See No Evil

“Roger that.” Diaz left.

Gage joined him on the drive. “Chandler is going to be pissed if she finds out,” Gage said.

“She’d be doing the same thing if she were thinking straight,” Will countered. “It’s pretty obvious what’s going on. Julia Chandler and Crystal Montgomery hate each other. Crystal was married to Julia’s brother. He dies, and Crystal wants the Chandler money but not the Chandler family. I remember when Emily ran away.”

“I don’t,” Gage said.

“Connor Kincaid was the PI who found her.” As Carina Kincaid’s partner, Will was an honorary member of the Kincaid family. He knew more than most about Connor’s life since he’d been pushed off the police force.

“I’ve called the e-crimes unit to dismantle and check the computers and security system,” Gage said. “They’ll be here in an hour.”

“By the book, that’s all we can do right now.”

One of the crime technicians entered the front door.

“Dr. Gage?”

“What?”

“We found shears with possible blood evidence.”

“Shears?”

The assistant held up pruning shears sealed in a clear, thick plastic evidence bag. The curved blades made up half the ten-inch length. Except for the dried blood, they looked new and unused.

“Where’d you find them?”

“In the gardening shed behind the house. We have some foot impressions and other possible evidence. We’re collecting molds right now.”

“Keep me informed.”

Will said, “If the killer put the shears back in the shed, it couldn’t have been the stepdaughter, not in her condition.”

“I never believed she acted alone.”

FOUR

Justice? Revenge? Payback? Any way the police looked at it, his plan was working even better than he’d hoped. He smiled, confident he was in complete control of the operation.

He poured himself a Scotch straight up, a twenty-one-year-old Chivas, took it out on the balcony, taking in the cool midnight ocean breeze. The view of the brightly lit coastline, the ocean, black and endless, moved him. He observed the exquisite beauty of the moment, held it with his trained eye, imprinted the exact time and emotion in his soul.

This is how God must feel.

Victor Montgomery was dead. Not only dead, but killed in a manner that suited his lifestyle. He loved the irony of Montgomery’s murder, just like he’d enjoyed the irony of how he picked his killing team, how he planned the executions, how everyone involved recognized and worshipped his brilliance.

His team leader had, of course, immediately reported the successful kill earlier that evening, so he didn’t have to wait for newspaper and television reports to announce Montgomery’s death. But it was only now, late at night, that he had time to sit alone in his beautiful home, with his favorite drink, and savor his triumph.

After the final kill, the circle would be complete. The police would scramble about with their theories, but they wouldn’t be able to prove anything. The media would learn the secrets of the murdered and expose their reputations to humiliation and embarrassment. Through it all, he’d sit in his house and enjoy the product of his handiwork, all without getting a drop of blood on his own hands.

He’d been thinking a lot lately about the beginning. The real beginning. Not when they’d executed the first kill. Not when he recruited his team, not even when he came up with the plan in the name of “justice.”

The real beginning was the day of his birth. Every day from then forward, his mother had told him he was destined for greatness. But again and again his decisions had been stolen from him. Life conspired to dominate him, control him.

Not anymore. He’d engaged in the battle and was winning.

He stared at his hands, the fingers with the Midas touch. His physique-strong, muscular, not an ounce of extra fat. He didn’t need a mirror to know he was handsome. He didn’t need a woman to tell him so.

Each step of his elaborate plan had been taken with extreme care. The test. The accident. The execution. Now for one more who would restore balance to the world. The one who really mattered.

He sighed, ran a hand over his face, and turned from his view. Poured himself another Chivas and ran through the scenarios. While the plan seemed under control, he had a wild card to worry about. She was always pushing, pushing, pushing toward the final kill. She didn’t understand the setup, but few people would be capable of that. He’d explained it over and over and still she only saw the end.

Impatience could cost him his freedom.

Inside, he put his glass down. He wasn’t worried about the kids-they toed the line. Quite easily, in fact. Cami was giving the boys what they needed, and Faye…

He sighed. Faye. She was really the only one who understood him, who enjoyed his unrivaled brilliance and his physical beauty. She knew, in her heart, exactly who he was. She would do anything he wanted, just because he asked her. She never asked why, she never questioned him. She loved him unconditionally.

He’d never before had that type of love, and he found himself wanting it more and more, craving his time with Faye to bask in her unbridled need for him. He couldn’t see her tonight, but he would soon.

It was the other one. The wild card. The one who almost blew everything eighteen months ago.

He was about to leave to visit her, make sure she stuck to the script, when his doorbell chimed.

Tense, he turned on the front-door security camera to see who was on his front porch.

It was her.

He opened the door. “What-”

“You fucked up!” she yelled.

He pulled her into the foyer and shut the door. “Don’t-”

“Turn on the news. Now.”

When he did, he was as surprised as she was. But not upset. “The plan was designed for every contingency. Don’t worry.”

“How can I not be worried? If they arrest Emily Montgomery, it’s only a matter of time-”

“They have no evidence.”

“Since when does evidence matter to the police? They have evidence, they don’t do anything. They don’t have evidence, they’ll make it up.”

“You’re exaggerating. Just calm down and-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” She started pacing. She’d been pretty at one time, beautiful-he could still see it in her skin and lush hair-but the anger and grief had eaten away the light in her eyes. He was trained to observe, but still he was surprised no one else saw what he did in her face.

He poured her a Chivas and watched as she drained it in one long gulp. “I promise, there have been no mistakes. Everything is under control.”

“How can you say that?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Do you trust me?” she countered.

He laughed. “No, darling, you’re the last person I trust. But you’ll listen to me and do what I tell you because only then will we get what we’ve wanted for so long. Don’t let the fear in. Sit tight and follow the course I laid out.”

“I wish I’d done it my way at the beginning.” But she had calmed down, poured herself another drink, and sat on his couch, staring at the amber liquid as if it were rare.