Midnight Betrayal

by Leigh, Melinda

  His feelings for Louisa felt like hitting standing water on the expressway. The tires of his Porsche had lost traction. He was going too fast, just on the border of losing control, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t stop even if he was driving straight into the river.

  What if the next time she faced a traumatic event, he couldn’t talk her down? What if she shut him out again? Could he take that? Last night had demonstrated how little he knew about her. She was about as open as a fire safe. His gaze traveled the long corridor. He didn’t even know how much her apartment was worth.

  And with his brain backfiring, all that came out of his mouth was a lame explanation. “We have nothing in common.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m a regular guy. I work till three in the morning. I get one day off a week, and I usually spend it doing laundry and working on my car. What did you do for fun as a kid?”

  “Before my mother died, we went sailing. I had a pony, and she used to take me to horse shows.” Comprehension dawned in her eyes.

  “Is this about money?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Is that what you think of me? That I’m superficial and only care about things like sailboats?” Louisa’s face reddened with anger.

  “I meant that we’re fundamentally different—”

  Her glare cut him off. Uh-oh. He could feel her anger, her hurt, sizzle through the air.

  She held her purse against her body like armor, like a shield, protecting her from him. “I don’t need you to be rich. Frankly, I have more than enough money of my own. I work for a living anyway. Do you know why?”

  The question felt rhetorical, and Conor kept his mouth shut. He could barely move, but he bet he could still get his motorcycle boot into his mouth if he said a word.

  “Because it isn’t enough. I’m not going to deny I like having money. I’ve never appreciated my fortune more than this week. I’m grateful I can afford this very secure building. But money isn’t everything.”

  Conor swallowed and croaked, “I just—”

  “Seriously, I love to vacation in Europe. I’d love to share my favorite places with you. If your ego can stand it.”

  His ego had been given a good bitch slap, and a well-deserved one at that.

  “I can’t believe, after a lifetime of dodging men who are interested only in my money, I find the one man who doesn’t want it.”

  “I didn’t say—”

  But she wasn’t finished. “I’m falling for you, and if that isn’t enough, then there’s nothing I can do.”

  Falling for him? Was she implying the L word?

  Stunned, Conor took two steps across the foyer. “It’s more than enough. Look, I’m not perfect. I can’t pretend I’m totally comfortable with our basic differences.” He gestured between them. “I wasn’t prepared for this.”

  “Oh.” She let the purse drop to her side, but her posture remained tense. “I’m sorry I freaked out.”

  She leaned her forehead against his chest for a few seconds, then pushed away. “I need to get to work.”

  He opened the door for her. “Will you be all right here alone tonight while I’m at work?”

  “It’s a safe building.”

  “OK, but don’t let that lower your guard. Don’t let anyone in. Not even someone you know. Especially someone you know.” Conor locked up behind them. “I won’t make it back until about three a.m.”

  “You don’t have to come back here if that’s not what you want.”

  “It’s what I want.” He took her hand, but the tension in her muscles remained.

  Of course, she had just made a major emotional revelation, and he’d totally backpedaled. What was his problem? It wasn’t like him to be such a fucking coward.

  They took the elevator to the ground floor and walked toward the door.

  A dark sedan was parked illegally at the curb in front of her building. Detectives Ianelli and Jackson got out of the vehicle.

  Jackson stepped in front of them, halting their progress. Kirra growled softly. Maybe the dog wasn’t useless as a protector.

  “We need to talk with you both.” Jackson nodded at the building behind them.

  Louisa’s breakfast tumbled. “What’s wrong?”

  Jackson frowned. “Isa Dumont is missing.”

  28

  Louisa called April to let her know she’d be late. She didn’t say why.

  Back in her apartment, Detective Jackson didn’t waste any time. He’d barely sat down when he started. “Isa Dumont was supposed to be at her parents’ house for dinner last night. She didn’t show up. Knowing everything that has been happening, her parents immediately started looking for her. No one has seen her since she left the university library at seven. Her car was found in the parking lot at nine o’clock.”

