Midnight Betrayal (11 page)

“OK,” she answered, distracted.

He found a lucky spot at the curb, parked, and swiped his credit card at the parking meter kiosk. They walked a block down Eighteenth Street and ducked into a café.

Conor chose a dark, high-backed booth in the back for privacy. The bistro café catered mainly to the lunch crowd. Half the tables were empty. The waitress arrived, and Conor ordered coffee and a club sandwich.

Louisa asked for green tea.

When the waitress left, she told him about her heartbreaking visit to the Finches’ house. He reached across the table and took her hand. “You were like Zoe, weren’t you? Ahead of your class, separate from the other kids?”

“Yes.” Louisa studied their intertwined fingers. “I earned my PhD at nineteen.”

His thumb rubbed a slow circle on the back of her hand. “Is that why you need to find her so badly? Because she’s like you?”

Was Louisa like Zoe’s parents, simply refusing to accept the girl’s death because the truth would be too painful?

“Maybe.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I know what it’s like to be alone in a room full of people, to be an academic success and not have friends, to be desperate to fit in. My father traveled. My mother was dead. My aunt wasn’t interested.”

“And you were alone.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

But she hadn’t gotten over it, and Conor thanked God for his three siblings. As crazy as his life could be, the Sullivans always had each other.

“That time-heals-all-wounds saying is total bullshit. Cuts that deep never go away, no matter how many years pass. I still miss my parents.” Conor’s sandwich arrived. He pushed the plate to the middle of the table, but she didn’t seem interested. Had she eaten anything since the muffin he’d brought her that morning?

The setting sun elongated shadows on the sidewalk outside. For the first time, she’d opened up to him. She’d given him a glimpse of the wounded soul beneath her mask.

Now, staring out the window, her profile had frozen again, all evidence of her grief smoothed away. She was a swan gliding at the edge of the Schuylkill River, for all appearances elegant, quiet, and still. All the motion occurred beneath the surface, hidden from view. He wondered for the hundredth time how many layers he’d have to uncover to find the real her.

She fascinated and challenged him.

With a sinking sensation, he realized getting closer to her would require more touchy-feely type discussions. And dear God,
he
was going to have to be the one to initiate them, which was the complete opposite of the natural order of the universe.

Louisa’s phone buzzed. “Excuse me.”

She got up from the table, went outside, and answered the call on the sidewalk.

She returned a few moments later and slid her phone into her purse. “Xavier English is the professor of Celtic studies. He comes to the museum frequently. He’s also Zoe’s mentor. Professor English will talk to us if we meet him off campus. He doesn’t want us to let anyone know he’s speaking with you.”

“I can understand that. Where does he want to meet?”

“He’s coming here. It’s dark enough, and he can always claim I didn’t tell him you were here,” Louisa said.

“How did you convince him to come?”

“I told him I thought you were innocent.”

“And that was enough?”

She raised a shoulder. “He said he wants to decide for himself.”

Ten minutes later, the door opened. Louisa half stood and waved to a man in the doorway. With a nod, he threaded through the tables to their booth. Professor English wasn’t the old geek Conor expected. Fiftyish, the professor was six feet tall and athlete-fit. His salt-and-pepper hair was thick and cut short. He wore jeans and a button-up shirt.

He greeted Louisa with a warm smile and a handshake.

She introduced him to Conor. “Thanks for coming all the way over here, Xavier.”

He sat next to her. “I’m worried about Zoe too. Punctuality might not be her strength, but running a little behind isn’t the same thing as missing classes and her work at the museum. That’s not like her. But do you really think she’s been abducted? It seems so unreal. The police have been all over campus the last two days.” Xavier’s eyes flickered to Conor. “The picture of you on the news doesn’t look much like you.”

Conor shrugged. “It’s old, and my face was beat to shit.”

“Why should I believe you’re not guilty?” Xavier asked.

