"Me too." Conor leaned back in the chair.

"Jackson pulled me out into the parking lot to ask me if I had any dirt on you."

"What'd you tell him?"

"What do you think I told him? That you're a serial killer?" Terry rolled his eyes. "I told him I've known you since high school, and you wouldn't do anything like that."

"And?" Conor took another small sip.

Terry's grim face wasn't promising. "They have a shitload of circumstantial evidence on you."

"I'm afraid they aren't even looking for anyone else." Conor tossed the rest of the scotch back. "I'm going to have to find this girl myself."

"You aren't without friends at the precinct," Terry said. "But this case goes beyond us."

"I know there isn't anything you can do." Nerves steadied, Conor stood. "I need to get back to work. We're shorthanded tonight."

"Watch your back, Conor." Terry pointed at him with his pen. "I'm serious. Jackson's got a rep as a determined motherfucker. Don't get in his way."

Conor ushered his friend out of the office. "I'm not arguing, but if I don't find out who did it, I'm still the number-one suspect."

Both Damian and Jackson arrived within the next half hour. They all went out back, where Jackson viewed the damage to Conor's apartment and reviewed his statement. Standing in the alley, Conor watched a uniform with a camera jog up the steps and enter his apartment.

Jackson squinted at Conor. "Did you set this up?"

Conor leaned against the brick and crossed his arms over his chest. Following the warm trail of scotch, anger was burning a path through his chest.

"You know that isn't true," Damian said. "Mr. Sullivan has been under police surveillance 24/7 since Monday night."

Jackson frowned. "I'm not convinced. Maybe you hired someone else to do it. You're a smart guy. There are ways."

Terry was right. Jackson was one determined motherfucker.

"This is ridiculous. Conor, don't answer any more questions," Damian retorted. His phone chirped. "Excuse me." He stepped away and glanced at the screen. "Louisa?" He stilled. "What's wrong?" Concern sharpened his voice. "I'll be right there."

Conor pushed off the wall. "What?"

"There's been an accident." Damian raised a hand. "She's OK. She just needs a ride home from the ER."

"What the-?" Conor was already moving.

"Conor, she didn't call you. She called me." Damian's palm hit him square in the chest. "I'll take her home. She said it was all scrapes and bruises. You need to stay here until they're done with you." He nodded toward Conor's apartment, where a couple of cops were taking photos and detailing the damage. "I'll call you. Or better yet, come to Louisa's when you're done."

Damian and Jackson went to their cars, leaving Conor to watch over his ruined apartment and think about Louisa injured, hurt, frightened, and choosing to call Damian instead of him.

Tonight, Louisa was in an accident, and Conor's place was trashed. How could either or both of these events be tied to Zoe's disappearance?

He looked down at his cell. Zoe had been missing for nearly four entire days.

19.

Horns blared and tires squealed. Louisa's knees skidded on the pavement. A loud bang and crash sounded close by. Then another. She lay in the street, her face burning. The smells of burnt rubber, tar, and diesel exhaust filled her nose.

"Miss?" She blinked hard. Her vision sharpened. She rolled onto her back. A circle of faces looked down at her.

A cop knelt next to her. "Don't move. An ambulance is on the way."

But his eyes were scanning the crowd, not Louisa.

She swallowed and cleared her throat. "I don't need an ambulance."

"You took a pretty hard tumble." The cop loomed over her. "I want you to get checked out."

Another policeman cleared the crowd. "All right, everyone. Move along. Show's over. Give the lady some room to breathe."

Beyond him, the bus that nearly hit her had swerved up over the curb and hit a streetlight. In the street lane next to her, a Tastykake delivery truck had rear-ended a taxi. Both southbound lanes of Broad Street were effectively blocked.

"Was anyone else hurt?" She struggled to sit up, bringing her splayed legs into a more ladylike position. Her dress was hiked up nearly to her crotch. She tugged at her hem as dizziness whirled in her head.

"Except for your fall, I don't think so. We got lucky."

"I didn't fall."

The cop frowned.

Her head settled, and Louisa surveyed the damage. The skin of both knees was torn, bleeding, and coated with dirt. She raised her hands. Abrasions on her palms didn't match the size of those on her knees, but they were just as filthy. As if seeing the injuries prompted her brain to recognize them, the first echoes of pain pulsed through her legs and hands. Her face throbbed. She touched her chin. Her fingers came away covered in blood. All in all, her wounds appeared superficial, messy but not serious.

"I doubt anything is broken." She stirred, absorbing the humiliating stares of onlookers. "I should get up."

Her purse and cell phone had skittered across the street. The cop handed both items to her. He put a hand on her forearm. "Here comes the ambulance. Better safe than sorry."

"I suppose you're right."

An ambulance pulled up. With a surge of whole-body ache that suggested her brain hadn't yet processed all her physical damage, Louisa was transferred to a gurney and loaded into the back.

