“What are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure. This is a list of museum employees. Anyone on this list could have stolen the dagger.” Louisa sighed and closed the file. “But without more clues, the list doesn’t mean much. I’ll see what I can make of it in the morning. Xavier is definitely a suspect. He might not work for the museum, but he visits often enough that people are accustomed to seeing him there.”
Conor sat next to her. Their bodies touched from hip to shoulder. “What about your boss?”
Louisa lowered her glasses to her lap. “Dr. Cusack?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know.” Louisa sighed. “Tonight he seemed more concerned with making the museum’s budget than with Riki’s murder, but that doesn’t mean he actually feels that way. He’s just doing his job. He did order me to stop asking questions. He threatened to fire me.”
“And you said?”
She shrugged. “I said I wouldn’t stop. But my performance tonight might bolster some support. This evening’s donations were substantial. My skill at eliciting funds for the museum might balance my disagreement with Cusack over Zoe.”
“I’m sorry your boss is a jerk, but I’m proud of you.”
“He’s not a jerk. He’s a politician. OK, maybe he is a jerk. Regardless, I really don’t want to lose my job, but I won’t let fear for my career make me stop looking for Zoe. Her family deserves better.” Louisa shivered.
Conor wrapped one arm around her. “Then it’s a good thing she has you.”
Her head fell onto his shoulder. “I’m tired.”
“Should I leave?”
“Would you mind staying? I sleep better when you’re here.” Her voice was sleepy and soft.
“I’d love to stay.” He sat up and turned to make eye contact. “Do you want me to take the couch?”
“No. I like sleeping with you.” She blushed. “I actually mean sleeping.”
“I know what you mean; I don’t expect anything. In fact, I prefer to wait. To me, there’s nothing casual about sex.”
He stood and held out a hand. She took it and let him help her to her feet. Wrapping an arm around her, he took some of her weight as she hobbled to the bedroom. Her knees must have stiffened as she sat. “But I’m warning you now. I get hot. I’ll probably end up taking off my shirt.”
Her body shook in a silent laugh. “I’ll try to control myself.”
Kirra beat them to the bed, curling up in the exact center of the duvet.
Conor stretched out on the bed and picked up the remote. “If you get too warm, feel free to take yours off. I won’t be offended.”
“That’s kind of you to offer.” She chuckled, easing onto the mattress.
“Yeah, I’m considerate that way.” He picked up the remote. “Mind if I put on the TV for a while? I’m not used to sleeping this early.”
“It won’t bother me. I often sleep with the TV on for company. I find the Weather Channel the most conducive to sleep.”
“I do that too.” Conor settled on a hockey game and adjusted the volume to low.
“Do you think she’s alive?”
He glanced at her profile, delicate in the flickering light from the TV. “I don’t know.”
“The police are convinced she’s dead.”
He reached across the bed and took her hand. He intertwined their fingers. “I know.”
“It’s not right. People can’t just disappear.” Her voice caught. The light played across her eyes, shining with moisture. She brushed a fingertip across her cheek.
“It’s not your responsibility. It’s up to the police to find out what happened to Zoe. There’s only so much we can do.”
“I just want her to be all right, but I know she probably isn’t.”
“Come here.” Conor shifted sideways and tugged her closer. Kirra shot him a look, then scooted farther down on the mattress and rested her head on his foot. Louisa settled in his arms and put her head on his chest. A faint shudder passed through her body. He stroked her arm with a slow, rhythmic motion until her body relaxed.
Watching over her while she slept was no hardship. If only Zoe had had someone to look out for her. Louisa wanted to believe her intern was still alive, but Conor doubted it. He’d seen the pictures of Riki LaSanta’s body. Whoever did that to a young woman enjoyed killing too much to stop. And Conor was going to make sure whoever it was didn’t set his sights on Louisa.
23
Sullivan’s was busy on Sunday evening. From her seat at a booth, Louisa sipped her Diet Coke and watched Conor draw a tall glass of dark beer from a tap. For the last two hours, he’d served drinks and talked with customers. He seemed to know almost everyone on a first-name basis. But every time she’d glanced at him, those striking turquoise eyes were focused on her. Conor’s eyes weren’t the only ones she felt on her skin. Everyone seemed to be staring at her.
Even the plainclothes cop making a futile attempt to blend in at the back of the bar.
A shadow fell over the table. Conor’s sister, Jayne, was tall and lovely, with eyes of the same shade as her brothers’ and curly red hair that tumbled carelessly down her back.
“Do you mind if I join you?” Jayne set two plates loaded with burgers and fries on the table and slid into the booth.
“Not at all.”
“Good. I brought you dinner.” Jayne sipped a glass of water. “I hope you like burgers. Conor ordered me on dinner break. I thought we could eat together.”
“I love burgers.” Louisa took off the top bun and squirted ketchup on the meat. She added a puddle on the plate for her fries.
Jayne grinned, a dimple compressing a small scar on her cheek. “Good.”
Louisa set down the bottle.
“I’m starving.” Jayne picked it up and loaded her burger. “It’s amazing a being the size of a peanut can make me this hungry. I’ve been either sick or starving every minute of the day since I got pregnant.”