“I never met Zoe before Monday night,” Conor said. “And isn’t that backward? What happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“The police think they have enough evidence to make you the lead suspect,” Xavier said. “They’re showing your picture around the college and asking everyone if they’ve seen you.”

“What if Conor didn’t do it, Xavier?” Louisa twisted in her seat to face him. “And the police are focusing their investigation on him? They won’t find Zoe.”

Xavier’s eyes weren’t 100 percent persuaded, but enough doubt lingered for Conor to plow ahead.

“When was the last time you saw Zoe?” he asked.

“Monday morning. I mentor four students. Zoe, her roommate, Isa, plus two undergraduates.” Xavier laced his fingers. “I like to meet with the graduate students every couple of weeks. Both Zoe and Isa have a lot going on this year.”

“Isa received the Pendleworth grant, is that correct?”

“Yes, and she’s my teaching assistant as well this year.” Xavier’s casual smile faded. “I’d hoped to groom Zoe for the job next year.”

“Zoe’s young for a TA position,” Louisa said.

“Young, yes, but dedicated to her studies. Frankly, she’s one of the brightest students I’ve ever taught.” He frowned. “I sometimes wonder, though, about the pressure she’s under.”

“What do you mean?” Conor asked.

“Well, Zoe is only twenty-one. She doesn’t have many close friends. Most of her classmates are at least three years her senior. Socially, that’s a large gap. Even though I’ve only been mentoring her since the start of the term, I’ve gotten glimpses that she isn’t always happy.” Xavier rested his forearms on the table. “I think she’s lonely. Until recently, her age kept her from joining the others when they would go out for beers after class.”

Louisa nodded. “She was very excited about her birthday. I got the feeling she thought it would be a magic ‘in’ to the social scene.”

“That’s not very realistic,” Conor said.

Xavier shrugged. “Their IQs don’t make them more emotionally mature. In fact, I find it’s often quite the opposite. Frequently, other children have shunned them from a young age. Plus, if they’ve been allowed to skip grades, like Zoe, their age is a definite detriment. Three years doesn’t seem like a big deal at twenty-four, but in the lower grades, the gap might as well be the social Grand Canyon. What high school senior is going to invite a fifteen-year-old to her graduation party? Some of the brightest kids haven’t had close friendships. They aren’t good at reading social cues, and they have little experience interacting with their peers. They are easily taken advantage of. Frankly, Zoe would be an obvious target for a predator.”

“How mature is she?” Conor asked.

“She’s just as emotionally volatile as any other twenty-one-year-old girl. In fact, on Monday, she was distracted, a very unusual state for her. I was concerned. Part of a mentor’s job is to make sure the kids haven’t overextended themselves. When I asked if everything was all right, she mentioned that she had a date, but she seemed nervous about it. I could be wrong. Maybe she was just excited. We didn’t discuss it beyond me making sure it wasn’t a school-related issue.” Xavier put his hands on his knees and pushed to his feet. “I have to get back. I hope someone finds her. I hope she’s not . . .” He let the implication trail off.

Conor stood and shook his hand. “Did you know Riki LaSanta?”

“Not well,” Xavier said. “She was in one of my classes last year, before she changed her graduate major from European history to Egyptian.”

“Thank you.” Louisa touched Xavier’s wrist.

“Be careful, Louisa.” Xavier covered her hand with his for a brief moment, just long enough to irritate Conor. “I’ll see you Saturday night at the fund-raiser.”

Conor bristled as Xavier left the café. Did Louisa have a date with the professor?

Louisa sipped her tea. “I wonder how Zoe felt when the date she’d been anticipating went horribly wrong.”

Conor thought back to Monday night. “She was upset, even more so when she couldn’t get her roommate on the phone.”

“I wonder if Isa really didn’t get the messages or if she ignored Zoe’s calls,” Louisa mused. “There’s a lot of competition between graduate students.” She checked her phone. “She hasn’t called me back.”

“Do you think Isa could feel Zoe breathing down her neck, academically speaking?”

