Midnight Betrayal (20 page)

26

“
Be right back.” He got up and went into the bathroom to deal with the condom. When he emerged, the room was empty.

“Louisa?”

The apartment wasn’t that big. He wandered toward the kitchen.

Draped in a pale-blue silk robe that covered her from neck to feet, she was filling a glass with sparkling water. Her hair was a tousled fall of blond that reached nearly to her waist. “Would you like some water?”

Conor accepted the glass. Louisa picked up her cell phone from the counter. She unlocked it and frowned at the screen.

“Something wrong?”

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with my father since yesterday.”

“He’s in Sweden, right?”

“Yes.” She set the phone down. “I call him every Saturday.”

“Maybe he went away for the weekend.”

“Why wouldn’t he take his cell with him?” she asked, a line of concern creasing her brow. “I’m worried about him. He isn’t stable.”

“What do you mean by
not stable
?”

Her gaze dropped to the counter. “He drinks a lot.”

Conor touched her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“When we spoke last week, he told me he was coming here for the holidays. I could tell something was wrong. I think it was the first time he sounded sober in years.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I guess.” She pulled her lip between her teeth. “But he said he needs to talk to me, and it was something he couldn’t tell me over the phone, and now I can’t get hold of him.”

Conor pulled her into a hug.

Woof.

Kirra was standing at the door.

Conor took a sip of water. “I’ll be right back.”

He pulled on clothes and grabbed the leash from the closet. He clipped on her leash and headed outside.

“That was bad timing,” he said to the dog. “She was talking to me. Really talking. I was getting somewhere. So let’s make this quick, OK?” He tugged Kirra toward the grass. “I have plans.”

The dog cooperated, and he was back in the apartment in ten minutes without incident. Maybe he’d overreacted. He opened the closet to hang up the leash. A blue Tiffany bag fell from the shelf and landed at his feet. A card and a small box labeled
TIFFANY & CO.
slid across the tile. He picked them up.

“Are you back?” Louisa stood at the end of the hall, her eyes riveted on the gift in his hand.

“I’m sorry. I knocked these out of the closet.” He held out the bag. “Do you want me to put it back?”

She backed up a step, the warmth in her eyes dimming. With trepidation, he opened the box. It was a pendant. A gold sailboat gleamed on a thin, elegant chain. He opened the envelope and read the note.

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

“Who’s Blaine?” Conor asked, but he knew. From the devastation on Louisa’s face, Blaine was guilty of something. Conor dropped the bag on the hall table and crossed the tiles to her. She hadn’t moved. He lifted his hands and gently took her by the shoulders. “Talk to me.”

She shook her head, her face paling, anger brightening her eyes.

“It can’t be that bad.” He pulled her stiff body to his chest and kissed the top of her head, but her body still felt wooden.

He lifted her to sit on a kitchen stool. “Please, talk to me. Who is Blaine?”

She looked away. “Blaine is my aunt’s godson, the child of her childhood friend who died young. After my mother died and Aunt Margaret came to live with us, Blaine visited her. He showed up at family parties. That sort of thing. He’s six years older than me.”

“Were you friends?”

A small shudder passed through her frame. “No. But I had a crush on him when I was a teen.”

Conor stroked her arm. She inhaled, and he knew the story was coming.

“On my sixteenth birthday, my aunt threw a huge party. Of course, Blaine was there. It was noisy and crowded with people I didn’t know. Most of the guests were Aunt Margaret’s friends. My father had missed his flight home from Munich, and I was heartbroken. He’d been touring Europe, lecturing, and I hadn’t seen him for several months. Blaine found me hiding in the library, crying. He grabbed a bottle of champagne and talked me into going down to the boathouse with him. My aunt was very strict, and I’d seen my father’s drinking problem up close. I’d never had more than a sip of alcohol before. But I was so angry and hurt, I thought maybe I’d just follow in his footsteps.” She paused, her eyelids falling to half-mast, disgust flattening her lips.

“It’s OK,” Conor encouraged. “You’ll feel better if you get it out.”

But she wouldn’t meet his eyes. “The next thing I knew, it was morning and we were both naked. I didn’t remember anything. I’d never had sex, but it was obvious that’s what had happened.”

Picturing a young and vulnerable Louisa, Conor clenched a fist and rapped it against his thigh. “What did Blaine say?”

“He was enthusiastic about doing it again.” Two bright spots of color rose into her cheeks.

“How old was Blaine at the time?”

“Twenty-two.”

Twenty-two-year-old boys generally knew how to drink. Conor had seen more than one guy try to get a girl wasted to get into her bed. “I assume he’d had alcohol before?”

“He was in a fraternity. Alcohol consumption seemed to be his major at the time.”

“Not you, though.” No, Louisa had
good girl
written all over her.

A sad smile twisted her lips. “I didn’t have much of a social life. Like Zoe, I was years younger than my classmates. At sixteen, I’d just received my bachelor’s degree, but I’d never been to a college party. Frankly, I was a pathetically obedient teen. The total trying-to-win-Daddy’s-approval-by-being-perfect cliché. If I disappointed my aunt in any way, the first thing she did was call my father to tell him.”

Conor’s heart pinged. Louisa identified with her lonely young intern. Both had been preyed upon, but Zoe had likely ended up dead.

“Honey, Blaine took advantage of you. You can’t beat yourself up for the rest of your life about it,” Conor said. “How much did you drink?”

“A glass? I don’t remember.”

Conor froze. “You drank one glass of champagne and blacked out?”

“Yes. That’s why I don’t drink. Obviously, I have an adverse reaction to alcohol.”