“Congratulations.” Louisa bit into her sandwich. “You look excited.”
Jayne beamed. “Thanks. I’m thrilled.”
“When are you due?”
“Not till June, which is good. Reed and I are getting married at Christmas. I’m hoping to feel better by then. This morning sickness goes on till lunchtime.”
“How’s the burger?” Conor interrupted, sliding into the booth, bumping Louisa’s hip to make room. He put one arm over her shoulders across the top of the booth. With the other hand, he stole a fry from her plate and popped it into his mouth.
“It’s good. Aren’t you going to eat?” Louisa asked.
“I’ll get something later.” He kept an eye on the bar. “No big games tonight. Things will slow down by seven.” Conor turned to his sister. “How’s Scott?” he asked Jayne.
“Better.” She smiled. “He’s out of ICU, but he’ll need to stay in the hospital for a few more days. Reed wants to bring him home for a couple of weeks to recuperate, but Scott is arguing already. He said he’s already behind in his classes.”
“Arguing is a good sign,” Conor said.
A scraping sound drew Louisa’s attention to the corner of the room. Three young men gathered. Two held guitars. The third perched on the stool behind the drum set. Feedback squealed.
Conor leaned across the table toward his sister. “Who told them they could play tonight?”
Jayne blushed. “I did. I’m sorry.”
“I thought we had a Friday-or-Saturday-night-only policy,” he said, raising his voice over another ear-piercing screech.
“We do, but they asked really nicely.” Jayne grinned.
“You’re a softie.” Conor shook his head and smiled at Louisa. “They’re local boys, trying to catch a break. We let them play once a week.” He shot his sister a lifted brow.
She raised an unconcerned sh
oulder. “They’re nice kids.”
He glanced at the bar, where customers were backing up in front of the older bartender. Giving Louisa a quick peck on the mouth, he slid out of the booth. “Break’s over for me.”
The band started playing. The music was decent, but the sheer volume curtailed any further conversation with Jayne. Louisa sat back, ate her burger, and enjoyed the atmosphere. Jayne went back to waiting tables. A set later, the crowd had thinned.
Conor took another break, joining Louisa in the booth to eat a meatball sandwich. He’d barely finished when the guitarist spoke into the microphone.
“Hey, Conor! How about getting up here and doing a song with us?”
Conor waved them off. “Not tonight, guys.”
“Oh, come on. One song.”
“I have a lady here,” Conor protested.
The guy laughed. “Like picking up a guitar ever lessened a guy’s chances of scoring with the ladies.”
Conor glanced at Louisa. “Do you mind?”
She sipped her soda. “Not at all. I’m intrigued.”
Sighing, Conor wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. Someone handed him an acoustic guitar, and he stepped up behind the mic, more comfortable than Louisa expected. He was a quiet, unassuming man, not the type she’d associated with public performances.
“What are we playing tonight?” the drummer asked. “For the love of Pete, let’s not go all melancholy and sad like you usually do.”
“I can’t help it. It’s my Irish heritage. Be glad I don’t make you play ‘Danny Boy.’” Conor slipped the guitar strap over his head and settled the instrument against his hip. “I’m in a Black Keys sort of mood.”
“Now you’re talking.” The drummer rested his sticks across his thigh. “Whenever you’re ready.”
As Conor picked up the first few notes, the bar went quiet. The melody was bluesy and, yes, melancholy, and his tone was surprisingly pleasant. He leaned into the microphone and closed his eyes, his body still except for the motions of his hands on the instrument. The rest of the room faded away until she could see only him. Emotion rolled through his voice, picking up strength as he hit the end of the first chorus.
As he sang about his blinded, broken heart, something melted inside of Louisa. The heat built to a slow simmer that thickened her blood. The band kicked in and the pace picked up, but those first two verses had done her in. Conor opened his eyes. His gaze locked with hers. For a few seconds, raw need poured from him. He blinked away, but her heart recognized he’d been holding back on her, as much as she’d been holding back from him.
And the way that she suddenly craved everything he had to offer made her hands shake when she reached for her soda.
The final notes of the song faded. He lifted the guitar strap from around his neck and handed the instrument back to another member of the band. Back-slapping and camaraderie from the other musicians followed.
Louisa lifted her glass and drank. Icy liquid slid down her throat but failed to cool the rest of her body. His emotional performance had left her both disconcerted and aroused. But in her defense, he’d definitely cheated. What girl could resist a man with a guitar? “Well, that just wasn’t fair.”
“You are not the first woman to say that.”
Louisa jumped.
Jayne was standing next to her, a tray balanced on her hip. “Do you want another Diet Coke?”
“No, thank you.” Louisa dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Conor was working his way through the small crowd, but everyone stopped him. More than one woman slid a hand down his arm to get his attention as he passed.
Jayne laughed. “It’s OK.”
“Do they all have to touch him?”
“That’s nothing.” Jayne set the tray on the table. “Years ago they practically threw their panties at him when he’d sing.”
“Thank goodness they’re just pawing at him, then.” Was that lick of heat in her belly jealousy? Yes, it was.
