Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(25)

She moved faster, her imagination conjuring images of hands reaching out to grab her. By the time she reached the stairwell, she was nearly running. She paused at the door. Something whispered behind her, another soft brush of fabric on fabric. Louisa pushed through the door into the stairwell. She switched on the light and ran down two flights of stairs, bursting into the first-floor hallway sweaty and breathless. The hum of a machine drew her to the main corridor. A janitor pushed a floor cleaner slowly across the tiles, the path behind his machine clean and shiny with moisture. Glancing at the shoes in her hand, he raised a brow. She smiled and stopped to put on her heels.

Trekking down the main corridor, she spotted the security guard behind the reception desk near the front door.

The guard raised his gaze from his paperback. “Dr. Hancock.” He greeted her in his slight Slavic accent and a curt nod of his white-haired head. “Is everything all right?”

“Good evening, Serge.” Louisa took a deliberate breath to slow her racing pulse. “Are any of the other curators here tonight?”

He squinted. His head tilted as he studied her. “I haven’t seen anyone come in, but then, I didn’t know you were here. I was making my rounds until a few minutes ago.”

“You weren’t here when I came in,” she admitted. “I used the back door.”

“What is wrong?”

“I thought I heard someone on the third floor.”

“Probably the cleaners. Dr. Cusack is also here.” Standing with a wince, he came out from behind the desk, his posture painful and bent with arthritis.

Cusack didn’t frequent the storage rooms.

Serge cracked his neck. “Why don’t I go up and take a look?”

“I’d appreciate that.”

She followed him to the rear corridor. They passed the public restroom. A janitorial cart propped the door open. The sound of running water echoed on tile and steel. Serge’s jerky gait covered ground faster than Louisa expected, but he chose the elevators over the stairs.

On the third floor, he flipped on the hall lights. They moved from room to room in a cursory inspection. Thirty minutes later, after finding no one and nothing suspicious, Serge turned off the last light, and they returned to the elevator.

“Probably one of the cleaners,” he said. “Or a rat.”

Louisa hadn’t thought of vermin when she’d been kneeling on the floor. The thought lifted the hairs on the back of her neck, and she suddenly wanted to go home. “Thank you, Serge.”

“Anytime, Dr. Hancock.” His spine bent in a curt bow. “Next time you need to wander around the museum at night, I’d be happy to accompany you. This building is frightening in the dark.”

The elevator stopped, and they got out. Serge paused, staring at the end of the long hallway where a light shone from under her boss’s door. He clucked his tongue. “You all work too much.”

She smiled at Serge. “We’re just trying to get ready for the big fund-raiser on Saturday night.” Which sounded like a good reason for her to be in the museum late as well. But Director Cusack didn’t do much of the actual physical work anymore. His job was more administrative, political even. She supposed he had plenty of last-minute details to organize for the big event.

“Do you need to see Dr. Cusack, or are you leaving?” Serge asked.

“I’m going home.” She had no desire to explain her presence to the director. “I’m sure Dr. Cusack is here late so he can get work done undisturbed.” Which could actually be true.

“Good. You look tired.” Serge walked her to the front door and let her out.

Louisa hurried to her car and drove to the Rittenhouse. She’d had enough wandering around in the dark for one night. Despite evidence to the contrary, her nerves were still convinced she’d been in danger.





10


Conor’s jaw clenched hard enough to loosen the fillings in his molars. He rubbed the corner of his eye. “I need to find that kid I punched in the alley.”

Damian snorted. “Yeah. Good luck with that. Even if you do find him and get him to talk to the cops, do you really think, after you broke his nose, that he’ll give you an alibi?”

Ugh.

“But I suppose his broken nose would support your statement.”

The door opened. Ianelli came back in. His smile was thinner than paper. “The DA is not willing to press charges at this time.”

Conor was too damned exhausted to say anything. Being questioned in a murder case was like going five rounds with the defending champ. Every muscle in his body hurt, and his head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. He felt like he had the flu. Or bubonic plague. He turned to Damian. “What now?”

Damian smiled. “Now you go home.”

The detective left the room. The wide-open door was the best sight Conor had seen in hours.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” Damian led him from the room. They followed the guard through the maze of hallways.

Conor felt eyes on him the whole way through the building. “Is it my imagination, or are they all staring?”

“Better get used to it. They’re going to be watching you.”

Outside, Conor let the city air waft over him. A SEPTA bus chugged past. Diesel exhaust never smelled so sweet.