“It’s a possibility. I know Zoe was a close second for the Pendleworth grant.”

“Did you know Riki was a European history major until this year?”

“No. I wonder if the police know.” Slipping one foot out of its high heel, she absently rubbed her toes before stuffing her foot back in with a grimace.

Conor nodded toward her feet. “Why do you wear those if they hurt?”

Looking up at him, she cocked her head. “What else would I wear?”

“Something that doesn’t hurt?” Conor suggested with a grin and a glance at the beaten running shoes on his feet.

“Oh, I’m sure
those
would go over well with my boss.” Louisa chuckled. Her phone buzzed on the table. “I’m sorry. I have to get this.”

“No problem. Go ahead. I’ll pay the check and meet you outside.”

Her face tightened as she walked toward the door and answered the call. “Hello, Aunt Margaret.”

He joined her on the sidewalk as she pressed
END
and stared at her phone.

“Everything all right?”

She exhaled, forcing a smile to her compressed lips. “Yes. My aunt will be in town for a charity event. She wants to have dinner with me on Friday.” Louisa rubbed the spot between her eyebrows.

“Is that bad?”

“I don’t know. I don’t talk to her very often.” Louisa’s hand drifted to her pearls. There was more to that story. “The situation is complicated. My father passed me off to his sister because he didn’t know what to do with a daughter he barely knew. Unfortunately, Aunt Margaret wasn’t suited to the role. Not that I was easy. Frankly, I resented her intrusion. I wanted my father.”

He took her elbow and steered her toward her building. “None of that was your fault. You were a kid. Jayne and Danny had plenty of resentment.”

Hope lit her eyes. “Would you like to join us? Aunt Margaret is staying at the Ritz Carlton, and we’re dining at the Capital Grille. I’m sure I can extend the reservation to three.”

Let’s see, would he like to have a long, awkward, and fancy dinner with two women in a strained relationship? Not really. Besides, he’d promised Pat he’d cover the bar. “Tomorrow Pat has some open house thing at the kids’ school on Friday. Jaynie’s pregnant and tired. I hate to see her up late.”

“Jayne is pregnant?” Louisa’s mouth turned in a wistful smile. “I couldn’t tell.”

“It’s early.” He glanced sideways. “Tell me about this fund-raiser on Saturday night.”

“It’s a silent auction. There’ll be drinks and hors d’oeuvres. It’s part of my job to help loosen wallets. Damian is coming, most of the museum staff, plus some of the university’s history professors who work with the museum.”

“Sounds interesting,” Conor lied. He’d taken plenty of side jobs tending bar at charity events. The long line at the bar was all about numbing the boredom. But he wished he could be there to get a feel for the people involved in the case, and he’d also like to keep an eye on Damian and Xavier. Jealous much?

“Then it sounds more interesting than it will be.” Louisa’s tone turned wry. “Now that I think about it, the attendees will include several people who knew both Zoe and Riki. I’ll be sure to keep my ears open. I’m sure the case will be one of the major topics of conversation.”

Conor didn’t like the idea of Louisa spending the evening in a roomful of potential suspects. But what could he do? He could hardly charm his way into an invitation. He stopped in front of the Rittenhouse. “I should probably go.”

“Thank you for your help today.” Louisa stood. In her heels, she was only a few inches shorter than him, a very kissable distance. But not here. Too public. He followed her into the lobby and tugged her away from the door. He leaned forward and put his lips to hers. This time she responded with no hesitation, her lips yielding slightly, then pressing back at his. Pleasure at the progress flourished in his chest, which was ludicrous considering the chaste nature of the kiss.

Conor’s hand twitched at his side. He wanted to hold her, to pull her against his body. Visions of soft skin under silk drained the blood from his head and sent it shooting south. Slowly, he raised a hand and cupped her jaw, gently stroking her chin with his thumb.

