"What are you saying?"

"Health conditions exist where people have no tolerance for alcohol, but they're rare. Do you have any weird medical issues? Were you on medication?"

"No." Louisa's head tilted, and he could see her mind making connections. "Would you explain what you're thinking?"

But Conor thought he'd better prove his point. "The condos are connected to the hotel, right?"

"Yes."

"Do you get room service?"

"Yes. The number is on the base of the phone charger."

He reached for the handset, dialed the room service number, and ordered a bottle of champagne.

"You want to get me drunk?" she asked, one brow shooting upward.

"No, I want to do an experiment." He met her eyes. "Do you trust me?"

"I do." She didn't hesitate.

He went to the fridge and pulled out the cheese. He found an unopened pack of crackers in the pantry. A knock on the door signaled the arrival of room service. Conor opened the door. A young man in a white shirt and black slacks wheeled a cart into the living room. A champagne bottle sat in a bucket of ice. Two tall flutes flanked it.

The waiter opened the bottle and poured two glasses before bowing out.

Louisa sat down on the couch. She picked up a glass and fingered the stem. "I've tried alcohol a few times since that night, but I never got past the first sip. The taste triggered anxiety. I was afraid of what might happen."

"Look, I'm not saying it's impossible, but don't you think you should know?" Conor set the plate of crackers and cheese on the coffee table. He picked up the second glass. He tapped it to hers. "Here's to the truth."

Louisa sipped. Her free hand went to the base of her throat, but there were no pearls to rub. She needed a distraction.

"Does it taste all right?"

Worry clouded her eyes. "I'm never going to like it."

"That's OK." Conor scanned the living room tables. "Where's the remote?"

"In the drawer."

He turned on the flat-screen hanging opposite the couch and surfed until he found a classic movie channel. A whistling Ray Milland sauntered across a black-and-white seascape.

"Oh, I love this movie."

Conor set the remote control on the table. He leaned back on the sofa. "What is it?"

"The Uninvited. It's a ghost story." Taking minuscule sips of her drink, she settled in next to him.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Fifteen minutes later, their glasses were empty.

"Should I have another?"

"How do you feel?"

"Fine. A bit relaxed."

"That's it?"

"Yes." Her forehead wrinkled. "Should I have another?"

"No. We have to preserve the integrity of the experiment and recreate your experience as closely as possible." Conor wheeled the cart into the hall and called room service for a pick up.

"What now?" She yawned.

"We go to bed." He took her hand and pulled her off the sofa. She went into the bathroom for a few minutes. When she came out, he went in to brush his teeth. The whole routine was normal and domestic. Warmth spread through his limbs as he took off his clothes and climbed into bed naked, pulling the sheet up to his waist. Louisa emerged from the closet with clothes in her hand. She paused, her eyes skimming over his bare chest.

He waggled his eyebrows. "What do you have?"

"Pajamas." She laughed.

"Pajamas?" He lifted the covers. "You don't need those."

"All right." She set them on a chair and smiled at him as she untied the sash of her robe. Blue silk slithered down her naked body and pooled at her feet.

Conor went hard in an instant.

She eased into bed and reached for him.

"Nope. No sex."

"But you're, you know . . ." She nodded at his obvious interest.

"Yes, I have a hard-on. I will survive." Putting a hand on her hip, he rolled her on her side and spooned. The pressure of her bare buttock against his erection urged him to do more. "We have to preserve the integrity of the experiment, remember? I want to make sure you have total recall tomorrow morning."

"I doubt I'll forget this." Her arm was halfway to the nightstand lamp when she tensed in his arms. "I'm obviously not unconscious."

"No. You are not."

"What does that mean?" She needed the truth.

"He put something in your champagne," he said. "A date rape drug like roofies can make girls-"

"I know what a date rape drug is," she snapped, sitting up in a jerky movement and drawing her knees close to her chest, withdrawing, moving away from him. "I just can't believe that could happen in my own house. I've known Blaine most of my life. That would be . . ."

"Despicable?" Conor finished, hating the look of betrayal and pain in her eyes. "Yes, any man who drugs a woman and has sex with her unconscious body is the lowest form of humanity. Doing that to a sixteen-year-old girl who's practically family makes Blaine a predator."

She wrapped her arms around her shins. "He's in town."

"What?"

"My aunt invited him to have dinner with us on Friday night." Her speech quickened as her mind worked.

"Did she know what he did?" She couldn't have, he thought.

Louisa sighed. "I went to her immediately. To be fair, I told her that Blaine and I had been drinking. I accepted my share of the responsibility, but I also knew that he'd taken advantage."

"What did she say?"

"That we were both at fault, and I could hardly blame him if I drank with him willingly. I shouldn't have told her, but I didn't know what else to do. I was afraid of getting pregnant."

"You might not have realized he'd drugged you, but him using alcohol and your emotional state to achieve the same ends is bad enough. The fact remains that you were upset that your father didn't show up, and Blaine took advantage of that. If a guy did that to my niece, I'd be plenty pissed off."

Louisa let out a hard breath. "I couldn't believe it when I went to her hotel and he walked into the lobby bar. She might not think it was all his fault, but she knows how I feel about him."

"What did you do?"

"I left."

Suspicion tightened Conor's gut. "Could he have followed you?"

"It's possible." Louisa raised questioning eyes. "Do you think Blaine pushed me?"