  “Oh no.” Louisa sank onto a chair. Disappointment from her argument with Conor was swept aside with new grief. Standing next to her, grim-eyed, Conor squeezed her shoulder in a silent message. Tell him.

  She clenched her hands in her lap. “I have something to tell you about Blaine Delancey.”

  Jackson’s brow rose with interest. Ianelli leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs, his black eyes focused on her. He would miss nothing.

  Telling her story was no easier than it had been last night. “I always assumed I simply couldn’t tolerate alcohol, but now I know that isn’t the case.”

  Ianelli cocked his head, his gaze unreadable. “You have no evidence he did anything.”

  “No. I have no proof. I understand that incident is over and done with from a legal perspective, but I thought you should know what Blaine is capable of.”

  “OK. We’ll find out how long Blaine Delancey has been in town.” Jackson unwrapped a square of gum and put it in his mouth. He chewed with aggressive, angry back-and-forth motions of his jaw. “Does Blaine inherit anything if you die?”

  “Not directly, no.” Louisa opened her hands. Blood rushed into her fingers with pinpricks of heat. She studied the fading bruises on her palms. “The way the trust is structured, if I die with no children, then the money goes to my father, but in reality, the trust is controlled. He’d receive both my annual trust income and his, but only a portion of the estate is accessible. If my father and I both pass with no heirs, the money is distributed among a number of charitable organizations. If I have children, then a portion of the principle is carved out for each of them, with them receiving an annual income, et cetera. The idea is to preserve the family money for future generations.”

  Jackson absorbed the information. “Are you on good terms with your father?”

  A flash of anger brought Louisa’s gaze to meet Jackson’s. “First of all, my father has no interest in money, which is why he told my mother not to leave it to him.”

  “Everybody is interested in money.”

  “He’s a hopeless academic. All he desires out of life is to spend his days with his books and research. My father has no interest in anything besides his work.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Ianelli asked.

  “He came home in May. He stayed two weeks and returned to Stockholm.” He couldn’t wait to get away from her and her failure. “He’s guest lecturing at a university in Sweden through next spring. My father has a generous allowance from the trust. He gives most of it to his sister, Margaret, to run the house in Maine.” Louisa stopped. “Margaret can never directly inherit, but she would likely have increased access to the trust income through him if I died. Blaine is her godchild, the son of her oldest friend. If she indirectly controlled the fortune, she would be very generous with Blaine.”

  “That feels like a pretty thin motive.” Ianelli’s mouth pursed. “Isn’t this Blaine guy rich too?”

  Louisa shivered. “I assure you Blaine is very shrewd. He’s bee
n kowtowing to Margaret for favors since he was a child. His father lost the family money in a series of bad business decisions. Blaine has been bitter about that his whole life. But honestly, what makes me more uncomfortable about Blaine is his insane jealousy regarding anything he perceives is his. This might include me.”

  Jackson made a few notes and tucked his pen back into his pocket. “We’ll be sure to check Blaine Delancey out thoroughly.” His tone didn’t promise results.

  “Now back to more plausible suspects.” Ianelli refocused on Conor. “We have a witness who saw Conor following Isa Dumont the other morning.”

  Detective Jackson chimed in. “You were parked outside her residence, the one she used to share with Zoe Finch. She left the building, and you followed her.”

  “Isa had something going on with Heath,” Conor said. “And I knew you were following me the whole time.”

  “Still doesn’t look good.”

  Conor rolled his eyes. “You can’t still think I’m your best suspect.”

  “Why not? Because you’re a good liar?” Jackson’s frown furrowed his whole face. “We found short dark hairs in the front seat of Isa’s car and on the second body.”

  “And?” Conor crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You have short dark hair.” Jackson gave Conor’s head a knowing look.

  Conor snorted. “So does half the city.”

