

  She just nodded and swallowed.

  He handed her her gun, which she’d put down when Connor kissed her, then helped her from the gully. The police car stopped and an officer stepped out. San Diego primarily had one-man patrols, and Julia heard another siren in the distance.

  “Shi
t.” Connor raked a hand through his hair.

  “What?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer. The officer approached. “Kincaid.”

  “Davies.”

  Julia felt the tension as the two men stared at each other. She took a step forward, extended her hand to Officer Davies. “Deputy District Attorney Julia Chandler. A man driving a black truck ran me off the road. I think he was waiting for me to leave because he came out of Mrs. Hutchinson’s driveway—she’s the first house after mine at the top.”

  “I know who you are,” Davies said. His face was blank and his dark sunglasses hid his eyes. His voice dripped contempt.

  She shifted, uncomfortable. She’d lost some friends in the police department when she prosecuted Crutcher. Why couldn’t they see that even though he was a cop he was no better than any other criminal she prosecuted?

  But Davies’s bitterness wasn’t actually aimed at her. He stared at Connor, hand on the butt of his gun. Completely unnecessary, and it irritated Julia.

  “Please drop the gun, Ms. Chandler,” Davies said.

  She turned the gun around and handed it to Davies butt-first. He took it, checked the ammunition. “I have a permit to carry, Officer. When the man ran me off the road, he stopped and got out. I didn’t know what he had planned, so I took the gun from my purse.”

  “Do you have a description of him?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t get a very good look. Dark hair. Six foot one or two. Not fat or skinny. Average.”

  “Would you be able to pick him out in a lineup?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Has anyone threatened you lately?”

  “I often get threatened in court, but I generally don’t take it seriously. Usually it’s by someone on their way to prison,” she added drily.

  “What’s your interest, Kincaid?”

  “None of your business, Davies.”

  A half-smile turned up Davies’s lips. “Chandler have you on retainer?”

  Though the words were innocuous, the tone was combative. Julia had been around enough testosterone in the District Attorney’s Office to sense these two men disliked each other. Davies was baiting Connor.

  Connor said nothing. The tension grew.

  Another car pulled up behind Davies. Connor looked over as the cop got out. “This just gets better and better,” he said.

  “You got a problem?” Davies barked.

  “No problem,” Connor said. “Ms. Chandler gave you her statement. Write up the report so we can get out of each other’s face.”

  The second cop approached. Julia recognized him, and now she grew as tense as Connor. Rich Rayo had testified for the defense in her case against Wayne Crutcher and his cohorts. And she realized that’s what this was all about—her prosecution of a cop for bribery and accessory to murder, and Connor testifying for her.

  Rayo walked up and stood inches from Connor. “Turn around.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll haul you in so fast your head will be spinning.”

  Julia stepped between them and put her hand on Rayo’s chest. “You can’t do that.”

  “Watch me, little lady.”

  “Excuse me. I’m an officer of the court and I will not have you inappropriately using your authority.”

  “Stay out of it, Julia,” Connor said, his voice low and tinged with anger.

  “Listen to your boyfriend,” Rayo said. “You fucked with us once, Miz Chandler. We don’t forget.”

  Julia didn’t listen to Connor’s warning. Her indignation peaked. “Officer Rayo, I did not fuck with you or any other good cop. I don’t have to wave my credentials at you. I prosecuted a cop who watched two little girls die. Watched their pimps beat them to death. They were thirteen!”

  Stepping forward, Connor put a hand on her arm. She shook it off. She was angry and upset. Everything that had happened this week—from Victor’s murder to learning he’d raped Emily to the DEJ for Jason Ridge—made Julia’s fight for the underdog that much more important.

  She punched her finger in Rayo’s chest. “Get over it. You have nothing to be proud about, standing up for men who victimized children.”

  Rayo growled. “Touch me again and I’ll arrest you for assault.”

  She was about to jab him again in the chest just for spite when Connor grabbed her wrist and pulled her back.

  “Davies has the information about the truck that ran Ms. Chandler off the road. File the damn report. We’re going.”

  “But—” Julia tried to dig in her feet. She was sick and tired of the bullshit coming from these cops about a righteous conviction. Connor firmly led her to his truck.

  “Get in.”