Conor was actually thinking Blaine could be guilty of much more than that. "Do you know how long he's been in Philly?"

"No." Louisa's eyes widened. "You don't think he had anything to do with the murders."

"He has a beef with you. He's here in Philadelphia. He knows your history. We've already established that he's a predator."

"But murder?"

"He could have killed you. He obviously gave you some sort of drug. How could he have known how your body would react? Girls have died from date rape drugs." Conor took Louisa's hand. "Do you think you can talk to the police about it tomorrow? You have no proof of what he did, but I think the cops should know about Blaine. They can find out where he's been for the past four weeks."

She didn't answer. Her hand was freezing. He rubbed it between his. "I'm not criticizing you, but why do you even speak to your aunt?"

Louisa sighed. "I thought she was going to tell me what's wrong with my father."

Conor heaved himself up on the bed next to her and pulled her into his arms. He was not letting her withdraw again.

Slowly, her muscles relaxed. "I can't believe Blaine would drug me, but you're right. The symptoms fit perfectly. It should have occurred to me before, but I don't like to think about that night."

"Are you afraid your aunt is going to cut you off financially?" Conor stroked her back. "You wouldn't be able to live in the Rittenhouse, but you could definitely survive on your own."

Louisa choked. "No, she can't cut me off from the family money. It's actually the opposite. The money is mine."

"What?" Shock pulled Conor back.

"All of my fortune comes from my mother's family." She studied their joined hands for a few seconds, breathing, seemingly gathering strength. "My mother loved my father very much, but she had no illusions about him. He is and has always been a pure academic. He comes from an old blue-blooded family with more pedigree than money. He has no interest in being rich. He makes enough lecturing and guest teaching in Europe to fund his travels. That's all he cares about. My mother died of cancer. She knew she was dying for several years, so she put the bulk of her estate in a trust. My father receives a generous annual allowance. He is more than happy about the arrangement. He has no desire to do any of the work involved with managing the funds, but his sister is a different story. When she agreed to move in with us and take charge of me, she assumed she'd have access to the money. She was furious with my mother for cutting Dad off. She carried that grudge over to me. Dad gives his sister most of his allowance. He doesn't need it, and he feels like he owes her for giving up her life to raise me." Louisa nestled closer. "She never married or had children of her own."

"Well, thank God for that." Conor hugged her tighter. "I'm sorry."

Louisa brushed a tear off her cheek. "I'm sorry for snapping at you."

Conor sat up and faced her. "Don't apologize for being sad or angry or try to cover it up with a fake smile. I don't want an act. I want you, however you're feeling. If your family makes you depressed, that's OK. Please don't ever pretend to be in a pleasant mood for me."

Though Conor couldn't help but wonder if she was truly capable of not covering up her emotions.

"Is there any way Blaine could benefit from your death?"

"Financially? I don't think so." Louisa shrugged. "If Blaine tried to kill me, it would have been pure anger. He doesn't like to take no for an answer, and he usually gets what he wants."

"You don't think he could have killed those two girls to emotionally destabilize you, to get you fired, and ultimately to force you to go back to Maine?" Conor asked.

"That would take a great deal of planning, and it'd be . . ."

"Evil?" Conor filled in.

"Yes. Killing two girls to force me back to Maine would be the ultimate self-centered act of evil." She straightened. "Blaine is both selfish and deviously intelligent, so yes, it's far-fetched but possible. But it is far more likely that he had a burst of temper over my rejection."

"If I can't have her, no one can?"

"Yes." Louisa nodded. "That I could believe." She took a long breath. "When we were children, Blaine had a small sailboat. As a punishment for some misdeed, his father took it away and gave it to Blaine's younger brother. Blaine sank it out of pure spite."

The fact that Blaine could be crazy jealous, emphasis on the crazy, scared Conor even more. "So you'll talk to the police again?"

"If you think Blaine could have killed Riki and Zoe, then I'll have to." But her discomfort was clear on her face. "They know who Blaine is because he showed up at the ER that night, but even though it's impossible to prove, they should hear what he did."

Probably not a good time to go to sleep. Conor located the remote and found the movie they'd been watching in the other room. But no amount of clever cinematography could possibly make an old ghost story as frightening as real-life murder.

His mind reeled with all of Louisa's revelations about her father, her aunt, and Blaine. Their relationship seemed to have turned a corner tonight, but how could he be sure she wouldn't hold back on him again? Was she even capable of being in a long-term relationship? And if she wasn't, what would it do to him?

27.

Louisa awoke in a cold, empty bed. Her hand automatically swept the sheets next to her, seeking him.

Where was Conor? She got up, picking up her robe from the floor and putting it on. She tied the sash, remembering the look of raw hunger on Conor's face when he viewed her naked body. Then his resignation when he refused to have sex with her a second time.

She remembered every moment of the previous night.

He'd been right. Blaine must have put something in her drink at the party. Why did that make her feel better? If anything, the truth made her more of a victim. But it also verified what she'd always known inside and never admitted, not even to herself. Blaine had done more than capitalize on her vulnerability and take advantage of her sadness at her father's absence, and he'd been lying about that night ever since.

But did Blaine's actions mean he could kill two young girls? The police hadn't said whether or not the girls were sexually assaulted. Blaine clearly didn't have a conscience, but was he a murderer? The theory felt like a huge stretch.