See No Evil (26 page)

She was still dressed, but Connor had lost his jeans before coming up the stairs. She started to unbutton her blouse but he pushed her hands aside.

“Allow me.”

He bent down. With his teeth he unfastened the top button of her shirt. His tongue circled the tender spot between her breasts. She swallowed, her mouth dry.

He moved to the next button. Bit it. Pulled it from its hole. Used his tongue to push the fabric apart, his mouth feathering kisses along the edge of her lacy white bra. She breathed deeply, let out a sigh.

His teeth unfastened the third button. She arched her back, wanting to pull the shirt over her head and dispense with the teasing. At the same time, she wished she had a dozen buttons so she could enjoy his exquisite ministrations. She reached for him, grabbing his hair in her hands, rubbing his shoulders. She wanted to touch him everywhere all at once.

He ran his tongue under her bra, just missing her hard nipples. She squirmed, wanting to feel his mouth on her breasts, his hands on her hips, his penis deep inside her again.

Pulling back, he bit open the fourth button.

Connor was enjoying the slow torture. Julia’s face glowed, her body responded, her hands never stopped moving. He kissed her stomach, circling slow, wet kisses down, down to her navel where he darted his tongue in and out to mimic lovemaking. She moaned, her hips moved off the bed, and he ran his hands under her shirt, undid the front clasp of her bra, and watched her breasts pop free.

The fifth button took a little too much time, his own breathing becoming labored as teasing Julia also gave him intense pleasure. He was too rough and the button popped off into his mouth. He moved up her body, kissed her, shoved the button in her mouth with his tongue. “Sorry,” he whispered.

She spat out the button and laughed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled Connor into a hot, wet embrace.

He pushed the blouse and bra off Julia’s shoulders, his hands finding her full breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples in time with the kiss she lavished on him. The playful moment soon transformed into a passionate need, the need to be naked, the need to be as close as possible.

Connor broke off the kiss and sat up, straddling her. He pulled off his T-shirt and Julia stared at his dark, hard, muscled chest. She reached up and touched the short, curly hair in its center, her thumbs rubbing his nipples with the same strokes he’d given her only moments before. His body tensed and he closed his eyes as her hands massaged his chest.

“Take off my skirt,” she said, the material bunched up around her middle. He turned the material, found the zipper, and slid it down. The sound was nearly as erotic as what was to come. He pushed the skirt over her hips, taking her panties with it, and then his mouth was on her toes. Kissing, sucking, teasing. Slowly, too slowly, he kissed her ankle. Calf. Under her knee. His tongue trailed along her thigh, higher, higher, small circling motions giving her a taste of what was to come.

His hands kneaded her muscles, not leaving one inch of skin untouched, unloved. Between his mouth and his hands, Julia thought she was going to die of the most painful pleasure known to woman.

He blew kisses into her moist center and she gasped, arching her back, physically begging him to taste her, to give her the pleasure she was on the verge of spilling.

But he barely skimmed his lips across her sensitive path, instead planting his mouth on her navel.

He moved constantly, touching, kissing, licking. She writhed beneath him, hands in his hair, his chest, his beautiful hard muscles. Being in bed with Connor was better than she’d dreamed, the reality superior to the anticipation.

Tonight they could forget the past, the lines they’d drawn in the sand five years ago. This night they could enjoy what they both had wanted for so long, what they’d waited for, what they needed.

For now, now, she had him, and she was going to show him how well they fit together.

Connor was ready to enter Julia for the second time that night, his body tight and hot, Julia moving beneath him. He kissed her, and she pushed him away.

For a split second he thought he’d done something wrong. But there was a half smile on her face, and she rolled over so she was on top.

In a sudden move, she slid onto his dick, fully sheathing him. He froze, fearful one move might set him off. She sat on him, her heavy breasts rising and falling with her own restrained passion.

She made love to him.

Her arms came down, one on either side of him. She controlled the pace—slow, steady, easy. Her lips were swollen from their earlier kisses, red and lush. He leaned up to taste them.

The light touch of lips on lips made Connor’s heart flip. He grabbed her hands, held them tight on either side of his head. Julia’s eyes stared into his, open, dark, full of lust and love, need and want. Their faces were mere inches apart; her eyes never left his. He swallowed, feeling a connection he’d never felt with another woman. With each easy, languid movement, Julia was drawing him in. Deeper, deeper, until he was falling into her eyes, lost, his orgasm building as his heart swelled. The quiet, unhurried lovemaking brought him to a level of sensuality he had never experienced.

