Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(19)

The cop marched him out onto the sidewalk. A patrol cruiser was double-parked next to an unmarked car at the curb. Three more vehicles lined up behind them. Jackson steered him toward the black-and-white. Two uniforms waited by the vehicle. The cop shoved his head down, and Conor dropped onto the seat with an awkward side shuffle.

He looked out the window. Pat was standing in the doorway, cell phone against his ear, lips pressed into a bloodless line. Louisa, and everyone else who’d been in the bar, clustered behind him. Humiliation buddied up to Conor’s discomfort.

The car smelled like the cold, stale grease of fast food. A wire cage separated the front and back seats. Conor was enveloped with a surreal sense of claustrophobia.

What could the police possibly have discovered?





8


Stunned into paralysis, Louisa stared out the glass doors.

The police took Conor? That was impossible. She couldn’t believe he would have hurt Zoe, not after the lengths he’d gone to in Maine to stop a killer, not after he’d rescued the dog and stepped in to defend Zoe the night before. She’d witnessed his devotion to his family.

Also, Conor was an intelligent man. The police found something in their search. If he had committed a crime, he wouldn’t have left evidence in his apartment.

“What just happened?” Pat was standing in front of her, his jaw hanging open, his face shockingly pale.

Alarmed, she went to his side. The dog stayed close. “Don’t worry. We’ll get this straightened out.”

“I know my brother. The last thing on earth that Conor would do is hurt a young girl.” Pat scrubbed his red buzz cut with a huge, shaking palm, his eyes confused. “This can’t be happening.”

“Maybe you should sit down.”

Pat didn’t move. She wasn’t sure he even heard her. His face was drawn as if he’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes. Louisa took his thick biceps in her hands, steered him to a table, and backed him into a chair. “Sit.”

His legs folded obediently. The chair creaked.

“Dr. Hancock?” Detective Jackson summoned her from the open door. The triumph in his eyes sent a wave of anger rushing through her. Zoe was missing, and the police were pursuing the wrong person.

Louisa lifted her chin and steeled her spine. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Detective.”

His eyes narrowed. She turned back to Pat. “Do you have a lawyer?”

He frowned at her. “We haven’t needed that kind of lawyer in ten years, not since Danny was young. My sister’s husband might be able to help, but they didn’t answer their phones.”

“We’ll take up a collection for a retainer,” a man’s voice said.

Louisa startled. She’d been so focused on the situation that she hadn’t noticed the bar’s handful of customers gathering around them. Voices murmured, and heads nodded in agreement.

She turned her attention back to Pat. “I know someone who might be able to help.”

“Thank you.”

The small crowd filled in the space, surrounding Pat with support and emphasizing her own solitude, while Jackson waited in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his stare impatient.

“What’s the best number to reach you?” she asked Pat.

“I got it.” Another customer wrote on a cocktail napkin. “Here’s Pat’s cell number.”

These people weren’t just the Sullivans’ customers. They were friends and neighbors. How did it feel to have a group of people who would stand by one’s side? The intimacy spotlighted her outsider status, but then she should be used to being alone.

“I’ll call you when I know something.” Looping the leash over her wrist, she went back to the barstool for her jacket and purse.

At the exit, Louisa stopped for a deep breath before walking out onto the sidewalk. The balmy day had turned cool and damp.

Detective Jackson was waiting at the curb, his foot tapping on the cement. Louisa crossed the sidewalk.

“I need you to come down to the station as well.” He gestured toward a scratched sedan with a floodlight attached to the side mirror.

“I’d prefer to drive my own car. I’m parked just down the block.”

“Parking is a hassle. It’s easier if you come with us. We’ll bring you back here afterward.” He opened the rear door.

She couldn’t make phone calls to defense attorneys from the back of the police car. Louisa gathered her nerve. “Then I’ll meet you at the police station. I need to drop the dog off at my apartment. I shouldn’t be more than thirty minutes.”

He considered her for a minute. Then he dropped his arms to his side. “Yes, ma’am.” He wasn’t pleased, but there was nothing she could do about that. She needed privacy.

She had the Rittenhouse valet hold her car while she dropped the dog at her apartment. Back in her car, she scrolled through her phone contacts for the number of the only attorney she knew in Philadelphia. Could Damian even help? He primarily worked with juveniles, which was how they’d met. Shortly after Louisa moved to town, Damian introduced himself and asked her for a donation to fund a shelter for teenagers. His sincerity had impressed her, and she agreed not only to write a check but to give her time as well, tutoring at the shelter. He answered his cell, and she was relieved when he agreed to go to the station immediately. If the case turned out to be more than he could handle, he’d give her a referral.