  “But—”

  “Would you just do what I say this time without argument?”

  Weariness clouded Connor’s face and without another word Julia climbed into the truck. The adrenaline from this morning’s attack, the kiss, the confrontation with the police, began to wear off. She slumped against the seat.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  Swearing under his breath, Connor started his truck. Passing the officers talking by the side of the road, he drove to Julia’s house. So angry—with himself, with Julia, with Davies and Rayo—Connor didn’t trust himself to speak.

  At her house, he jumped from the truck and walked to the edge of the cliff, staring at the ocean. He took a deep breath, then another. Hands on his knees, head down, he finally felt his heart slow.

  He rarely got into confrontations anymore. Half the force had been with him, quietly or publicly. The others had been quietly neutral or, like the cops today, blatantly antagonistic. Because his precinct had become so divisive, he had to quit. His boss suggested moving to another city, maybe up in northern California, but Connor couldn’t leave his family. They were all he had left after the job. His parents, his brothers and sisters. He didn’t want to grow into a bitter cop with nothing but a chip on his shoulder.

  But that basically was what had happened over the last five years. He’d let his anger fester.

  Turning against his own people had been next to impossible. He wouldn’t have done it without Julia’s ultimatum. And while he hated her for it, he realized that it was the only way those dead girls could have justice.

  Only now did he realize that Julia had actually done him a favor by calling him as a hostile witness.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He hadn’t heard her approach.

  “I’m fine,” he said, his voice clipped.

  “I didn’t realize how hard it had been for you after the trial.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.”

  He turned, grabbing her by the arms. “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.”

  “I wasn’t fighting your battle. I was fighting my own. We’re on the same side.”

  “Are we?”

  She looked stricken. “I thought so, but maybe I was wrong.”

  Connor dropped her arms and ran both hands through his hair. “Damn. Just forget it.”

  “I will. If you can.”

  Could he? She was offering him an olive branch, why did he hesitate to take it?

  “I’ll try.”

  She nodded, touched his face before quickly dropping her hand. “It’s a start.”

  “We have more important things to worry about. The fact that someone tried to kill you is at the top of the list.”

  “We don’t know that he tried to kill—”

  He cut her off. “A stranger runs you off the road—a private road—and stops the car. I don’t think he wanted to exchange insurance information. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

  “But we haven’t learned anything that helps us with Emily.” She glanced at her watch. “We need to get to the hospital.”

  “You haven’t heard the news.”

  “What news?”

  “Bowen’s dead. Apparent suicide.”

  “Apparent?” she repeate
d.

  “Dillon’s suspicious, and Will is hopefully going to be more forthcoming about their investigation. We need to talk about sharing what we have.”

  “No.” She crossed her arms. “You can’t give anything to the prosecution. They’ll use it against Emily.”

  “Do you believe Emily is innocent?”

  She looked like he’d slapped her. “How can you even ask that?”

  “Well,” he said, “I think she’s innocent, and I also think the best way of proving it is by bringing the cops on board with what we know. Full disclosure.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Yes, you can. Will’s one of the best. He’s not going to railroad Emily.”

  Connor pulled Julia into his arms and held her. Her body shook with silent sobs. “This is more about the past than it is about the present, isn’t it?” he quietly asked.

  She nodded against his chest, hands clenching his shirt.

  “I will not let Emily go to prison or juvenile hall or a mental hospital,” Connor said. “We will protect her together. I believe she’s innocent, and right now I think Will Hooper will listen. Trust me on this.”

  “I trust you.” Her voice was a mere whisper, but the words were powerful.

  TWENTY-TWO

  AFTER JULIA CHANGED and cleaned up from the accident, Connor drove her to the hospital. It was already nearly noon.

  In the observation room outside Emily’s room, Dillon looked Julia over. “Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?” Dillon touched the bruise on her forehead.

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  Fine physically, she thought, but worried to death about what they were asking Emily to do. She played with the rings on her fingers until Connor squeezed her hand. “Remember what I told you,” he said.

  Dillon said, “I just talked to Emily. She said she wants to talk to the police and tell them everything.”

  Julia released a pent-up breath. “I don’t know what’s the right thing to do anymore.”

  “Emily is going to be fine,” Connor said. “You need to think about yourself. Someone just tried to kill you.”