  “DNA will tell. It doesn’t lie.” Ianelli’s piercing black eyes locked on Conor.

  “You don’t even have my DNA.” Conor straightened.

  “Don’t we?” Ianelli shrugged.

  Louisa put a hand on Conor’s forearm. “I think we should call Damian before we answer any more questions.”

  Ianelli stood, brushing a wrinkle from his slacks. “Never mind. We’re leaving. We just thought you should know Isa Dumont had disappeared.”

  “Wait. You didn’t ask us where we were when Isa was taken.” Louisa raised a finger. “You said she was last seen at seven, and her car was found at nine last night. You know Conor and I were both in the bar at that time. There was a policeman watching us all evening.”

  “And we’re still watching you.” Jackson picked a dog hair from his jacket sleeve.

  “Isa was taken from the parking lot?”

  “We believe she was grabbed on her way back to her car,” Jackson answered. “But we’re not sure.”

  “Then how would her attacker’s hair get in the front seat of her car?” Louisa asked. Were the police so determined to pin these crimes on Conor that they would ignore logic and facts? Or did they just want general information and were trying to intimidate her and Conor to get it?

  “Maybe that’s where he waited for her.” Ianelli shrugged, but his brows dropped lower, shadowing his eyes. “Or he grabbed her after she got into the car. Lots of possibilities.”

  “That makes no sense.” Conor shook his head. “If he left her car there, he’d need to have his own vehicle. He could hardly toss her over his shoulder and fireman-carry her away. Someone would notice. So if he had his own car, why would he bother to break into hers? He’d nab her while she was digging her keys out of her purse or unlocking the door.”

  The police didn’t offer an opinion on Conor’s comment.

  “Have you made any progress with Riki or Zoe’s cases?” Louisa asked. “Are any of Zoe’s DNA test results in yet?”

  Originally, Damian had speculated the tests would be back within a week, which was tomorrow.

  The police didn’t answer. Instead, Jackson rose. “We’re done here.”

  “I’ll see you to the door.” Louisa gestured toward the foyer. She didn’t want Conor to say anything else until she’d firmly closed the door on the police.

  She pressed her back against the cold steel. “I can’t believe Isa is gone.”

  Conor paced the small foyer. “How can another girl go missing without anyone noticing?”

  “I don’t know.” Dread swirled in Louisa’s stomach. “He’s very cunning.”

  He whirled, his face an angry mask of frustration. “More likely he’s someone the girls knew—and trusted.”

  “Time to call Damian,” Louisa said. “So he can inquire on the status of the DNA test results. With Riki the police didn’t release that information to the public until her family had been notified. Maybe the same thing is happening with Zoe.”

  “Maybe. I don’t want to be too optimistic, but it feels like their case against me is weakening. It’s hard to beat cops for an alibi.”

  “Then why were they here?”

  “I’m not sure.” Conor scrubbed his scalp with his fingers. “Looking for a new lead? Hopefully it wasn’t because they don’t have any other serious suspects.”

  The late morning October sun was warm on Conor’s head as he sat on the bus stop bench across from Heath Yeager’s town house. He’d parked his car a few blocks away and strolled over, a backpack slung over one shoulder. Back in his cell phone and hoodie disguise, he blended in with the male students, as long as he kept his face hooded. Two kids pedaled by on bikes. A trio of young women exited the converted row home next door and strode away, absorbed in conversation. Backpack between his feet, head bent down toward his phone, Conor watched.

  He couldn’t believe he’d blown it with Louisa. But how did he feel about a real, long-term relationship with a woman who kept secrets until he pried them from her with a metaphorical crow bar? And putting money aside, their backgrounds were polar opposites.

  Movement snapped Conor out of his introspection. Heath came out of his front door and walked toward the campus. Two of his roommates had left a half hour before. Where was the fourth?

