Midnight Sacrifice (29 page)

The Winston Museum of Art and Archeology was a big-ass brick house on a side street in Bangor. Conor parked his latest POS, a twenty-year-old Porsche 911 still in the restoration stage, at the curb. Unlike his brother Danny, who treated his convertible like the high school sweetheart he married, Conor restored a new car every year or so. He fed the meter and jogged up the steps onto a wide porch. According to the plaque by the door, the place was open. The door wasn’t locked, and he walked into a tiled lobby big enough for a half-court game of basketball. The old house was a center hall design. A dark wooden staircase bisected the foyer, and a hallway led to the rear of the house. An archway on each side of the huge entryway led to exhibit rooms.

There was no sign of the curator, Louisa M. Hancock, PhD, or anybody else, for that matter.

Not a lot of security for a place that had just been robbed. Feeling like he was casing the place, Conor walked through the arches and checked out the front rooms. Tall ceilings, ornate molding, and thick wallpaper gave the space an old-as-the-Mayflower-money feel. Glass cases held an assortment of broken pots, bits of metal, and other stuff that looked like it had been buried in the dirt for a thousand years. Descriptions of each item were typed neatly on ivory-colored cards. Conor stopped to examine a four-foot-long tusk.

Mammoth tusk, Siberia, 2007.
There was a list of people responsible for digging up the discovery and several paragraphs describing the find. Conor skimmed the details. Global warming. Shrinking permafrost. Bones popping up all over the tundra. Interesting. He moved to the next case.

Floorboards creaked overhead.

Conor walked to the bottom of the steps. “Hello?” The narrow staircase hampered his view of the top.

“Just a moment, please.” The voice was female, the footsteps on the wooden treads light. The first things Conor saw were old-fashioned pumps, then legs. Slim but shapely calves. The skirt fell just past her knees. Too bad. But it was snug, which was a bonus.

A tall, willowy figure in a conservative gray suit descended. She was sleek as a deer and blonde, with silky hair bound in a fancy, prudish knot, the kind of do a man couldn’t wait to undo, one pin at a time, while he tasted every inch of that slender neck.

He raised his eyes and nearly flinched. The look she scanned him with was cold as Siberian permafrost. It chilled him from his leather jacket to his motorcycle boots. Being a hopelessly perverse man, all Conor could think of were the various ways to melt her icy veneer.

She raised her chin and looked through dark-rimmed glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Can I help you?”

Oh, yeah. No.
He was here for information, not to thaw the frigid curator. But God, it was tempting. Loosen the hair. Flick a few of those buttons open. Hike that skirt up. Toss the glasses. Yup. She had the hot librarian thing going on.

Was it getting warm in here?

Her stare narrowed. Unfortunately, Conor found disapproval to be a turn-on.

Conor unzipped his jacket. “Yes. My name is Conor Sullivan. I’m looking for Dr. Louisa M. Hancock.”

“I’m Dr. Hancock.”

No shit?
Conor covered his shock with a cough. He held out a hand.

She glanced down as if it were infected with MRSA before resigning herself to touch it. Once she made the decision, though, he had to give her credit; she treated him to a firm, professional shake. “What can I do for you?”

Conor almost laughed at the images rolling through his head. “I’d like to ask you about the robbery.”

“Oh, you’re a policeman.” Something clicked in her eyes, as if being a cop was the reason he was dressed in Levi’s instead of Armani. Come to think of it, some of Conor’s friends were cops, and they
were
strictly off-the-rack guys.

“No. I’m not a cop.”

“Are you a reporter?” Suspicion laced her voice.

Conor shook his head. “No.”

Her perfectly arched brows pinched tightly. If she kept that up, she was going to have a Mariana Trench between her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“This is going to seem a little odd.”

She took a step back, as if strange were contagious.

“Not that odd.” He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans and tried to appear harmless, not a look he usually went for.

She put one hand to the single strand of pearls at her throat and the other around her waist. The vulnerable gesture roused guilt in Conor. He took a step back. They were alone in an empty building. He was a pretty big guy. He wasn’t an ink man, but he was wearing a lot of leather. The shadow on his jaw had passed five o’clock two days ago. She was slender and feminine and probably not used to disreputable-looking types perusing her exhibits. She might be more comfortable in a public place, with
a guy in a tie and loafers. A public locale he could offer her. The tie and loafers were a no-go. A man had limits. “Can I buy you dinner or a cup of coffee?”

“I’d really just like to know what this is all about, Mr. Sullivan.”

“OK.” He sighed at the persistent coolness in her voice. Best to get to the point. “I’d like to know what was stolen from your museum. Did you read about the guy that tried to commit a Celtic ritual murder upstate last December?”

“Yes.” She paled. Not an easy feat when her skin was already the color of fresh cream. “You don’t think the theft is related, do you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know, but I want to find out. He tried to kill my sister.”

Cool green eyes considered his candor.

“Do you want me to lock up, Dr. Hancock?”

Conor turned his head. A young woman in a miniskirt and flats stood in the archway. How had he not heard her walk in?

“Yes, please.” Dr. Hancock nodded seriously. “Thank you, Lindsay.”

“Should I check all the windows?” Lindsay asked with a snotty sneer she tried to cover with innocence.

“No. I’ll take care of it.” Dr. Hancock’s jaw clenched hard enough to grind coffee beans. She turned back to Conor, all traces of consideration wiped clean. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sullivan. I can’t help you. Museum records are private.”

