Midnight Betrayal (5 page)

“Her name is Zoe?” Conor swept both hands through his overgrown black hair. “I bounced a loudmouth last night. His girlfriend chose not to go home with him. Her name was Zoe too. Long, dark hair. Freckles. Thin.”

“That sounds like her. What time did she leave?”

“I drove her to the subway station a little after midnight.”

“You drove her?” Louisa smiled, remembering how he’d shielded her from the media.

“It was late, and there was a lowlife hanging on the corner.” Regret darkened Conor’s eyes. “I should have driven her home. Are the police looking for her?”

“When I left the museum, the director was calling them. I’m not sure how they’ll treat the report. If it weren’t for Riki’s disappearance, the situation would be more irritating than alarming. However, no one has been able to locate her all morning, which is definitely not normal behavior for Zoe. She might run a habitual thirty minutes late, but she always shows up. Did she act strangely last night?”

“It’s hard to say. I don’t know how she acts normally,” he answered. “You’ve tried her friends and family?”

“Not exactly. Director Cusack was looking for a report she was working on for him. I didn’t want her to get into trouble. She’s already been written up for lateness. I tried her cell, but she didn’t answer. When I called her apartment, her roommate answered and told me Zoe never came home last night. I thought, fine, she slept at her boyfriend’s place. Her roommate gave me his number—”

Conor lowered his coffee cup. “Tell me you didn’t call her boyfriend looking for her.”

“I wanted to spare her the humiliation of being fired.” Louisa’s face burned with indignation. “Internships are very competitive. There are other students who would love her position. Trust me. It was one of the most embarrassing phone calls I’ve ever made.”

“I believe you.” He held up a defensive hand, but his lips were twitching again.

Louisa huffed. Why did he enjoy provoking her? And why did she react to his every jibe? She wasn’t this snappish with anyone else. “Anyway, her boyfriend told me they’d had an argument, and he’d left her here. That’s when I got worried.” Not to mention shocked that Sullivan’s was involved. The coincidence just didn’t seem possible.

Conor rubbed his temples with a forefinger and thumb. “It was too late for a woman to take the subway alone.”

“I might be getting way ahead of the situation. Zoe could be fine.” Was Louisa’s concern more guilt-driven than logical? The stolen dagger was her responsibility.

A buzz sounded from his pocket.

“Excuse me.” He pulled out a cell phone and read the display. “I need to run an errand. If you want to keep talking, you’ll have to walk with me.”

She checked her watch. She’d taken a late lunch and was due back at work by three. “Will it take long?”

He shook his head. “Ten minutes. Come on. The fresh air will clear your head.”

She half wanted to run from Conor at full speed. But questions about the previous evening still lingered in her mind. “All right.”

As she followed him from the bar, she wondered if her agreement was based solely on her concern for her intern or if she was bowing to the part of her that
didn’t
want to bolt.

6

An afternoon breeze swept down Oregon Avenue as they set off down the sidewalk through elongating shadows. Louisa buttoned her jacket and clutched her purse tightly under her arm.

“This way.” Conor’s hand brushed her shoulder as he pointed left.

Though warm enough, Louisa shivered all the way down to her aching toes.

“Where are we going?” Her fingers cramped, and she loosened her grip on her purse.

“Just a few blocks. Can you walk in those shoes? Do you want to wait in the bar?”

“No. Tell me about Zoe’s boyfriend. What did he do last night that was so awful?”

They stopped at the corner. Other pedestrians bunched around them as they waited for the light to change.

“He wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Conor angled his body between her and the crowd. “So, you’ve been at the museum for two months. An intern was kidnapped and murdered with a stolen knife, and now a second intern has vanished.”

“That’s how it seems.”

“How many people in the museum know what happened in Maine?”

“Apparently, everyone. Why?”

“It’s too much of a coincidence, especially now that I’m part of it too.”

The light changed, traffic stopped, and the crowd moved en masse across the intersection.

“There were numerous newspaper articles.” She thought of April’s statement. “Evidently, the staff was passing them around in the weeks between my hire and my move down here.”

“So our connection is public knowledge, even though we haven’t seen each other for six months.”

“Yes.” She stepped up on the opposite curb. “I almost called you,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

A lazy smile tugged at his mouth. “Really?”

Louisa’s hand was halfway to her pearls before she stopped it in front of her chest. Conor reached over and took her hand in his. They’d shaken hands before, but this felt different. This felt possessive, almost intimate. She tensed, her instincts urging her to break his grip, not because the contact was unpleasant, but because she liked it. Their gazes met. His was brazen, as if daring her to admit the attraction between them.

