Free Spilled Blood by Brian Freeman Page B

bench. Seeing Chris, he reacted the way any father would react when spotting an enemy to his family. His face darkened with anger and suspicion. He saw Olivia, too, and Olivia saw him, and Chris grabbed his daughter’s shoulder as he felt her muscles harden into knots. Her teeth actually bared.
    Florian wasn’t a particularly handsome man, but he had the charisma that comes with wealth and success. He was as tall as Chris, with a high gloss on his balding head and prominent ears that grew sideways out of his skull like two halves of a severed heart. His black eyebrows were thick, straight smudges. His jaw was squared; his face was long. He had the gaunt look of a fanatical runner, someone who watched every milligram of salt and fat and measured his own cholesterol. Everything about him screamed of self-discipline, and Chris remembered that Florian had maintained a rigid work ethic in law school, when Wednesday beer parties were typically as important for most students as Morrison’s constitutional law.
    His wife, Julia, was a different story altogether. She was blonde and small, like a golden doll. From the photos he had seen of Ashlynn, Julia was an older portrait of her daughter. She looked born to money, wearing her gray silk dress like a runway model, with her hair up and her skin powdered and perfect. Black pearls wound around her neck and hugged her earlobes. She was the kind of woman who had always mystified Chris, because she was supremely unapproachable, like a museum sculpture protected behind glass. Hannah was the opposite. His ex-wife wore every emotion on her sleeve and never censored what was in her head, whether it was fury or passion. Julia Steele was beautiful, but she radiated no sexuality at all and her emotions were carefully masked. Even her grief didn’t seep through her makeup.
    Chris pressed down gently on Olivia’s shoulder to keep her on the bench, and he stood up.
    “Hello, Florian.”
    “Chris.”
    Florian didn’t offer to shake hands. There was no small talk to make. They had been classmates once, and now they were adversaries and parents, one with a dead daughter, one with a daughter accused of murder.
    “This is my wife, Julia,” Florian added.
    Chris didn’t smile or pretend that they were pleased to meet each other. “I’m very sorry about Ashlynn,” he told her.
    The ice woman’s eyes didn’t melt. Her stare had the hardness of diamonds as her gaze flicked between Chris and Olivia. She said nothing at all. Olivia, on the bench, smoldered. Like her mother, she couldn’t hide how she felt. Florian held his wife’s hand, as if protecting her, but she didn’t seem like the kind of woman who needed protection.
    “I’d appreciate a few minutes of your time, Florian,” Chris told him. “Maybe later today?”
    “For what purpose?”
    “I’d like to learn more about your daughter.”
    Florian took his time to formulate a reply. “You don’t expect me to help you, do you, Chris?”
    “No.” He didn’t bother arguing Olivia’s innocence in front of two people who would never believe it. “We’re lawyers. This is discovery. I’ll do my best to make it as painless as I can, despite the circumstances.”
    Florian acquiesced with a glance at his wife. “Three o’clock at Mondamin.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    Florian tugged on his wife’s hand to pull her with him, but Julia Steele remained rooted in place. She and Olivia stared at each other. Her expression was inscrutable. When she spoke, her voice had a dark, sad music to it, which was the first hint of her emotions. “Is there anything you want to say to me, Olivia Hawk?” Julia asked.
    Chris held up his hands immediately. “Olivia, don’t say a word. Mrs.
    Steele, I’m sorry, but my daughter can’t talk to you.”
    Julia didn’t acknowledge him. She held Olivia’s eyes like a magnet as the silence dragged out between them. He was afraid his daughter wouldn’t be able to control herself and that she would