He lifted her head. Her green eyes had gone dark. Desire zinged through his belly and landed in his balls. Yeah. Time to go. Sex clouded his judgment, and he wanted his mind clear.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Louisa smiled. “Don’t you want to collect your dog?”

Conor thought of the hooded teen in the alley. “Would you mind holding on to her for a couple of days?”

“Not at all.” Her smile widened.

The dog would just be lonely in his apartment. If Kirra stayed with Louisa, they could keep each other company. He suspected they both had spent enough time alone.

“I have to go. Pat is running the bar solo. Be careful.” Leaving Louisa at the elevator, he exited. On the sidewalk, the discussion with Xavier replayed in his head. He didn’t blame the professor for doubting Conor’s innocence. The amount of circumstantial evidence against him was staggering. Was Conor’s involvement in Zoe’s disappearance a coincidence or a setup? If someone planned to frame him, he’d have spent a lot of time watching both Conor and Louisa.

He glanced back at her building. In that light, her secure condo didn’t look as safe.

15

Louisa fed Kirra and took her outside for a quick walk. Having a dog was more pleasant than she’d imagined. The sun dipped behind the buildings, casting cool shadows across the sidewalk. As usual, the green space was busy with people determined to enjoy the last of the pleasant weather. Conor’s kiss still tingled on her lips, but her joy was darkened by the forty-two hours that Zoe had been missing. The impending dinner with her aunt further blackened her mood.

“I should have said no to Aunt Margaret,” Louisa said as they strolled past the reflecting pool. Kirra looked up and cocked her head. She was an excellent listener, and Louisa found herself telling the dog things she’d never share with another person. “But the minute I saw her number on my phone, all I could think was that she must know what’s wrong with Daddy and that’s why she wants to meet with me.”

The possibilities raced through her head. Cancer? Heart attack? Liver disease? Was he dying? What would Aunt Margaret tell her Friday night?

On the way back into the building, the young doorman gave her a wide smile. “Someone left a package for you, Miss Hancock. It’s at the desk.”

“Thank you, Gerome.” Louisa followed him to the small reception desk in the lobby. He handed her a distinctive teal-blue gift bag. Tiffany’s. She peeked inside. Below a spray of tissue paper was a small box. “And thanks for walking Kirra this afternoon.”

“Anytime, Dr. Hancock. She’s sweet.”

Gift bag in hand, Louisa took the elevator up to her apartment. What could it be? The only person who sent her jewelry these days was her father, but her birthday wasn’t for months. He hadn’t been in the States to say good-bye when she’d left Maine, and he’d seemed distracted when he’d visited last spring. But then, she’d just been fired and had assumed his disappointment in her professional failure had sent him away. Maybe he missed her. With a lighter step, she went into the bedroom to change out of her work clothes.

In yoga pants and a sweatshirt, she settled on the living room sofa. The pillow and blanket Conor had used last night were stacked next to her. She lifted the pillow to her face and inhaled. It smelled like him. She tucked it behind her. With reminders of Conor, and the dog at her feet, the large apartment didn’t seem as empty. Perhaps she’d buy it after all.

Placing the gift bag in her lap, she removed the delicate, white tissue paper and reached in for the present.
TIFFANY & CO.
was printed on the top of the teal box. She gently slid off the white ribbon and lifted the lid. It must be from Daddy.

She opened the lid. Gold caught the light. It was a charm shaped like a sailboat. Louisa dropped the box.

No.

It couldn’t be.

The box had landed right-side up on the rug at her feet. The golden sailboat gleamed in the light from the end table. Bracing herself, she tipped the gift bag and peered inside. A small white envelope sat on the bottom. She opened it, hoping she was wrong.

Dear Louisa,

A small token to show how much I miss you. I hope you’ll reconsider your recent move and come home. You are the only one for me. I need you. I’ve always needed you. Please forgive me.

Yours always,

Blaine

Her stomach cramped as she read his signature. Of course she’d been right. Who else but the yacht-racing Blaine would send her a sailboat?

