“The good news is that Conor is off the cops’ radar.” Damian handed her a sandwich. “Police surveillance is an irrefutable alibi.”
Louisa set it on the bench next to her without unwrapping it.
Chewing, he nudged her sandwich toward her. “It’s pulled pork. Eat it. The world is a terrible place full of terrible people. Starving yourself isn’t going to change that.”
She opened it and took a bite without tasting anything.
Damian lowered his lunch. “I know you’re having trouble accepting all this, but those three girls aren’t coming back.”
Louisa’s next breath hitched in her chest. She looked up at the sunshine glinting on water droplets in the fountain’s spray like diamonds under a jeweler’s loupe. The beauty of the afternoon felt like a sacrilege, as if all pleasure and beauty in the world should cease existing while parents mourned the deaths of their children. Even as one predator was stopped, all over the world, the wicked preyed on the innocent. There was no shortage of evil opportunists.
She gave up on her lunch. “I know. I just pray the police have the right man. I don’t want any more young women to get killed.”
Damian escorted her back to the museum. Louisa went back to her office but couldn’t concentrate on her paperwork. Conor called to tell her about the videos he’d found in Heath’s house. He’d been tied up with the police all morning. She decided to work on finishing out the Celtic Warrior exhibit. It didn’t matter that the grand opening had been pushed back. The work needed to get done, and physical tasks took less focus. She headed to the third floor with a list of items still needed for the life-size diorama.
She got off the elevator and skirted a ladder in the hallway. A technician in a security company uniform was mounting a small camera to the ceiling. She spent an hour sorting through fake rocks and tufts of grass in the prop room. Then she went into the apparel room and started searching for a proper helmet for one of her warrior mannequins.
Louisa stifled a sob. She was going to miss her intern, and not just because of her superior knowledge of Celtic history. Zoe’s youthful energy and drive would be sadly lacking in the office.
Her arms were full. Why hadn’t she brought a box with her? Spying a large cardboard box behind the shelves, she rounded the unit and opened it. But it wasn’t empty. Inside were a number of small personal items: a bottle of antacids, an iPod, a flashlight, a pen, mints, dental floss, and a bottle of ibuprofen that looked exactly like the one that had been in her desk drawer. A museum brochure was tucked under the jumble. Could she have found the museum thief’s stash?
Forgetting about her 3-D scene, she hefted the box down to Director Cusack’s office.
His secretary’s desk was empty. Louisa knocked.
“Come in,” Cusack’s voice commanded.
She opened the door.
“What is it?” Cusack closed his desk drawer with a slam. His mouth was tight and his eyes annoyed.
Louisa hesitated. Fear prickled her nape. Was he hiding something? She left the door open as she crossed to his desk. “I found something upstairs you’ll want to see.”
His attention snapped to the box.
“I believe this is full of stolen personal items.” Setting the box on the corner of the desk, Louisa explained how she found it. “Do you want to call the police?”
“Yes, I’ll handle it,” Cusack said.
“You should go home.” Cusack scrutinized her face. “You look tired.”
Louisa sighed. She was tired. “I just have a couple of things to finish before I leave for the day.”
She hurried out of his office. Cusack was acting strangely. One minute he was irritated, the next he was uncharacteristically considerate. He knew all the girls. He had access to the replica knife. If the police hadn’t already arrested Xavier, Louisa would be suspicious.
30
“I think you’re being a big idiot.”
Leaning on the bar, Conor looked up from the stack of invoices in his hand. “What?”
Next to him, Pat dropped his reading glasses on the receipts he was tallying. The bar hadn’t opened for the day, but there was plenty of work to be done. “Hey, you asked.”
“I spill my guts, and that’s what I get back?”
“A smart, gorgeous, sweet woman told you she’s falling in love with you, and you didn’t say it back, even though we both know you feel the same way. You can’t commit because she has more money than you? That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.” Pat pointed a finger straight into Conor’s nose. “Danny’s medical bills took us all by surprise. But we’ve paid off all the debt. We’re not flat broke anymore. In fact, without those extra interest payments, the bar has been turning a nice profit lately.”