It was the woman he was with, not the act of sex, that made this moment so incredible.

It was as if Julia saw the realization cross his face, because at the same time he knew no woman could fill his heart like Julia, she rolled over, pulled him on top of her, and whispered, “Make love to me.”

He did. In and out, touching her, kissing her, never breaking eye contact. Her breath came in gasps, their hands entwined, and they were coming together, a long, languid release that left them satiated and complete.

Connor kissed Julia lightly, the same way she’d kissed him at the moment he realized there was something more between them than he’d accepted before.

He spooned her into his arms, held her close, vowing he’d find a way to keep her always with him, where she so obviously belonged.

TWENTY-NINE

F
AYE LOOKED
even worse than Emily had the morning after Victor’s murder. Dark circles framed her pale blue eyes. Her hair was limp, her skin even paler than usual.

They observed her through one-way glass. Faye was in the hospital’s locked psychiatric ward.

During her medical exam, the doctors discovered that Faye had been cut on her right arm. The wound had been sewed up with regular household thread, and Faye insisted she’d done it herself.

Dillon shook his head and said to Julia, Connor, and Will, “While it’s possible she dressed her own wound—she’s lefthanded—I highly doubt it.”

“She looks like she’s going through withdrawal,” Julia commented.

“Looks like it, but her tox screen came out clean. The reason I don’t think she sewed herself up is that she had Amytal in her system, a prescription barbiturate given to patients when they go in for surgery or to reduce pain and lower blood pressure. How would she know about that? And where would she get it?”

“You mean a doctor prescribed it?”

“It can be found on the streets, but these were within normal limits and she has no signs of long-term drug abuse. We ran through the drugs Bowen prescribed for her—none of which she filled—and it wasn’t on the list. But someone knew what it was for, or someone with access and knowledge gave it to her.”

“Isn’t Garrett Bowen’s son a psychiatrist as well?” Connor asked.

“He’s in med school, third or fourth year. I was thinking about him,” Dillon agreed. “And he had some interesting things to say about his father when he went to view the body at the morgue. He was upset, but something was odd.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Will said. “Connor, want to come along for the ride?”

Connor hesitated, glanced at Julia. She nodded. “Sure,” he said.

“I’m staying to observe,” Dillon said. “I’m still worried about Faye’s mental health.”

“Yeah, the poor darling,” said Connor. He squeezed Julia’s hand. “Be careful.” He left with Will.

Dillon said to Julia, “The only person Faye wants to hurt is herself. You asked about withdrawal? Let me show you something.” He opened the medical chart. Inside were photographs of Faye Kessler’s back, arms, and legs. A multitude of scars crisscrossed.

Julia paled. “Who did that to her?”

“Mostly, she did it to herself. Except on her back. But she won’t talk about that.”

“She
cut
her own body.”

Dillon nodded. “It’s increasingly common among young people today. Even adults. A way to feel in control, or to feel something when they feel nothing. I think Faye is going through withdrawal because she can’t cut herself. Watch her.” Dillon cautioned Julia. “I’m right out here, and if I think either one of you is in any danger, I’ll be through the door in two seconds.”

Because Faye refused to talk with any doctor, Dillon suggested Julia go in and develop a rapport with the young killer. There were still too many unanswered questions. Julia entered the hospital room.

Faye wasn’t restrained, but the room was bare, nothing accessible that she could use to kill herself.

Julia swallowed a tickle of worry that she was going to do something wrong with Faye. She couldn’t think that way. After all, the girl had killed in cold blood. She’d been messed up long before she came here, so how much damage could Julia do just by talking to her?

It didn’t seem plausible that three teenagers could plan and execute such an elaborate set of murders. Dillon was right: someone had directed Faye and the boys. Maybe it was a brainwashing technique—Faye killed her partners and confessed in order to deflect attention from the person who’d put the whole thing in motion.

“Hi, Faye,” said Julia.

“I know you. Are you prosecuting me?”

“How do you know me?”

“I saw you at the school, picking Emily up sometimes.”

Julia shivered. This killer, who looked so small and frail in her hospital gown, had been watching her. She shouldn’t be surprised. Faye had already told them she’d spoken to Emily at school, and knew what had happened with Victor Montgomery. In her own way, Faye was trying to protect Julia’s niece.