Bouncing on her toes, Lindsay gave Conor a flirty wave and smile, but he wasn’t buying the sweet act.

“They’re trying to hang the theft on you, aren’t they?”

“The museum is closing, Mr. Sullivan.” Dr. Hancock pivoted and walked to the hall. “I’ll see you out.”

Great. His brother had asked him to one simple thing, and Conor had blown it by pissing off the one person who could help him.

Guess he was spending the night in Bangor. He certainly wasn’t leaving without that list of stolen artifacts.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Danny crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the counter. Outside the window, thanks to the approaching storm, the darkness that dropped on the yard was more blackout than twilight.

Lieutenant Lang stood by the kitchen island taking notes from the Boston girls’ registration cards. His lips were clamped in a grim frown. “Do you know where they were headed?”

Mandy opened the inn’s logbook on the countertop. “They were hiking the river trail today.”

Danny wondered how far that trail was from the spot where Mandy and he had been. Had it really just been a few hours since he’d made love to her in the sunshine? Seemed like much, much longer.

Doug held up a card. “Did you try the cell numbers listed here?”

“I did.” Mandy sighed. “The calls wouldn’t go through.”

“If they took the river trail, they’re way out of cell range. Did they have provisions?” Lang asked. Maybe Reed was right, and Lang had nothing to do with Nathan’s activities.

Mandy shook her head. Exhaustion and worry deepened the circles under her eyes. “I don’t know. I didn’t see them leave this morning.”

“When they went out the other day, they had full packs,” Danny offered. “They told me they always carried enough for an overnight.”

“Good.” Lang shut his notebook. “Most likely, they either got lost or one of them is injured. I’ll contact the rescue squad
and put them on notice. I’ll drive out to the trailhead now and verify their vehicle is parked there. If the girls don’t show up in the next two hours, we’ll start a preliminary search. At least we know where to start looking for them.”

Danny’s gut clenched. This felt wrong. “I don’t like this.”

“None of us like this, but hundreds of hikers go missing every year.” Lang frowned. “Temperature’s dropping, and the weather’s going to get nasty. Hope they find a place to hole up and stay dry.”

As much as it pained Danny to agree with the cop, he couldn’t argue with his logic. Lang seemed genuinely concerned and was acting like less of an asshole than usual.

“I don’t understand. What makes three chicks want to go out in the woods alone?” Lang tucked his notebook into his pocket. “Why can’t they stick to spa days?”

And the asshole was back.

Mandy let it go but didn’t waste any time ushering the cop to the door. “You’ll let me know what’s going on.”

“Yes. And you’ll call me if the girls turn up.”

“Of course.” Mandy closed the door on Lang.

“So what do we do while we wait for Lang to call?”

Mandy went into a closet by the back door and pulled out a large backpack. “We don’t do anything. I’m going to get ready to search.”

“Do you have an extra pack?”

“Jed will probably come with me.” She pulled an ultralight tent and a sleeping bag out of the pack. “Or someone from town.”

“Anybody but me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Look, I’m not Mr. Outdoorsman, but the army did teach me a couple of things about survival in the wilderness. I assure you that I can hold my own out there.” He nodded toward the window.

“I’m sure you can.”

“If you don’t have a pack, I’ll borrow one from someone else,” Danny said. “If you’re going out there, where Nathan just might be running around abducting unsuspecting hikers, I’m following you.”

“The girls are probably just lost.” With a distracted and worried frown, she returned to her task. “But you can use Bill’s pack. I’ll pull it out for you.”

The faint rumble of distant thunder punctuated her offer. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

“We could use some light, dense calories. Nuts, candy bars, stuff like that.”

Mandy opened the pantry. “I have some trail mix. I don’t keep candy in the house. It makes Bill hyper.”

“I’ll be right back.” Danny grabbed his keys and headed outside. A stiff, cool wind hit him, an about-face from the afternoon’s perfect weather. Mandy might not think he was much of an outdoor guy, but the army had taught him to scrounge food in the wild. In his opinion, eating bugs and squirrel kebobs was highly overrated. He drove to the convenience store and filled a basket with Peanut M&Ms and Slim Jims. If they were going to spend the night traipsing around the wilderness in the frigging rain, he and Mandy were going to need serious calories to stay ahead of the storm and find those girls in time.

A half hour later, Mandy was checking the contents of her first-aid kit when Danny returned. She stowed the red box in her pack. Jed paced the kitchen. Her mom and Bill sat at the island with Honey stretched out at their feet.

“Your pack is there.” She nodded toward the backpack lying on the table. “Doug called. We’re meeting at the trailhead in twenty minutes.”

“OK.” Danny opened the backpack and checked its contents, then added the beef jerky and candy. He tested the bag’s weight. “We have enough water?”

“Yes. And iodine tablets just in case,” she said.

Danny went to the pantry and pulled out a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. “Want a sandwich?”

“No. I’m not hungry. Thanks.” Mandy put a hand to her nervous stomach. She glanced out the window. Tree branches swayed in the wind. The temperature was dropping. Could the girls find shelter? “You’d better get some extra clothes. We have to leave soon.”

Danny downed one sandwich in a few bites, washed it down with milk, and made another. He strode out of the room still chewing. “I’ll be five minutes.”

“Mom, are you going to be all right here alone?” Mandy stepped into her worn hiking boots. She’d changed into cargo pants earlier and sincerely hoped Danny had something to wear other than jeans. Wet denim wasn’t much fun.