But how did he find her? She supposed finding a museum curator who specialized in European history wasn’t all that difficult. As private as she’d kept her personal life, her professional life was unavoidably public. But he’d sent this to her home, not the museum. She’d been able to pay an Internet information provider for Heath’s address. The same personal data was likely available on her. Hands shaking, she reached for the phone, dia
led the doorman’s line, and asked for Gerome.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Louisa gathered her voice. “Gerome, did you see the man who left the package for me?”

“Yes, ma’am. He was blond, a little taller than me, very well-dressed. I asked for his name. He said you would know who he was when you opened the box. He wanted to surprise you.”

“Thank you, Gerome.” Louisa swallowed her rising nausea at the thought that Blaine had been here. “If he comes again, please don’t let him up or accept any more packages. Just call me immediately.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Gerome’s tone flattened, telling Louisa he understood.

Louisa hung up the phone. Kirra pressed against her legs.

“It’s all right, girl.” She stuffed the gift box and card back into the bag and went into the kitchen. For a moment, she held it over the trash receptacle, then reconsidered. Perhaps sending it back to him would be a better move. Blaine needed to get it through his arrogant, thick head that she wanted nothing to do with him. He’d been pursuing her for years, and it needed to stop. She would never be his.

Not after what he’d done to her.

She opened the hall closet and put the bag on the top shelf. As soon as she had time, she’d mail it back to him. Ignoring him hadn’t worked in the past. This time she would be more forceful. After checking the door locks, she swallowed two aspirin and went into the bedroom. A hot shower helped relax her, but sleep was going to be elusive tonight.

She settled on the couch and turned on the television. Kirra jumped up beside her, curled up, and rested her head on her leg. Grateful for the company, Louisa settled a hand on the dog’s back.

Her mind whirled with Blaine’s unwanted gift, grief for Riki, and worrying about Zoe. Where was her intern? The police seemed certain she was dead, but Louisa refused to believe it. But with Riki already murdered, how long could she hope that Zoe hadn’t been killed?

Pat’s red head drooped over his glass.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.” Conor grabbed his brother’s arm and hoisted it across his shoulders.

Pat stood and swayed. “Okeydokey.”

Conor staggered as Pat leaned on him. “Steady. If you fall down, that’s where you’ll stay for the night.” He steered Pat out the back door and toward the waiting car.

“Watch your head.” Conor opened the door and folded Pat into the passenger seat. He stuffed his brother’s long legs under the dash. Twenty-year-old Porsche 911s were not designed to transport men the size of Pat.

“We raised them right.” Pat’s voice was thick and slurred.

“We did, Pat. We did a damned good job.” Conor slid behind the wheel and took a couple of seconds to admire all the shiny new leather in the interior. His brother let out a massive burp, and Conor shot him a look. “Do not hurl in my car.”

Pat thumped his chest. “I’m insulted. I can hold my liquor with the best of them.”

Conor covered his snicker with a cough. Pat’s tolerance for liquor was ridiculously low for his size.

He started the car. The engine fired with a sweet roar. He should think about selling her and looking for another project. He took one whole day off a week. What would he do without a car to fix?

But damn, this one had turned out to be one fine ride.

“I can’t believe Jaynie’s having a baby.” Pat sniffed. “And she’s getting married at Christmastime.”

“Me either.” Conor drove onto Oregon Avenue. The two cops who’d been sitting in the bar all night got into their unmarked car and followed him. “Maybe they should move the wedding date up. Be nice if she were married before she starts to look pregnant.” He wasn’t sure why that popped into his head and out of his mouth. Conor wasn’t exactly fixated on propriety. But there’d been a time when appearances mattered, like when the social worker showed up for a home visit to make sure Pat and Conor had a good handle on their younger siblings. Most of the time they hadn’t, but they’d faked it pretty well. All four of the Sullivan siblings were decent liars, which probably shouldn’t be considered an attribute.

Pat waved off his comment. “Aw, she’s happy. Who the hell cares?”