She took the challenge. Old habits needed to be broken. New city, new life. Heat soaked into her cold fingers and made her forget all about her fidgeting. And about letting go. “So . . . the group Zoe was with. Which one of them wanted to come here last night?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. We’re not part of the hip and happening club scene, and we’re too far from University City for overflow.” He steered her around a large crack in the sidewalk. “But her date was a Flyers fan, and we get plenty of postgame traffic. Still feels like too much of a coincidence, though.”

“Coincidences do happen.”

“True.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m sad your intern is missing, but I’m happy to see you.”

Nerve endings prickled over her skin at the genuine warmth in his words. Why did he have this effect on her? It wasn’t in her nature to simmer under a man’s attention. She dated and had had several short-term relationships. None had been serious. But then, none of her former boyfriends had been as intense or demanding as Conor.

He stopped in front of a white-brick building. The words
VETERINARY CLINIC
were stamped on the glass. “This is it.”

When he let go of her hand to open the door, she missed the contact. When was the last time a man had held her hand?

Never?

The men she usually dated didn’t lend themselves to intimate romantic gestures. They sent her expensive roses and bought her jewelry, all lovely but imperso
nal. None of those gifts had made her feel raw and edgy and hot. Even her silk blouse felt scratchy.

A bell mounted on the door jingled as they went into the clinic. The air smelled of animals and antiseptic. The scrub-clad technician at the reception counter greeted them with a smile. Her hair was braided in small cornrows that lay flat against her scalp, setting off sharp, exotic cheekbones.

“I’m here for my dog.” Conor gave his name.

“I’m glad you’re here. She won’t eat for us. I hate to see such a sweet dog scared.” The tech grabbed a file and presented Conor with a bill. “I know it’s a lot, but you wanted her up-to-date on her shots. On the bright side, her injuries are superficial.”

“It’s OK.” He winced at the total and paid with a credit card.

The vet tech brought the dog into the waiting room. The animal’s head and tail hung low.

“Oh no. That poor thing. She’s so thin. Are those bite marks? Did she get into a fight?”

“More likely she was put in a fight.” Conor described how he’d found the dog the night before. “She looks better than when I dropped her off this morning.”

At the sound of his voice, the dog’s mangled ears pricked up. Her gaze landed on Conor. The stubby tail lifted and wagged back and forth.

“What horrible person would do that to an animal?” Louisa asked.

“The cops have been cracking down, but dog fighting is still a real problem in this city.” Conor took the leash from the technician. “A pink collar and leash?”

The vet tech laughed. “We thought she needed something girly. The way they butchered her ears gives people the wrong impression. Consider it a gift for not dumping her at the shelter.”

“Anything special I should do for her?” he asked.

“No.” The tech handed him a sheet of paper. “She’s been starved for a while, so reintroduce food slowly. If her appetite doesn’t pick up in a week or so after she settles in, then bring her back. We’ll also want to spay her, but I’d like to wait a couple of weeks and let her get stronger first.”

“Thanks.” Conor folded the paper and stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans. He led the dog outside. On the sidewalk, he squatted and rubbed her head. “Bet you’re glad to be out of there.”

Louisa bent down. “Can I pet her?”

“You’re not afraid of her? Some people might find her scary.”

“Should I be? She looks pathetic.”

“She is pathetic.” Conor sighed. “Let her smell your hand first.”

The dog gave Louisa’s hand a sniff, then licked her fingers.

“She likes you.”

Louisa stroked the animal’s neck, being careful not to touch the healing wounds. Except for the scarred areas, her fur was silky soft, like crushed velvet. Her mother had been allergic to animals. After her death, the aunt who’d raised Louisa had forbidden animals in the house. “I’ve never had a dog.”

“Would you like this one?”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with her.” But the thought was strangely appealing. Louisa gave the dog one more gentle pat before straightening. How hard was it to take care of a dog? “And I work all day.” Though she could easily go home at lunchtime most days, and she’d seen the Rittenhouse staff walking other residents’ dogs.

“You keep thinking about it. For now, let’s see if we can get her to eat.” Conor headed back toward the bar. The dog practically plastered herself to his legs.

“She’s very attached to you.”

“I don’t know how that happened.”

