Midnight Betrayal by Melinda Leigh Page A

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