“As usual, you’re right.” Conor laughed, but he didn’t feel the humor. An inexplicable sadness lodged in his bones tonight, a torrent of dissatisfaction that had been building to a crescendo inside him for months.

It felt disturbingly like self-pity.

Was he jealous of his three siblings’ happiness? Because if he was, that was just lame. Lame and inexcusable. He really needed to get his own life. He and his siblings had suffered the same tragedy. They’d moved on. Why hadn’t he?

“She’s all grown up. She has Reed. She doesn’t need us anymore.”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to be, Pat.” Did parents feel this jumble of emotions when their kids got married and had kids? How could he be sad and happy at the same time?

“And Danny’s all settled up in Maine with Mandy.” Pat sighed heavily. Alcohol made his brother emotional. “You’re the last holdout, Conor.”

“Uh-huh.”
Do not engage.

“I’m serious.” Pat hiccupped. “You need a wife.”

Conor made another noncommittal sound and made a mental note that his brother’s new cutoff was three drinks, two if he was rolling out the scotch like he had tonight to celebrate Jayne’s news.

“How’s your curator?” Pat asked.

“Fine.” Conor wasn’t going anywhere near a conversation about Louisa with a drunken and sentimental Pat.

Pat glanced in the side mirror. “The cops are behind us. It’s a fucking parade. Have you heard from Damian?”

“He says they’re waiting for the DNA test results.” Conor turned down a narrow side street and navigated the sports car around a fallen garbage can. “I’ve seen them following me.” Conor assumed they were always nearby, even if he couldn’t see them.

“The test results will prove you’re innocent,” Pat said.

Conor didn’t respond. The long hair they’d found in his apartment was Zoe’s, but the blood wasn’t hers. How would that play out?

He was glad to pull up in front of Pat and Leena’s small piece of urban bliss. Like the family it housed, the brick row home exuded chaos and contentedness. The narrow front yard held a driveway barely big enough for a minivan and an equal-size strip of grass. A Big Wheel was upended on the walk, its tires in the air like a dog that wanted its belly rubbed.

“We’re here.”
Thank God
. Conor parked at the curb.

Pat sobered. “Leena’s going to be pissed.”

“Probably,” Conor said just to make Pat sweat and hopefully take his mind off Conor’s life. Pat might have a foot of height and a hundred pounds on his wife, but Leena ran the show. No question. Though she wouldn’t give his brother a hard time. Not tonight. She knew how deeply Jayne’s news had affected him. If Pat were sober, he’d know Leena had his back when it mattered, but those shots of scotch had warped his perspective, as liquor tended to do.

Pat wove his way up the walk. Following him, Conor grabbed the plastic trike, righted it, and set it on the porch under the eave. Leena already had the door open. A toy guitar dangled from her fingertips, and wet patches covered the front of her shorts and T-shirt. Bath time had been recently completed, and she was still in the clutter-clearing phase of the evening that followed what she called lockdown rather than bedtime.

She propped a hand on her hip and gave her husband a mock admonishment. “Celebrate much?”

Hoisting himself off the white wrought-iron railing, Pat mumbled something that sounded like “love you” and leaned over to give his wife a kiss.

“Love you too. Get inside before you fall down.” Leena waved her hand in front of her face. “Oh geez, Conor, you let him drink scotch?”

“Sorry, Leena.” Conor steered Pat over the threshold and into the living room. Pat took three crooked steps across the Berber and stretched out on the living room sofa as if he couldn’t possibly walk another step.

Conor gave his sister-in-law a peck on the cheek. “He’s all yours.”

“Gee, thanks.” Grinning, Leena closed the front door. Strands of her dark hair had escaped its ponytail. A damp lock fell over her eye, and she pushed it behind her ear. A wiggly mass of chocolate-colored fur, their new Labrador puppy, yapped and wagged from the other side of a gate across the doorway to the kitchen.

“How’s Killer?”