He straightened her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Louisa, no one passes out from one glass of champagne.”

“What are you saying?”

“Health conditions exist where people have no tolerance for alcohol, but they’re rare. Do you have any weird medical issues? Were you on medication?”

“No.” Louisa’s head tilted, and he could see her mind making connections. “Would you explain what you’re thinking?”

But Conor thought he’d better prove his point. “The condos are connected to the hotel, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you get room service?”

“Yes. The number is on the base of the phone charger.”

He reached for the handset, dialed the room service number, and ordered a bottle of champagne.

“You want to get me drunk?” she asked, one brow shooting upward.

“No, I want to do an experiment.” He met her eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“I do.” She didn’t hesitate.

He went to the fridge and pulled out the cheese. He found an unopened pack of crackers in the pantry. A knock on the door signaled the arrival of room service. Conor opened the door. A young man in a white shirt and black slacks wheeled a cart into the living room. A champagne bottle sat in a bucket of ice. Two tall flutes flanked it.

The waiter opened the bottle and poured two glasses before bowing out.

Louisa sat down on the couch. She picked up a glass and fingered the stem. “I’ve tried alcohol a few times since that night, but I never got past the first sip. The taste triggered anxiety. I was afraid of what might happen.”

“Look, I’m not saying it’s impossible, but don’t you think you should know?” Conor set the plate of crackers and cheese on the coffee table. He picked up the second glass. He tapped it to hers. “Here’s to the truth.”

Louisa sipped. Her free hand went to the base of her throat, but there were no pearls to rub. She needed a distraction.

“Does it taste all right?”

Worry clouded her eyes. “I’m never going to like it.”

“That’s OK.” Conor scanned the living room tables. “Where’s the remote?”

“In the drawer.”

He turned on the flat-screen hanging opposite the couch and surfed until he found a classic movie channel. A whistling Ray Milland sauntered across a black-and-white seascape.

“Oh, I love this movie.”

Conor set the remote control on the table. He leaned back on the sofa. “What is it?”

“
The Uninvited
. It’s a ghost story.” Taking minuscule sips of her drink, she settled in next to him.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Fifteen minutes later, their glasses were empty.

“Should I have another?”

“How do you feel?”

“Fine. A bit relaxed.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.” Her forehead wrinkled. “Should I have another?”

“No. We have to preserve the integrity of the experiment and recreate your experience as closely as possible.” Conor wheeled the cart into the hall and called room service for a pick up.

“What now?” She yawned.

“We go to bed.” He took her hand and pulled her off the sofa. She went into the bathroom for a few minutes. When she came out, he went in to brush his teeth. The whole routine was normal and domestic. Warmth spread through his limbs as he took off his clothes and climbed into bed naked, pulling the sheet up to his waist. Louisa emerged from the closet with clothes in her hand. She paused, her eyes skimming over his bare chest.

He waggled his eyebrows. “What do you have?”

“Pajamas.” She laughed.

“Pajamas?” He lifted the covers. “You don’t need those.”

“All right.” She set them on a chair and smiled at him as she untied the sash of her robe. Blue silk slithered down her naked body and pooled at her feet.

Conor went hard in an instant.

She eased into bed and reached for him.

“Nope. No sex.”

“But you’re, you know . . .” She nodded at his obvious interest.

“Yes, I have a hard-on. I will survive.” Putting a hand on her hip, he rolled her on her side and spooned. The pressure of her bare buttock against his erection urged him to do more. “We have to preserve the integrity of the experiment, remember? I want to make sure you have total recall tomorrow morning.”

“I doubt I’ll forget this.” Her arm was halfway to the nightstand lamp when she tensed in his arms. “I’m obviously not unconscious.”

“No. You are not.”

“What does that mean?” She needed the truth.

“He put something in your champagne,” he said. “A date rape drug like roofies can make girls—”

“I know what a date rape drug is,” she snapped, sitting up in a jerky movement and drawing her knees close to her chest, withdrawing, moving away from him. “I just can’t believe that could happen in my own house. I’ve known Blaine most of my life. That would be . . .”

“Despicable?” Conor finished, hating the look of betrayal and pain in her eyes. “Yes, any man who drugs a woman and has sex with her unconscious body is the lowest form of humanity. Doing that to a sixteen-year-old girl who’s practically family makes Blaine a predator.”

She wrapped her arms around her shins. “He’s in town.”

“What?”

“My aunt invited him to have dinner with us on Friday night.” Her speech quickened as her mind worked.

“Did she know what he did?” She couldn’t have, he thought.

Louisa sighed. “I went to her immediately. To be fair, I told her that Blaine and I had been drinking. I accepted my share of the responsibility, but I also knew that he’d taken advantage.”

“What did she say?”

“That we were both at fault, and I could hardly blame him if I drank with him willingly. I shouldn’t have told her, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was afraid of getting pregnant.”

“You might not have realized he’d drugged you, but him using alcohol and your emotional state to achieve the same ends is bad enough. The fact remains that you were upset that your father didn’t show up, and Blaine took advantage of that. If a guy did that to my niece, I’d be plenty pissed off.”

Louisa let out a hard breath. “I couldn’t believe it when I went to her hotel and he walked into the lobby bar. She might not think it was all his fault, but she knows how I feel about him.”

“What did you do?”

“I left.”

Suspicion tightened Conor’s gut. “Could he have followed you?”

“It’s possible.” Louisa raised questioning eyes. “Do
you
think Blaine pushed me?”

Conor was actually thinking Blaine could be guilty of much more than that. “Do you know how long he’s been in Philly?”

“No.” Louisa’s eyes widened. “You don’t think he had anything to do with the murders.”