See No Evil

thought.

What Faye knew and what she felt were two completely different things. Sometimes her feelings bubbled up and she couldn’t control her actions. It was both invigorating and terrifying. But most of the time Faye felt nothing. Except when she was angry. She knew this, understood it, but couldn’t control it.

She spotted Mike Olson across the lunchroom. That fluttery feeling came back, starting in her chest and tingling out, down her spine, making her flush. The same feeling she’d had when Trent Payne had invited her to the movies last year. She thought he liked her because he’d told her she was “really sharp” and could get into whatever college she wanted. He’d seemed so impressed with her that she’d mistaken the attention for something more. When he’d kissed her, the same tingles were there, hot and exciting and forbidden, but then he started hurting her and he wouldn’t stop. He tore her new blouse, the one she’d bought just for their date, and tried to pull off her jeans. He was going to rape her, she knew it, while murmuring nice words in her ear, trying to get her to go along with it.

She’d seen then, in the Cadillac truck his parents bought him for his sixteenth birthday, that he had never liked her. He’d thought she’d be easy, an unattractive girl who never had dates, who no one looked at, who got straight A’s in school but no one noticed, not even the teachers. A little attention from a cute football player and she’d be willing to spread her legs and let him fuck her.

She had more self-respect than that.

Not only did she stop him from humiliating her, she’d broken his nose, and a week later his precious truck got broken, too.

Payback.

Mike Olson glanced over at her. Their eyes met. She couldn’t even swallow.

He turned away. Maybe he wasn’t really looking at her. Maybe he didn’t even know her name.

“Faye,” Skip said.

She jumped, her thoughts so focused on Mike Olson that she didn’t see Skip approach. He sat next to her at the lunch table. The tables sat eight, but she had this one all to herself. Faye always ate alone.

“We’re meeting this afternoon,” he said.

“Okay.” She glanced at Skip, Mike’s friend. Had he seen her staring at him? Her pulse quickened. She hoped not.

Skip leaned in. “Deep down Mike’s a jerk like Trent.”

Faye looked at her lunch, her appetite gone. How could Skip even bring up Trent? It was something she’d told them in anonymity. Even though, intellectually, she knew her secrets were no longer her own, no one had said it out loud.

“Hey, I’m sorry, kid.”

Kid. She wasn’t a kid.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry.” He touched her arm, made her look at him. She blinked back tears, tried to smile. “Men are bastards. Even me. But I don’t want to hurt you. Life sucks and you don’t need crap from your friends. You know I’m your friend, right?”

She nodded, unable to talk. She’d never noticed what beautiful eyes Skip had. Grayish blue, with little flecks of darker gray. Unusual. And long lashes. A small mole on his cheek. No wonder he was so popular.

And now they had a secret together. A huge secret. A secret that bonded them forever.

She smiled a little. “This afternoon. I’ll be there.”

NINE

Connor pushed the guilt aside about his plan. Right now, he had to remember that Emily was his number one concern. And if Connor had to use his connections, even if one of them was his brother Patrick, in order to prove her innocence, he would.

Patrick’s e-crimes division was in the far corner of the top floor. It took Connor fifteen minutes to get up there. Unless they were new to the force, those who still didn’t hold a grudge against him for testifying against a fellow officer stopped to ask Connor how he was doing. He felt distinctly uncomfortable. After all, he’d left the force amid a huge scandal. Not his scandal, but he’d uncovered it. It just went higher than he’d thought and he’d been set up to blow.

Just remembering the last six months of his career as a cop made his blood boil with anger and regret. He had been right, but that meant shit when someone in power wanted to destroy you. It was only marginally satisfying that justice had been served for those poor dead girls. Because in the end, he’d lost his job, and the department had been in turmoil for years after. And as much as he was loath to admit it, his ex-brother-in-law Andrew Stanton had done more than his fair share to mend fences in the three years he’d been district attorney.

If Julia Chandler had her way, he would have sat in a prison cell for contempt a helluva lot longer than the three hours she’d managed to keep him there.

Finally, he walked into Patrick’s upstairs work area, a large open room he shared with four other cops, two males and two females. They all looked fresh out of the academy, though their quiet confidence told him looks were deceiving as they worked on eight different computers seemingly simultaneously. Where in the world had Patrick got his technical skill? No one else in the vast Kincaid family, except maybe their baby sister Lucy, could do much more than turn on a computer and check e-mail.

What a difference a few years make.

Patrick looked over, obviously surprised to see Connor. It wasn’t every day that he came by the station. In fact, the last time was when he was working a missing person’s case and needed to chat with Dean Robertson, nearly a year ago.

Connor nodded a greeting and sauntered over. Patrick was tall and skinny, almost gangly in appearance, as if he’d just gone through a growth spurt and his muscles hadn’t caught up. Actually, Patrick was a marathon runner and ten years older than he looked.

Connor extended his hand. Patrick clasped it and slapped Connor on the back. “Hey, bro. Good to see you always. Let’s go to my office.” Patrick directed his team. “See if you can get the programmer on the phone. Call me if he’ll talk. Threaten a warrant. If that doesn’t work, I’ll get the damn thing.”

He led Connor into his cramped office. As division chief of the understaffed e-crimes department, Patrick’s office would have been large if it weren’t crammed with computer equipment in every available crevice. Patrick closed the door and leaned against his desk. “What makes me think your showing up here has to do with my current case?”

“You’re a good cop.”

“This case is politically hot. You don’t want to get involved.”

“Too late.”

When Patrick didn’t say anything, Connor leaned against the metal filing cabinet and said, “DDA Julia Chandler retained me.”

“Aw, shit, shit, shit.” Patrick slid a hand through his short-cropped hair and stared briefly at the ceiling, then caught Connor’s eye. “Didn’t you track down Emily Montgomery when she ran away?”

“Yes.”

“This case is a mess.”

“You’ve only had it for twelve hours.”

“Dead judge, wealthy family, troubled teen. What do you know?”

“Not enough. I need information, Patrick.”

“Connor, don’t do this to me.”

“What I don’t know I’ll find out. You can make it easy for me or hard.”

“Just tell me what your interest is.”

Damn, why did Will and Patrick want to know why? Because of his history with Julia Chandler? “I don’t think