“No worries.” Jayne smiled. “He’s been hit on by every available woman in the neighborhood, and a fair number of the unavailable ones, come to think of it. But deep down, they all know the chase is pointless. Which is the reason they all keep staring at you.”
Louisa choked. Coke dribbled down her chin. She mopped her face. “Me?”
“You’re the first woman to catch his attention in years.”
Louisa’s eyes were drawn back to Conor, extricating himself from a woman’s grasp on his forearm. A head above most of the crowd, he turned back to look at Louisa with apologetic eyes. Had he felt her gaze, or was he in a rush to get back to her?
He pried the woman’s fingers from his wrist and squeezed through an opening like a fish slipping through a hole in a net.
“Sorry about that.” He slid into the booth next to her.
She checked the time on her phone. Eight thirty. “Don’t you close soon?”
“We’ll close at nine.” He leaned back and studied her face. “Do you feel OK?”
“I’m fine.”
“OK, then.” He scanned the bar. The band was packing up. People paid their checks and drifted toward the door. “I’ll go help Ernie and Jayne so we can get out of here faster.”
Conor turned the deadbolt in the front door of the bar, then led her past the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign into the back hallway. His police babysitter had moved from his booth to an unmarked car at the curb out front, where he would wait to follow Conor wherever he went for the night. The constant police presence was a reminder that the body still hadn’t been confirmed as Zoe. Conor still headed the short list of suspects.
On the bright side, Louisa was safer with the cop hanging around. Since her pavement dive, Conor didn’t want to leave her alone. Sure, it could have been an accident, but what if it wasn’t? What if the killer didn’t like the questions she’d been asking? What if the murderer was someone she knew and trusted enough to let into her apartment?
“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” He hoped she did, and not just because his apartment was uninhabitable.
Louisa locked eyes with him. “Yes.”
Her gaze was level and . . . hungry?
“I’ll be finished in a few minutes.” He lifted the cash register tray in his hand.
“All right.” She followed him into the office, pacing impatiently while he sorted and filed the night’s paperwork.
Something was up with Louisa. On autopilot, he counted cash and tallied the total with the computer-generated numbers. Tucking the bills into a bank envelope, he closed the zipper. Nerves slid up his spine with the same deliberate zing.
“Ready?” he asked.
She pivoted and crossed the dented oak floor to stand in front of him. In slim jeans and a sweater, her legs seemed impossibly long. Her athletic shoes, worn as an accommodation to her bruised knees, made her a full head shorter than him. Despite the casual attire, she’d swept her hair into one of those fancy, uptight knots.
Her green eyes were fever-bright. “Yes.”
For once, she didn’t avoid his direct and searching gaze, but met him stare for stare. He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. She opened with no hesitation. Her body pressed against his, making solid contact from thigh to chest. Her hands slid up his biceps, her fingers and nails digging into his flesh. A groan reverberated deep in her throat. Instead of the chaste, sweet kisses they’d shared in the past, this was tongue and teeth and heat. Need roared through him like a subway car, screeching in his bones and muscles with the harsh discord of steel wheels in an underground tunnel. He wanted more from her than this physical storm. But her need, pure and raw, rammed through his resolve and left it shattered.
He dropped the bag. It hit the desk with a soft thud. His hands cradled the back of her head, his fingers sliding into her t
hick mass of hair. Pins pinged to the floor as he unraveled the bun at the base of her neck. Hair tumbled over her shoulders in wild disarray.
“I need you.” She tugged at the hem of his T-shirt. Her hands burrowed under the fabric. One splayed on his chest, right over his beating heart. She had the power to rip it to shreds. Her free hand slid down his belly toward the snap of his jeans.
“Easy.” He lifted his head. Her eyes were dark, bright-green irises darkened by expanded pupils, emotion blurred by desire.
A finger delved into his waistband. A breath hissed out through his teeth.
His body screamed for more, while his heart insisted that a feral coupling on his desk wasn’t enough.
He caught her wrists and pulled her hands to his chest. “Slow down.”
“Don’t want to.” She pressed her hips against his. The pressure of her belly on his erection sent a wave of electric pleasure rippling from his balls to the base of his spine that nearly buckled his knees. His heart’s voice telling him this wasn’t enough grew dimmer, but he could still hear its whisper. Barely.
“We’ll get there. I promise.”
She shook her head. “Now.”
A moan of frustration escaped her lips. He captured the sound with his mouth. He released her hands, bent down, and caught her by the backs of her thighs, picking her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her core creating more sweet friction. Her arms encircled his neck as he turned and set her on the desk. Brushing papers and a stapler aside, he lowered her to the wooden surface. She was pulling at his shirt. He reared up and tossed it off. Her body arched backward. Her head tilted back. The overhead light caught the bruise on her jaw as a purple shadow showing through her makeup.
Instead of allowing those busy hands to roam freely, he caught her by the wrists again. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m fine.” Her lips trailed down his neck.
“You’re not fine.” He lifted his head, more concerned with her abrupt personality change than her physical injuries. “Look at me.”
Her eyes blinked open and met his, and the gaze staring back at him shifted from raw sexual desire to more. Much more. The heat that filled his belly rose twenty degrees.
Midnight Betrayal Page 19