“When we were doing research,” Faye continued, “we learned all about you.”

“Research about what?”

“Killing the judge. We needed to know your schedule, Emily’s schedule, the judge’s schedule.”

“So why did you kill him when Emily was in the house?”

“She
wasn’t
inside when we killed him. We heard her come in after. I hid under his desk while Skip locked the door. In case Emily came to his office on her own. But she didn’t. When we were sure she was upstairs, we left.”

Faye shrugged. Didn’t take her eyes off Julia.

“Why did you jeopardize Emily? The police thought she was involved.”

“I was sorry about that,” Faye said, sounding contrite. “Emily was always nice to me. I didn’t want her to get in trouble. But she’s in the clear now, right? Is that why you’re here? You want me to say she had nothing to do with it? Okay. Emily had nothing to do with it.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” Julia said. “The police seem to think someone else is involved. Not just you, Skip, and Robbie.”

“They’re wrong,” insisted Faye. “It was only the three of us. Now they’re dead. Maybe I should have killed myself instead of coming here.”

“You don’t want to die,” Julia said. “If you wanted to die, you wouldn’t have sewn up your arm.” She pointed to Faye’s bandaged right arm.

Faye looked at her arm, lost in thought, her blue eyes both blank and searching. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she said, incredulous. “Do you believe in love?”

Julia was only momentarily thrown by the odd question. “Yes, I do.”

“Have you ever loved anyone? Not like your family, who you’re supposed to love even when you hate them. But someone you met because of fate, who you let inside your body and your mind and you told him everything and he still loved you?”

“Have you?” Julia asked without answering Faye’s question.

“Are you a shrink, too?” Faye’s face reddened. “Shrinks always answer questions with questions. Trying to be smarter.”

“I’m not a shrink. I’m an attorney. And Emily’s aunt. I care about Emily. I care about you, too, Faye.”

Faye laughed a low, sick cackle that twisted Julia’s stomach into knots. “
You
care about
me
? Do you know what I did to Victor Montgomery? I took pruning shears and while Robbie and Skip held him to his chair, I cut off his dick.” She moved her hands as if they were holding shears and made a chopping motion. “Sliced it right off. They were new and sharp and they did the job. I slammed it down hard, but you know the penis is really just muscle and flesh and blood. Kind of rubbery. He was hard. Still, I just sliced right through it.”

Julia swallowed her revulsion. “Are you saying Judge Montgomery’s penis was erect?”

Faye laughed. “Exactly.”

“Did you have sex with Judge Montgomery?”

“No. I sucked him. Got him to the edge, then I sliced it off. Stuffed it down his throat, just like Emily wanted to do.

“Whatever. What’s done is done. You can leave now,” Faye said.

“Faye, we know someone helped you plan these murders. Tell me who and I can protect you.”

“Protect me from what? No one’s going to let me out of here. I’m okay with that. Really.”

“Faye, you need to be completely honest with the police. Tell them who asked you to kill Victor Montgomery and Garrett Bowen and Paul Judson.”

“A little bird told me,” Faye said, and started laughing.

After leaving Faye, Julia asked Dillon, “Do you think it’s all an act?”

“Faye’s protecting someone, no doubt about it,” he said. “A man. Someone she’s having sex with.”

“She’s only seventeen.”

Dillon raised an eyebrow. “Not that I condone underage sex, but it’s not uncommon.”

“You know what I mean. It’s not just her having sex, but killing without any remorse. Even killing her
friends.
”

“Like I said last night, she has no empathy for her victims. But there is one very unusual thing.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s protecting someone, which means she
is
capable of emotion. You have to care about someone to go to prison for them. I certainly don’t think Faye cares enough about herself or even whether she lives or dies.”

Dressed as a nurse, and sporting a stolen security pass, Cami found it surprisingly easy to walk onto the secured floor of the hospital. She’d learned a long time ago that when you acted like you belonged somewhere, people accepted that you belonged. A form of psychology.

She ducked into a room when she saw Julia Chandler walk from Faye’s wing with a tall, handsome man. Cami recognized him. He’d been at Dr. Bowen’s fund-raiser.

Who had spilled her identity? It had to have been Jason’s parents. They were the only ones who knew who she really was, but it hadn’t occurred to Cami that anyone would have a reason to talk to them.

