"Not that kind of sick." She blushed, the pink fever-bright on her pale face. "I'm pregnant."

Oh. The news just about took Conor out at the knees. Why was he so surprised? He kissed her on the cheek. "Well, congratulations. Are you all right? It's late. You should be home in bed."

"I'm fine now. I need to keep busy." She swiped a knuckle under one eye. "What happened at the police station?"

"I wasn't charged with anything. It's all good." He wasn't exactly lying. OK, he was, but Jayne had enough to deal with. She didn't need to worry about him. As a former cop, Reed would have been enormously useful, but since he was out of town and no doubt frantic over his son, there was no point distressing Jayne.

He introduced her to Damian. "Jaynie, would you please bring Damian a drink if he wants one?"

"Of course. What can I get you?" she asked Damian.

Damian perked up and smiled at her. "Please. I'd love a Guinness."

Conor led the lawyer to an empty corner booth they usually kept available for family use. "She's pregnant and engaged to a former homicide cop."

"OK." Shrugging, Damian slid into the seat. "Go clean up. I'll be here when you come down."

Conor took the back exit. He left his boots outside on the steps and went inside. The scene shocked him. His house looked like it had been ransacked. Drawers were hanging open, their contents bulging out. Sofa cushions listed on their sides. Everything that was even slightly out of place seemed like a violation. A fine layer of dust coated every surface.

Averting his eyes, he walked into the bedroom and stopped short.

Holy shit. They'd taken the sheets and blanket from his bed. The enormity of what the police suspected him of committing flattened him like a commuter bus.

They thought he'd murdered Zoe Finch right here in his bed. Trembles started in his knees and worked their way up until his whole body was shaking.

He reached for the back of a chair, then stopped himself a few inches short of the seat. No sitting on any of his furniture in these clothes.

Clenching his fists at his sides, he gathered his strength. He had other sheets. He didn't want the old ones back when the cops were through with them. Stripping off his clothes, he stuffed them in a plastic garbage bag and tied it closed. He'd never truly appreciated antibacterial soap until today. By the time he finished, he'd washed his hair three times and scrubbed his skin raw. He tugged on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

Was Zoe Finch dead? What happened to her after he dropped her off at the subway station? Both were questions he couldn't possibly answer tonight.

He finger-combed his hair and brushed his teeth with the diligence of an obsessive-compulsive. The second he finished, his stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since lunch. He stomped into an old pair of running shoes and went downstairs. Conor joined Damian at the booth, but he didn't sit down. The lawyer was digging into a plate of wings.

Pat walked up behind him. He wrapped an arm around Conor's shoulder and handed him a burger. "I'm damned glad to have you back."

"I'm glad to be back." Conor ate the hamburger in a few bites. "Thanks for springing me."

"Wasn't me." Pat shook his head.

Setting the plate on the table, Conor glanced from Pat to Damian. "Then who-?"

"Louisa hooked you up," Pat said. "You should go see her."

"It's late." But he knew he'd never sleep until he talked to her.

Damian nodded toward the door. "Really, she'll want to see you. She was worried."

"She was?" Conor asked.

"Yes. We'll talk tomorrow." Damian sipped his Guinness. "Go."

Conor was already out the door, car keys in hand. Louisa had saved his ass tonight. Why? Sure, he'd thought they'd had a couple of moments earlier, but he could never tell where he stood with her. She seemed confident about her professional abilities, but personally aloof and alone. He had to work to get a hint of the real person underneath all that expensive silk. But the glimpses he'd seen were a fascinating combination of strength and vulnerability. Reading her was like trying to see through frosted glass. After being skewered by Barbara's lies, lack of transparency made him wary. Louisa was definitely holding back on him.

Yet two minutes later, he was in his car and driving toward Rittenhouse Square.

11.

Louisa removed the tea ball from the ceramic pot and breathed in the jasmine-scented steam. Would Conor call? He was home. She'd talked to Damian earlier. The police hadn't pressed charges. Though Damian warned Conor was still in jeopardy.

The phone on the counter rang, and Louisa jumped to answer it. Only the front desk called on the landline. Everyone else used her cell number.

"Dr. Hancock, Conor Sullivan is here to see you," the doorman said.

"Please send him up." She hung up the phone and turned to the dog sleeping on the sofa. "See? I told you everything would be all right."

The soft knock on the door a few minutes later brought the dog off the couch. Louisa opened the door. Conor stood in the hall. She wanted to say hello, but she wasn't prepared for the flood of relief into her throat at the sight of him. His hair was still damp from a shower, and he smelled like soap. She inhaled. No fancy cologne, just the scent of clean skin.

He held out a takeout bag. "The doorman asked me to bring this up to you."

She swallowed. "Thank you. Come in."

In the foyer, he handed her the bag and crouched down on the tile floor to greet the dog. "Nice place."

Louisa led the way into the kitchen. The scent of grilled steak wafted from the bag, and her stomach rumbled. "The lease is short-term. Really it's more than I need, but I didn't know the city when I moved here. I didn't want to buy until I decided where I wanted to live." Though she loved the sleek kitchen, the gas fireplace, and the view of the city.

"Hey, I'm damned glad you're staying here." He followed her across the black-and-white porcelain tile. "Looks nice and secure."

"I prefer a building with a doorman and twenty-four-hour security." Louisa set the takeout on the black granite counter next to an assortment of designer dog food. She pulled the Styrofoam cartons from the bag. "Please sit down. You look tired. Are you hungry? I have green tea and coffee."

"Whatever you're having is fine." He slid onto a stool. "Thank you for sending Damian. How do you know him?"