Two hours later, the ER physician confirmed her injuries were minor. Distracted and hurried, he scribbled on her chart. "The nurse will be in with discharge papers in a few minutes. Do you have a ride home?"

"I called a friend." Damian was on his way. She'd also called the hotel and asked Gerome to walk Kirra.

"Keep the abrasions clean. Ice will help any swelling. You can take ibuprofen for pain." And he was gone.

Sitting on the gurney, she ran a finger over a scratch on the silver case of her cell phone. The night didn't seem real.

"Dr. Hancock."

She startled at the familiar voice. "Yes."

Detective Jackson parted the privacy curtain.

Why was he here?

"I heard about your nosedive into Broad Street. Traffic was backed up for an hour." He took a few steps to stand next to the bed. Instead of a suit, he was dressed in jeans and a loose blue sweater that didn't quite conceal the bulge of his weapon at his hip. Was he off duty? The mocha tint of his skin didn't completely camouflage dark smudges under his eyes. Perhaps he didn't take much time off in the middle of an urgent case.

His gaze moved over her, pausing on the gauze taped to her hands, knees, and chin.

She rubbed her temple with her fingertips.

"What happened?" Jackson's voice was less hostile than it had been in the police station. Was his change of tone part of an attempt to gain her confidence, or was he sincere?

"I felt a hand push into my back, but I hoped someone knocked into me by accident. The sidewalk was very crowded."

"Maybe." Jackson shrugged. "But maybe not. There's already one museum employee dead and another missing. I think you should be more careful."

"I wasn't expecting hailing a cab to be dangerous."

Jackson changed his angle. "I know you went to talk to Heath Yeager the other day."

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I'm afraid for Zoe." Louisa met his flat gaze. "Are you making any progress on her case?"

"Some."

Which told her nothing.

Movement on the other side of the curtain interrupted the interview.

"Louisa!" A male voice sent a wave of sickening panic through Louisa. The curtain parted again, and Blaine stepped through. "Oh my God. I saw them load you into the ambulance, but no one would tell me where they took you."

He moved closer.

Louisa recovered her voice. She'd also recovered from the shock of seeing him earlier. In fact, the impact with the street seemed to have knocked the self-pity right out of her. She was done with Blaine. She wouldn't allow him to hold any more sway over her. He'd done enough damage. "Get out, Blaine."

Resentment flickered in his eyes, and his lips compressed. "I wanted to make sure you were all right. Let me take you home. Let me take care of you."

Louisa forgot the cop standing next to her. She forgot her injuries. The hospital cubicle faded around her. Anger and turmoil steamrolled over her physical pain. "Get out."

Blaine smoothed out his irritation. "You aren't well-"

Her voice rose. "Get. Out."

"Look, buddy." Jackson showed Blaine his badge. "The lady asked you to leave."

Blaine gave the detective his best aristocratic glare. "I don't think you know who you're talking to."

"Why don't you educate me?" The detective was not intimidated. "Were you with Dr. Hancock this evening?"

"I was."

The detective pulled a notebook out of his back pocket. "Your name?"

"Blaine Delancey."

"And why were you with Dr. Hancock?"

"We were supposed to have dinner, but we had an argument. Louisa ran off. Apparently, right into traffic. She obviously needs someone to look after her."

Argument? Ambush was a better description of the evening.

Jackson ignored Blaine's attitude. "You didn't see the accident?"

"No."

"Where were you when the accident occurred?"

"On the steps outside the Ritz Carlton. I was looking for Louisa."

Blaine had been coming after her? Had he pushed her? Louisa's fingers tightened around her cell phone. Why would he do that? But then why would he send her a gift? Why wouldn't he leave her alone? Why wouldn't he take no for an answer?

"You're sure you didn't see it happen?" Jackson's pen hovered over the paper as he sized up both Blaine and his answers.

"Positive." Blaine scowled at the cop.

"I'll need your contact information," Jackson said.

Blaine complied, crossing his arms over his chest and switching his attention to Louisa. She clutched her phone until her bruised fingers cramped, but she would not back down. Not this time. Moving to Philadelphia was her fresh start. She would not let Blaine ruin it for her.

The cop studied Blaine's face. "The accident investigators will be checking the traffic cams on Broad Street. If we get lucky, we might have the whole thing on video."

If Jackson was hoping that, if guilty, Blaine would flinch at this news, Louisa could have saved him the effort. Blaine was an accomplished liar.

"I'll check in with you tomorrow, Louisa." His nod at her was superior and arrogant. "Someday you'll see that we were meant to be together."

"Don't." Louisa clamped her molars together.

"I'm done with you now, Mr. Delancey, and it sounds like Dr. Hancock is also." Jackson inclined his head. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out."

Blaine gave her an it's not over look as he exited.