Again, the two-timing asshole was wrong. He said they’d never make the connection with Jason Ridge. Well, hotshot, they had. And now they knew Michelle O’Dell also went by the name of Cami.

Cami watched them walk past. As soon as they were out of sight, she strode down the hall. A doctor gave her a double look, but she just nodded curtly and kept right on going, chart in hand. Cami had a purpose. Don’t hesitate, always look like you know what you’re doing, no one will get in your way.

A guard stood at Faye’s door. He checked her ID, but fortunately didn’t look too carefully. It looked enough like her on the surface, though the woman in the photo was much older. Cami had stolen it from the nurses’ locker room.

After signing in with the guard, Cami entered the room. Faye was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Hello, Faye.”

Faye turned her head, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“He wanted me to thank you for sacrificing yourself. It was such a noble thing to do, Faye.”

“I don’t want him to go to prison.”

That confirmed it. Faye had been fucking him, and was in love with him, and had never once said one word to Cami. Never even hinted.

He’d never made love to Cami. Sure, they’d done things, but he was always in control. He never gave it up. But the photographs Robbie had taken proved he and Faye were more than intimate. And the knife…

Walking over to the bed, Cami pretended to check Faye’s vitals, held her wrist as if taking her pulse. She then slipped a small, sharp knife between the sheets.

“You know what to do.”

The pain and uncertainty on Faye’s face rivaled her need to cut herself.

Cami tried to smile. “Here, I took over for the nurse on duty. You’re supposed to get these meds. Make it look good for the cop.”

Faye nodded, took the pills, and swallowed.

They were anticoagulants. Cami knew Faye well: she’d cut herself.

The pills assured that Faye wouldn’t survive.

Connor stared at the “apartment” where Garrett Bowen’s son lived near the UCSD campus.

“Apartment” didn’t do Eric Bowen’s three-story town house justice. Connor could fit two of his houses inside with room to spare, and the rear doors opened to a golf course, making the entire living area look even bigger.

“What can I do for you?” Eric Bowen asked. He looked like a younger version of Garrett Bowen.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” Will said as they walked in. Connor noted a huge painting taking up most of the largest wall of the living room. It was unrecognizable for the most part, black and white with some odd splashes of color. He’d seen a similar painting in Garrett Bowen’s house.

The town house looked lived in, though it was clean and tidy. Eric was comfortably dressed in slacks and a polo shirt. He escorted them to the dining room in the rear of the main floor, off the kitchen. “Coffee? Water? Soda?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Will sat down.

“You said this was about my father’s death. I heard on the news that a young woman confessed to killing him and making it look like suicide. Is that true?”

“We’re inclined to believe the witness,” Will said. “But there are some inconsistencies in her statement that we were hoping you could help with. The person who confessed was a patient of your father’s. We believe she was part of the Wishlist group that you indicated had been originally set up for people who self-mutilated.”

“That was ages ago. It evolved into something different.”

“What do you know about the group?”

“My dad had a couple of patients who wouldn’t open up. He wanted to give them a safe and open forum to discuss their situation.”

“And you thought it was a good idea?” Connor asked, thinking about Dillon’s derisive comments about the group.

“At first. But then he broadened it and included practically everyone. I couldn’t imagine it succeeding. I asked him about it a couple times, but he told me to stay out of it. My father loved attention. He loved when people came and told him their deep, dark secrets. He loved to play God, cure all the ills in the world. Maybe his goals were noble at the beginning, but he lost it somewhere down the line.”

“You two didn’t get along, I take it.”

Eric stared out the window, his mouth a tight line. “I used to be close to my dad. But after Mom died he worked nonstop. I didn’t see much of him. Aunt Monica moved in, but she was sick, too. And then two years later,
she
died.”

Will flipped through his notes. “Monica was your father’s sister, correct?”

“Right. She’d gone through a divorce or something—I never really knew what happened—but shortly after my mom died she needed a place to live with Tristan.”

“Tristan?”

“My cousin.” Eric swept his hand around the room. “He painted most of these.” A cloud crossed his face.

“Where is Tristan?”

“He travels a lot, but he’s been in town the last month or so because of Saturday’s fund-raiser. The studio which has been exhibiting his work benefited from the event.”

“Do you know where we can find him?” asked Will.

Eric got up, sorted through a Rolodex, then copied an address and phone numbers onto a Post-it note. Will took it with a “Thanks.”