"When I first moved here, he recruited me to help out in his teen shelter. I was impressed with what he's doing trying to get kids off the street and encourage them to stay out of gangs."

Louisa took a second china mug from the overhead cabinet and poured tea for both of them. "With Zoe's disappearance tied to the museum, I feel like your involvement is my fault."

Conor gave the steam a suspicious sniff, then tasted it. He set the cup down. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Opening the food carton, she lifted the steak onto a plate and sliced off a large chunk, which she cut into bite-size pieces. "I had my reservations about using Damian. He works mostly with juveniles. But I didn't know whom else to call. I haven't lived here long, and he's the only lawyer I know. Your brother was frantic."

"Damian was great. I don't know how to thank you. We'll find a way to pay you back."

She heaped French-cut string beans onto the plate and cut them into inch-long strips. "No need. He owes me."

Louisa slid the pile of cut-up meat and vegetables into a bowl and set it on the floor.

Conor stared. "What are you doing?"

"I can't get Kirra to eat dog food."

"So you ordered her a rib eye?"

"We were splitting it. The portions are enormous. Would you like some?"

"No, I just ate."

"I haven't shopped this week." Heat flooded Louisa's cheeks. "I researched dog nutrition on the Internet. An assortment of meat and vegetables is recommended for a balanced diet."

Conor dropped his head onto his crossed arms on the counter. His shoulders shook.

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No." He lifted his head. A grin tugged at his mouth.

"You're laughing at me." Relieved, she set the bowl on the floor. Kirra gave the food a wary sniff and a nibble but ate only a few bites before wandering away.

"I'm sorry." He stood up and rounded the kitchen island. "It's been a long day."

Louisa followed his glance to the corner of the room where she'd stowed a dog bed, a large chew bone, and several squeaky toys. "The woman in the store said Kirra would like her own bed, but she doesn't seem interested."

"You named her Kirra?" He stopped in front of her. His eyes, though red-rimmed and shadowed with fatigue, were bright with humor. How could he be laughing when he'd just been questioned by the police?

"It's Celtic for 'dark lady.'" She wanted to take a step back. No, she wanted to take a step closer. What did she want? "Is that all right?"

"I love it." He leaned in. "I love that you took my dog in at a moment's notice. I love that you ordered her a fifty-dollar steak."

"We were splitting it," she murmured.

"Thank you."

Her nerves hummed with anticipation. Even though she expected-and wanted-the kiss, the muscles in her body went rigid when he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was tender and unhurried, and a surge of longing shot all the way to the arches of her bare feet. Her toes curled on the cold tile. He lifted his head, and her body protested. The lip-to-lip contact had lasted barely three seconds, not nearly long enough for her to relax.

He lifted his head, and his brow furrowed in concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." Louisa nodded, wishing she could explain. But she couldn't. She wasn't ready to trust him yet.

"You're sure?"

She was more than all right. He'd kissed her, and she'd enjoyed it. The tension in her body had been pure shock at how much she'd enjoyed it. She licked her still-tingling lips. A simple yes wasn't enough. He was still staring at her with that worried look.

"Definitely." A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.

"Will you tell me something?"

She tensed. "Yes."

"Why did you hire Damian? Why are you so sure I didn't do anything?"

She could hardly tell him she just knew he hadn't done it. Although it was the truth, her gut reaction didn't make any sense, not even to her. "It's not logical."

"Excuse me?"

"I put that badly. I'm sorry." Louisa studied the small Flyers logo in the center of his gray shirt. "I often say the wrong thing when I get nervous."

"It's not a test." Conor put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. "Just say what you're thinking."

He had the most beautiful eyes. When he focused intently on her, like now, her skin warmed and her muscles loosened, remembering that gentle kiss. Yet the tension rising in her belly was anything but relaxed. She was simultaneously comfortable and aroused in the strangest juxtaposition of sensations, like she'd washed a muscle relaxer down with a triple espresso.

But he wanted her to talk, and she was going to ruin everything with her nerdy analysis. There was no yield in his gaze, just patient determination. Should she risk it?

New life. New attitude.

Here goes.

"You're an intelligent man. If you killed Zoe and intended to get away with your crime, you wouldn't have left a bloody T-shirt where the police could find it, nor would you have driven off with her in front of witnesses."

"What if it was an accident?" Conor reasoned.

"If you simply intended to sleep with her, why would you drive her anywhere? Your apartment is right upstairs. Plus, that doesn't explain the connection to Riki's murder. The police have based their case on an argument that isn't logical."

"Maybe you should be my lawyer." Conor grinned. "I think I should call you Spock."

"Spock?"

"You know, from Star Trek."

"Oh, I've heard of it, but I've never seen it." Louisa sighed. "We didn't have a television growing up."

"No shit!" Conor cleared his throat. "I mean, that's a shame."

"Since you're joking with me, can I assume you aren't angry?"

"Why would I be angry?" Conor tilted his head. "You kept me out of jail."

"Because I didn't send Damian solely because I believed in you." Louisa blinked away. "Although that was part of it," she admitted. Heat flushed the back of her neck.

He paused, and his usually open expression closed down. "That would be foolish. We don't know each other well enough for blind loyalty."

But she wanted that deep-seated faith. She didn't want to believe this kindhearted man who was devoted to his family and made her laugh and took in a pathetic stray dog would hurt a young girl. She wanted him to be her knight, which probably wasn't fair to either of them. Life had taught her that no one could be that good. Even Lancelot betrayed his king.

From the shuttered look in his eyes, he knew that too.