“But—”
“I’m not finished.” The flush was creeping up Pat’s neck into his face. Pat didn’t get angry often, but when he did, he went full out. “We spent all our lives sweating the lack of money, Conor. I still wake up with flashbacks of an empty fridge, a mailbox full of bills, and a social worker on the doorstep ready to take Jayne and Danny away. Now you’re going to cry over the possibility of having too much money? Give me a fucking break.”
“I always thought I’d end up with a simple life, like you.” Conor stepped back to get out of the way as his brother paced to the end of the bar and back, his movements tense and jerky with anger. “Louisa and I have nothing in common. What do I know about yachts and ponies?”
“Simple? You think my life is simple?” Pat shook his head in wry amusement. “Let me tell you this. Nothing is simple. And it pisses me off when you say you’re not good enough for her. What about Jayne and Danny and me? Are we unworthy? Because we all come from the same humble roots. Should Jayne not marry Reed because he’s loaded and she’s not? Maybe Leena should have left me years ago. It was her salary that fed us for a long time.”
Guilt washed over Conor. Pat was the best man he knew. The thought that he’d just insulted him—a real insult, not their normal daily ball-busting—made him feel six inches tall. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t.” Pat rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. “What’s the real reason you’re running scared? Is it because of Barbara?”
Conor sighed.
“I know you got burned, but Jesus Christ, that was three years ago. Get over it,” Pat said. “If I hadn’t thrown my back out, I’d knock your ass down and sit on your chest like I did when you played hooky and I had to cover for you.”
“I was twelve. This hardly compares.”
“It compares because it was a stupid thing to do and you needed some sense knocked into your thick head,” Pat retorted. “Do you love Louisa?”
Certainty engulfed him without warning, like a flash flood in Cobbs Creek, and the thought of spending the rest of his life without her hollowed his chest. “I do. How did you know?”
Pat rolled his eyes. “Because you’re normally not such an idiot. Something had to be different.”
“She’s a lot of work. She has issues and enough baggage to need her own pack mule. She’s been hurt and has trouble trusting people.”
“In that case, you have more in common than you think.” Pat picked up his glasses and gestured with them. “I’ve never known you to be afraid of work. Good things don’t come easy. Besides, there’s no such thing as an easy woman.”
“Leena would kick your ass if she heard you say that.”
“Exactly.” Pat nodded. “But honestly, Conor, life doesn’t come with any guarantees. You have to risk it to get the biscuit.”
“And on that profound note,” Conor laughed. “There’s ten minutes until we open for lunch. I have to run upstairs and check a couple of things in the apartment so we can get moving on the renovation.”
“Maybe you won’t be needing the apartment for long.” Pat waggled his eyebrows.
“Maybe not.” The idea of waking up with Louisa every morning sparked hope inside Conor. After the turmoil of the past week, all he wanted was some quiet time to get to know her. If only the cops would find the killer, then everyone could begin the healing process, including Louisa. He hoped she’d give him a second chance to explain why he was such an idiot that morning.
“I’ll be back in a few.” Conor gathered up the invoices and receipts. “I’ll drop these in the office on my way out.”
“Take your time.” Pat headed for the front door, keys jingling in his hand.
Conor hurried outside and jogged up the back stairs. Empty. That was the only word to describe the apartment. The professional cleaning crew had been forced to trash most of his belongings. The floors were scheduled for refinishing this week. Then the walls would be painted. An entire new kitchen had to be installed. Everything would be brand new, but Pat was right. Conor had no desire to live here alone any longer. Being with Louisa had changed his life. She’d changed him.
A distant woof from a neighborhood dog triggered a twinge of anxiety. He’d dropped Kirra off at the vet’s office on his way to the bar. They were going to run some tests. He checked his phone display for the tenth time, but he hadn’t missed any calls. If the vet didn’t call in the next hour, Conor was going to give the office a ring.
