See No Evil

“Don’t be ridiculous. Come inside, I won’t bite.”

He’d unfolded the couch and it became a bed. He tossed her a blanket and said, “Sleep tight.” Then he went to his own room and shut the door.

She thought she wouldn’t be able to sleep, but she was wrong. She’d slept surprisingly well, dreams of Connor infiltrating her thoughts. Betrayed by her subconscious.

“He’s too sexy for his own good and you haven’t had a man in-” How long? Years? “-a long time.”

“Are you talking to me, Counselor?”

She jumped when Connor came out of the kitchen. His collar-length black hair was wet and slicked back, his face clean-shaven, and the smell of soap and a mild cologne wafted out to her. Had she spoken aloud? No. Maybe.

“Just thinking,” she mumbled.

“You think loudly. Coffee’s ready, then I’ll take you to your car.”

“Um, thanks,” she mumbled, but didn’t move.

“I don’t do breakfast in bed,” he said. “Unless I’m the one being served.” He winked and crossed his arms.

She glared at him. All niceties from the night before went right out the window. Fine, if that’s how he wanted it. She slid out from between the sheets and stood, hand on her bare hip. Her panties barely covered her, and she’d been told her legs were her best feature. She crossed the room to where she’d tossed her skirt the night before, Connor’s eyes heating her back and everything below her waist. She blushed, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing his perusal had gotten to her. She stepped into her skirt, pulled it over her rear, zipped up the side.

She whirled around and was about to give him a lecture on manners when she closed her mouth. The raw sexuality and desire on Connor’s face startled her. This predicament was certainly unplanned. She swallowed as his gaze moved up her body to her face.

Then he turned around and went back into the kitchen.

He was attracted to her, no doubt about it. But physical and emotional attraction were two completely different animals. They’d had a past, a brief past, but too much had happened since. He would never truly forgive what she’d done, and she couldn’t be sorry for it. She was sorry he’d lost his career, but not that a bad cop had been stopped and the death of two girls avenged. Connor’s career was collateral damage.

Ten minutes and a cup of coffee later, Connor took her to her car. “What are your plans today?” he asked, his first words since seeing her half-naked.

“First to my office to see if I can sweet-talk Frisco into getting me a copy of Victor’s autopsy report. I gave him a huge case when Stanton put me on leave; he owes me one.”

“Frisco?” Connor asked.

“He’s a DDA, like me.” Did Connor sound jealous? No. Her imagination. “Then to the courthouse. I’m going to pull all of Victor’s recent cases and Garrett Bowen’s court filings. It’ll take all day, but it needs to be done. Especially if I can make any other connections to Billy Thompson or Emily.” It sounded like a long shot.

“Dillon wants to see the files as well. Meet me at his house tonight.”

It sounded like an order and Julia cringed. “And you?”

“I’m going to talk to Emily about her friends, then head over to her school.”

“Maybe I should do that,” she said.

“You know the court system better than I do,” Connor countered. “It would take me weeks to pull those files. And Emily and I have a rapport. I promise I’ll go easy on her.”

Connor met Dillon at the hospital. “How did Emily do last night?” he asked.

“Very well. Aside from being underweight, she’s healthy. Dr. Browne wants to discharge her, and I stalled. I don’t know how long I can keep her here-Browne wants to move her to the criminal psychiatric wing downtown.”

“You can’t-”

Dillon interrupted Connor’s admonition. “Of course not. She’s here for at least thirty-six more hours. Hooper was here thirty minutes ago wanting to interview her, but I said she wasn’t mentally ready. I can’t put him off indefinitely.”

Connor looked through the window. Emily was sitting up in bed, looking out the lone, barred window. She looked so much like Julia they could be mother and daughter.

“Let’s get some answers about Wishlist,” Connor said.

They walked into her room and Emily gave them a half smile.

“Good morning, Emily,” Dillon said. “I brought an old friend with me.”

Emily’s pale face lit up when she saw Connor, then her eyes clouded. “Hi,” she said sheepishly.

“How’re you doing, kid?” He sat at the end of the bed. “Holding up okay?”

She sat up and touched his hand. Tears welled in her eyes and Connor hoped she wouldn’t cry. He didn’t handle female tears well at all. “Do you know…everything?”

He nodded, squeezed her hand. “Why didn’t you come to me? I would have done anything to help you. So would your aunt.”

Emily’s bottom lip trembled. “I know. I just…” She didn’t look at him or Dillon. “I just couldn’t.”

“She loves you, Em,” Connor said softly, not wanting to push the kid too hard.

“I just wanted to be strong with her. She’s so smart and beautiful and perfect. I felt, oh, I don’t know. Tainted.”

Dillon sat on the chair next to the bed. “I told you yesterday that nothing Victor did to you was your fault. You were attacked. No one blames you, except yourself. You need to stop thinking this was your fault.”

“I know, but-” She stopped, took a deep breath. “Anyway,” she changed the subject, “you’re here for something. What?”

Connor said, “We found an e-mail you wrote a couple months ago to a group called Wishlist. In it you described how you wanted to kill the person who hurt you the most. Your stepfather was killed in the same manner. Is that what you meant yesterday when you said you planned it?”

She nodded. “I never meant for it to happen. It was supposed to be just an exercise to get rid of the anger. And then…I saw.” She closed her eyes and lay back on the bed. “I saw it all. I touched his blood. I was so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You didn’t kill him,” Dillon said.

“No!”

“And you didn’t plan it.”

“No, but-”

“You didn’t really mean for it to happen. Someone asked how you would get back at the person who hurt you the most.”

She nodded. “Right, but isn’t it my fault anyway?”

“No, it’s not.” Dillon made her look at him. “Emily, we need to know everything about Wishlist.”

She frowned. “Like what?”

“How did you join the group?”

“Dr. Bowen recommended it. It’s an anonymous listserv where we can talk about things that happened to us and what makes us angry and how we feel about it. At first, it sort of helped.”

“But?”

“I don’t know. It started getting weird. I don’t know why I wrote that about Victor. I might have been wasted. I remember that day, though. Victor made me, you know, do that to him, and I felt sick and disgusted with him and me and my mother. But I couldn’t tell Dr. Bowen-he tries to be all understanding, but it’s an act. I’m a specimen to him, you know, like a bug under a microscope.” She looked at Dillon, gave him a half-smile. “I know you’re a shrink, but you don’t make me feel like that.”

“I’m glad.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute. “That day…I just lost it, totally. I was in the garage, thinking how to destroy his precious car. I picked up a wrench and came this close to smashing his headlights. Then everything cleared. He wanted me to react. He was pushing me to do