See No Evil

Julia gathered up her copies and left when she realized it was getting late. Dillon and Connor would be picking her up shortly and she still needed to shower and change.

Connor. He’d kissed her yesterday. Could she even call it a kiss? No, it was more like sympathy because she was so upset about Emily.

It wasn’t a kiss.

She could still feel his body hot against hers. His overpowering presence. The way his hard muscles and dark, probing eyes left her weak-kneed and wanting much, much more than a simple kiss.

Stop thinking about him.

Right. That was proving impossible the more time they spent together.

EIGHTEEN

Julia was too damn sexy in that dress.

She sat in the passenger seat of Dillon’s Lexus on their way to Bowen’s house in the prestigious Rancho Santa Fe area. Her hair done in a sort of fancy twisty thing with some loose curls hanging down and some pinned on top. Her makeup was impeccable, highlighting her aristocratic features and lush, red lips. But it was the dress that did Connor in, a green number that hinted at all her curves without showing a damn thing.

Connor didn’t really like the fact that Dillon was playing Julia’s escort. Their plan was solid: Connor would check in with them, then disappear and do his own thing-namely search Bowen’s office for any material regarding Wishlist. Dillon and Julia would tag Bowen, identify Jason Ridge’s parents, and work that angle in a diplomatic manner.

But Connor wouldn’t mind having the beautiful counselor on his arm instead of his brother’s. They’re not out on a date, he reminded himself, though would he care if they were?

Yes.

He hadn’t meant to kiss Julia yesterday. But today it was all he could think about.

“What do you think, Connor?”

“Excuse me?”

“Daydreaming, obviously,” Julia said. “I said I couldn’t reach Michelle O’Dell today. I talked to her mother, though, and she was very nice. Michelle attends Stanford. I tried her a couple times, her answering machine was on. I’ll try her again tomorrow morning.”

“Call her early, if she’s a typical college student she’ll have stayed up all night and be sleeping late on Sunday,” Dillon suggested.

“Good idea, I’ll do that.”

“Yeah,” Connor said, not exactly sure what he’d missed in the conversation. “What’s this fund-raiser for, exactly?”

“It’s a charity event for the San Diego Arts Foundation,” Julia explained. “The Chandler Foundation is a major sponsor every year. I don’t have a lot of the details because I don’t follow Foundation business, but it’s a worthwhile cause. The money raised goes to bringing big exhibits to town, as well as scholarships for underprivileged youth who show artistic talent.”

“So how much does a major sponsorship cost?”

“I think we put in a half million every year.”

Connor’s chin almost hit the floor. He’d known Julia was rich-everyone in San Diego knew about the Chandler family-but knowing someone was rich, and knowing how rich someone was were two completely different things.

“And you’re a public servant making what? Forty, forty-five thousand a year?” Connor said.

“Your point?”

She sounded pissed.

“I was joking.”

“No you weren’t. Did it ever occur to you that I like my job? Money doesn’t buy everything. It certainly hasn’t bought Emily happiness, and it hasn’t been able to bring my brother back from the dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

And he was. He hadn’t meant to insult her, and he definitely didn’t want to hurt her.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly, staring straight ahead through the car windshield.

Smooth move, Kincaid.

The show must go on.

Three days after her husband was brutally murdered and her daughter was put under psychiatric observation in the hospital, Crystal Montgomery had donned a long black gown, put on diamonds bought with Chandler money, and was attending one of the premiere charity events of the year. Julia could hardly believe her audacity.

“Are you okay?” Dillon Kincaid kept his voice low.

She glanced at his handsome face, gave him a smile. “I’m fine.”

She wondered where Connor was. They’d checked in fifteen minutes ago and Connor had vanished. She hadn’t meant to jump down his throat after he made that comment about her money, but she’d fielded so many insensitive comments over the years that it was a defense mechanism.

While she couldn’t see Connor, she spotted Dr. Garrett Bowen right off, standing with an attractive woman in her forties wearing a long red dress. “Do you know her?” Julia asked Dillon.

“I don’t get out much,” he teased. “Haven’t seen her before.” He pointed to one of the paintings in the large gathering room. The party planners had brought in dozens of exhibits, large and small, on easels and stands, to fill Bowen’s tastefully decorated home. But Bowen himself had numerous paintings and sculptures that he obviously owned based on their placement on walls, one of which Dillon gestured toward. It consisted of various vertical black lines of differing widths.

“Interesting,” he said.

She turned her head this way and that, trying to figure out what it was meant to convey. She wondered if the painting would look different from a distance.

“I’m joking,” Dillon said.

“Good. Now that one is interesting.”

They walked across the room to a picture displayed above the fireplace. It was a watercolor with vivid colors. She wondered if there was some blending of mediums going on, perhaps watercolor traced in oil-based paints. Whatever it was, the image was spectacular. From a distance, the picture was obviously a woman sitting on a grassy knoll. But from close-up, several distinct images of children emerged.

“Definite talent there,” Dillon said.

“Thank you.”

Julia jumped, turning to face Garrett Bowen. “You’re a painter?”

“No, no. My nephew. He’s very gifted. It’s one of the reasons I am a patron of the arts.”

Bowen turned from her to Dillon. “What brings you here tonight, Dr. Kincaid?”

Julia couldn’t miss the hostility in Bowen’s voice.

“Julia asked me to escort her, and I was happy to oblige,” Dillon said formally.

Bowen didn’t believe him, but didn’t argue. “Crystal’s here. Let me find her for you,” he said to Julia.

“No need,” Julia said, more curtly than she intended. It was then she realized Bowen’s comment had been meant to throw her off balance. It had worked.

“Why are you here tonight?” Bowen asked Julia.

“Keeping my eye on you.”

“I’m not under arrest, Ms. Chandler. I’m not guilty of anything.”

“Guilt can be subjective, can’t it?”

“What is it you want from me?”

“Nothing right now. I’m a firm believer that no crime is perfect. Evidence always talks. Sometimes we don’t hear it right away, but it’s there whispering.”

“I had nothing to do with what happened to Judge Montgomery,” Bowen said.