Kirra shouldn’t lose her second chance either.
With a last survey of the bare space assuring him that the apartment was ready for renovation, Conor let himself out and jogged down the wooden steps. Pat would need help with the lunch crush. Primitive instinct cramped his belly as his boots hit blacktop. Conor scanned the alley, the hairs on his nape quivering. No teens with guns or knives. Nothing at all. What the hell was wrong with him?
Something scraped. Conor froze, listening hard, but he heard nothing but the usual sounds of traffic and muffled voices. Conor started toward the door. A shuffling sound stopped him. He crouched and peered into the shadow under the stairwell. Oh shit.
He recoiled from the sight. Shaking his head, he leaned down again, just to make sure he hadn’t imagined the grisly sight.
No. He hadn’t. A body lay under the steps. A ragged gasp drew Conor closer.
It was the teen gangbanger who’d been after him, Hector Torres. He was still alive, but from the looks of him, just barely.
Conor whipped his cell phone from his back pocket and called 911. Then he crawled back under the steps. The kid’s torso was covered in blood, and he’d leaked all over the pavement. Hector’s eyes opened, and his gaze locked on Conor. The teen’s glazed look was filled with fear, but also a shocking amount of hate, considering the shape he was in.
This was a bad day for the cops to stop tailing him.
“Don’t move.” Conor unzipped the hoodie and found the source of the bleeding, a stab wound just under Hector’s ribs. Conor tugged off his own T-shirt, folded it, and pressed it against the wound. He leaned on his overlapped hands to apply pressure. It seemed like a long time until the thin wail of sirens announced the arrival of help. Two patrol cars and an ambulance crowded in the alley. Conor moved out of the way for paramedics to take over.
He gave a statement to the beat cops while the ambulance loaded Hector into the back and took off. The patrol cops left, and a familiar dark sedan pulled into the alley. Jackson and Ianelli got out.
“If you want to talk to me, you’ll have to come inside.” Conor walked to the back door and gestured toward it with a bloody hand. “Would you mind?”
Jackson opened the door. Conor led the way to the men’s room. He opened the swinging door with his hip. Jackson turned on the spigot for him.
“Thanks.” Conor lathered up his hands and forearms all the way to his elbows. He scrubbed the blood out from under his nails.
“You missed a spot.” Ianelli pointed to Conor’s ribs. A streak of blood had dried to rusty brown.
Conor scrubbed the spot with a soapy towel. He leaned on the sink with both hands.
“I hear your alibi is in pretty bad shape.” Jackson leaned on the wall.
“You’re kidding me, right?” Conor stared at the cop, whose gaze didn’t flinch. He yanked a paper towel from the wall dispenser and dried his hands, arms, and ribs. Walking out of the restroom, he let the cops follow him to the office, where he dug out a clean Sullivan’s Tavern T-shirt and tugged it over his head.
Jackson’s eyes were roaming over the desktop. So what? Conor didn’t have anything to hide.
The venom in the wounded kid’s eyes was going to stick with him. Halfway to death, Hector still wanted to kill Conor. What bred that level of animosity? “You think he’s going to make it?”
Jackson’s frown deepened the lines in his face. “Didn’t look good. You sure you didn’t stab him?” Jackson popped a piece of chewing gum into his mouth and chewed voraciously.
Conor stared, exasperated. “Why the hell would I try to save him if I stabbed him?”
“I’ve seen weirder.” Ianelli lifted his palms to the sky in a who knows gesture. “Maybe you just pretended to try and save him.”
“I called 911.” Conor gave up. “Whatever.”
Wait. Was that almost a smile on Jackson’s face?
“What’s going on?” Conor dropped into a chair, exhaustion flooding him. He was tired of all of this.
Jackson shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor. When he looked up, his eyes were gleaming. “Sorry. We were just fucking with you.”
Conor looked from one cop to the other. In the middle of his stone-cold face, Ianelli’s eyes laughed.