  After Heath disappeared around the corner, Conor got up and ambled toward the building. On the front porch, he used his elbow to ring the doorbell, then pretended to wait to be let in. No one answered. Where was the fourth roommate?

  Conor tried the doorknob. It turned in his hand. He pushed the door open. Heath hadn’t even locked the door. The last roomie must be upstairs somewhere. Sticking his head inside, Conor listened. A shower was running on a higher floor.

  He waivered. When would he get another shot at this? He’d have to be quick and hope the roomie liked long showers.

  He made a quick sweep of the first floor but saw nothing obvious. Where would a guy like Heath keep his information? Conor’s gaze landed on two laptops lying on the desk. Bingo. Young guys were all about their electronic toys. The first one belonged to some guy named Sam. But the second was marked with the initials HLY. Nice. About time some luck went Conor’s way.

  He opened the computer. It was already on and woke up from hibernation mode instantly. Unlike the old desktop in his office that Conor intended to replace as soon as he had time, Heath’s powerhouse laptop was smooth and silent. No chugging or locking up when Conor inspected the folders. He skimmed through the photos. Some tasteless pics of Heath and his friends partying. Didn’t these kids know not to take selfies while they were smoking pot? Drunken girls flashing their boobs Girls Gone Wild–style. Porn. Yeah. Heath was a classy guy.

  Keeping one ear on the still-running shower, Conor started opening videos. More porn. Didn’t Heath actually do any schoolwork? Conor opened the fifth video, labeled RS1. Another naked girl. But this video looked different. Homemade. The girl wasn’t watching the camera. There was no canned dialogue. She didn’t seem to know she was being filmed, which pushed Heath to a whole different level of skeeve. Did Heath secretly videotape his sexual exploits?

  Feeling like a voyeur, Conor placed the cursor to close the window. Then he froze. The picture sharpened. He’d seen that girl before. Was that Riki LaSanta? It sure looked like her photo on the flyer. Had she slept with Heath? Had Heath slept with Isa or Zoe? Possibilities whirled through Conor’s suspicious mind.

  A naked man walked into the room, his back to the camer
a. He eased onto the bed with the girl. Conor blinked. That wasn’t Heath. Professor Xavier English’s profile came into focus. He stretched out on the bed next to the girl, and his eyes shifted to give the camera a quick glance. The professor knew the camera was there.

  What. The. Fuck?

  Why would Heath have videos of the professor with Riki LaSanta? How would he have gotten the vids?

  Uh-oh. Upstairs, the shower cut off. He had to get moving. This wouldn’t be a good time to be caught, not when the cops were still riding Conor’s butt. But how to get the video to the cops? He opened Heath’s e-mail and dug Detective Jackson’s card out of his wallet. Bingo. He clicked NEW MAIL, typed in the cop’s e-mail address, and attached the video. A nasty idea prodded the back of his mind. While the video uploaded, he searched for correspondence with Professor English. There it was, and the video was attached. Heath was blackmailing the professor. According to the e-mail, there were other videos. Who else had the professor slept with? Riki had been his student, so could inappropriate relations get him fired?

  While he waited for the file to load, he browsed the rest of the files, stopping on one titled ID1. Knowing what he’d see, Conor opened the file. The bed was empty, but not for long. Professor English backed Isa Dumont to his bed and began taking off her clothes. The professor was two for three. If Conor kept looking, would he find a video of English with Zoe? He attached the second video file and hit UPLOAD.

  Footsteps on the floorboards upstairs startled him. Come on. Come on. The upload bar turned green. He clicked SEND, closed the windows he’d opened, and lowered the laptop’s lid. Footsteps thudded above his head. Grabbing his backpack, he checked the peephole. The porch was empty. Once outside, he slung the mostly empty backpack over his shoulder and crossed the street to the bus stop. The morning was cool but clear. The scent of damp, molding leaves filled the air and discoveries filled Conor’s head.

  A guy emerged from Heath’s place, locked the door, and set off down the walk toward campus. Close one.