“I imagine it’s because you were kind to her.” Louisa fell into step beside him, her interest in the dog a welcome distraction from her acute reaction to Conor. “What’s her name?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. I have a confession. I actually did take her to the pound this morning, but I couldn’t leave her there. She was terrified, and the place was already full of pit bulls.” Conor took her hand again. “Do you want to name her?”

This time Louisa barely hesitated before wrapping her fingers around his palm. “You’d let me name your dog?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Sure. Why not?”

“Seems like a big responsibility.”

“Let me put it in perspective. We had a dog named Sneezes once because my parents let Jaynie name him. She was three, and it was her turn to name a pet. I assure you that Sneezes didn’t care what we called her as long as we slipped her scraps of food under the dinner table. The dog was so fat, she waddled.”

Hearty laughter bubbled out of Louisa’s throat. The kind of laughter she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. “All right. I’ll try to do better than Sneezes.”

“You’re so serious most of the time. I like to hear you laugh.” Conor stopped walking. His gaze dropped to her mouth. He leaned closer. Did he want to kiss her? She licked her lips. A little heat in his eyes completely disarmed her, and holding his hand short-circuited her brain. What would the taste of his mouth do?

As much as Louisa wanted him to kiss her, she couldn’t stop the slight backward shift of her body weight.

He noticed. Suspicion narrowed his eyes as he straightened.

Oh no.
She’d ruined it already.

“I’m sorry.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and breathed in and out. Opening her lids again, she forced herself to make eye contact, expecting to see irritation on his face, but his eyes held only concern. How could she explain she was afraid of the way she responded to him? “I need to take things slowly.”

He smiled. Was that relief in his expression?

“No worries. I’m a slow mover myself these days.” Turning, he continued down the sidewalk, his pace easy and unhurried.

These days? What did that mean?

They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, crossing an intersection and skirting an elderly man playing a violin on the sidewalk. A tattered coat hung to his knees. Under a fedora, long gray hair fell in a curtain over the side of his face. Conor tossed a dollar into the open instrument case at the musician’s feet. When they reached the bar, he opened the door for her.

They went back to the booth. Conor brought the dog a cooked hamburger patty from the kitchen. She ate a few bites and then curled up under the table.

Conor picked up her bowl and set it aside. “So your intern was here last night, and no one has seen her since. Now what?”

“Now I grab a cab and hope I’m not late getting back to work. Maybe this is a misunderstanding. Maybe Zoe’s boyfriend’s behavior upset her, and she went to see an old friend. I know her hometown isn’t far from here. If she wasn’t thinking clearly, she could have made a mistake with her schedule.” But a twinge of doubt lingered in the pit of Louisa’s belly.

“What’s your number?” Conor pulled his phone from his pocket.

Louisa gave it to him, and he punched the numbers on his keypad. Her purse vibrated.

“I sent you a text. Would you let me know what happens with your intern?”

“I will.”

Light spilled into the bar, its brightness reminding her it was only late afternoon. The darkness of the interior, all scuffed wooden floors and red leather, suggested nighttime.

Two figures walked into the entryway, stopped, and scanned the room with purpose. Louisa stiffened. Detectives Jackson and Ianelli. Several policemen in uniform followed them inside.

“Conor Sullivan?” the older man asked.

Conor stood. “That’s me. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Detective Jackson.” The African American detective gestured to his associate. “This is Detective Ianelli. We’d like to ask you some questions.”

Not entirely surprised to see the police, Conor turned to Louisa. “Bye, Louisa.”

“Dr. Hancock?” Jackson’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. “What are you doing here?”

“Hello.” Louisa shook the detectives’ hands. “I was asking Conor about Zoe. I’m glad you’re looking for her.”

“We’re just making a few inquiries.” The detective sighed. “I’ll probably have additional questions for you, Doctor.”

“I’m already late getting back to work,” Louisa said. “I’ll be at the museum all day, and you have my cell number.” She pivoted and strode from the bar.

Conor waved a hand toward the rear of the bar. “Please come back to my office, Detectives.”

“Everything OK, Conor?” From behind the bar, Pat flicked a curious gaze at the cops.

“It’s fine, Pat.” Conor led the way down a short hall. Ahead was the kitchen; on the left, the restrooms. He turned right into a small office and took his place behind the scarred oak desk that had belonged to his father. The old wooden chair squeaked. The seat was hard and uncomfortable, but neither Conor nor Pat would ever replace it. Dad had been gone eighteen years, but if Conor closed his eyes, he could still smell the faint hint of cherry pipe tobacco. The detectives followed him in. Jackson took the plastic chair next to the desk. Ianelli leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his gut.