“What?”
“Don’t you watch the news?” Jackson asked, shaking his head. “We arrested Professor English for the museum murder.”
“You did?” Conor would have jumped to his feet if his legs had been steadier.
“Can’t give you the deets, but we were on our way back to the station when this call came in. We thought you should know.” Jackson stepped toward the door. “Excuse us, we have to go nail his ass.”
“Good luck with that,” Conor said.
Jackson turned back. “Oh, and we’re bringing Blaine Delancey in. We think he might have been the one who pushed Dr. Hancock into the street.”
“You’ll let me know if the kid makes it, right?” Conor asked.
“Sure,” Jackson said.
The cops walked out the door, leaving Conor in a state of disbelief. Even though he’d found evidence the professor was a pervert, and he’d considered the possibility of Xavier being the killer, the cop’s confirmation of the professor’s guilt was still a shock.
Was it really over?
His phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen, hoping it was Louisa. The vet’s number popped onto the display.
He answered the call. “Hello?”
The vet didn’t waste any time. “You need to come down here immediately.”
Louisa checked her cell phone. Nothing from Conor. He’d promised to call her when he heard from the vet. Maybe the vet hadn’t finished the tests or he’d gotten tied up at work. The bar could get insanely busy at dinnertime. He’d call when he could. She needed to be patient.
Did he even know about Xavier’s arrest? She still couldn’t believe the professor was a sexual deviant and a killer.
She collected her purse, shimmied into her jacket, and locked her office. April slumped at her desk, not looking any more productive or less miserable than Louisa had been all afternoon.
She stopped in front of her desk. “I’m heading out.”
April sniffed. “Good idea.”
“Are you going to be all right?” Louisa hesitated, unsure of how to proceed with the closer relationship that had sprung up with her assistant.
“Yeah.” April gave her a watery smile. “We have to face one day at a time. That’s all we can do.”
&nbs
p; Louisa took a deep breath. Her lungs ached with sadness, fighting tight ribs to expand. “I suppose you’re right.”
It was over, but it was going to take a long time for it to feel that way.
April wiped her nose and pulled her purse from her drawer. “I’ll walk out with you.”
Seeing April cry started Louisa all over again. She plucked a tissue from the box on her assistant’s desk and dried the tender skin around her eyes.
April changed into athletic shoes. They walked toward the exit in silence and swiped their badges at the security desk. Outside on the concrete apron in front of the museum, April turned toward the bus stop with a sad wave. Louisa scanned the curb for the Rittenhouse town car.
The museum murderer had been caught. She could just walk home, but she’d arranged for the pickup that morning, and her limbs felt as if they had tripled in weight since then. Every step was a supreme effort. She was going to take a hot bath, put on yoga pants, and climb into bed. But without Kirra, the apartment would be empty. How could she have gotten so attached to the dog in less than a week?
An even better idea occurred to her. She would change her clothes, then go see Conor at work tonight and have dinner at the bar. Perhaps the crowd and noise would be better than her silent apartment. So what if he hadn’t said he was falling for her too? Probably, she should have waited before springing that on him this soon. A week did not make a relationship.
Decision made, she suddenly craved his strong arms around her body. Just being with him would make her feel better. How could she have gotten so attached to him in such a short period of time? It suddenly seemed as if her life had started when she’d walked into his bar the week before. Prior to him, she’d been alive, but she hadn’t really been living.
Everything had changed since that day. Riki and Zoe were dead, probably Isa too.
The wind blurred her watery vision. She spotted the sleek black vehicle fifty yards ahead. As she approached, the uniformed driver got out and opened the door for her. Blinking away her tears, she rooted through her purse for another tissue. She was blotting her eyes and running nose as she stepped into the vehicle. A jolt of pain struck her in the shoulder and blazed through her body. She stiffened and fell forward onto the back seat. Her twitching legs were shoved roughly into the vehicle.
Midnight Betrayal Page 25
