Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(26)

Damian nodded toward the parking lot. “I’ll give you a ride home. I’m sure you want fresh clothes and a shower.”

“Yeah. I want to bleach everything, including my skin.”

They settled in Damian’s Lexus sedan.

Conor leaned back on the headrest and closed his eyes. “So what happens next? Be honest.”

“They have all the circumstantial evidence we discussed, and don’t discount that. Enough of it can get a conviction, depending on the DA. But my thoughts are that they have the trace evidence from your apartment: the hair, the blood. They will send those for expedited DNA testing, which will take anywhere from three days to a week. In the meantime, they will be watching you.”

“Too bad they don’t seem interested in finding the truth, the girl, or the real criminal.”

“That’s the thing, Conor. They think you are the real criminal.”

They turned down Oregon Avenue. Damian found a parking spot at the curb half a block from the bar. Only four hours had passed since Conor was taken to the police station, but he felt like weeks had gone by when they walked inside. The bar was quiet. The sound of a hockey game, voices, and the clink of glasses on tables welcomed him home.

Pat was behind the bar, and Jaynie was waiting tables. Her face was pale, her eyes worried. Spotting him, she tossed her empty tray on the bar and rushed to him. She threw her arms around his neck. “Conor, we were so worried. They showed an awful picture of you on the news from when you used to box, and they said you’d been in two fights last night.”

Exactly as Damian had predicted.

Her curly, red hair smelled like strawberries, and he was reminded that he was filthy. “Jaynie, honey.” He gently pushed her away. “Don’t touch me. I’m disgusting. I’m going upstairs to decontaminate. I’ll be right back. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

Well, maybe not everything. He’d give her the PG version. His sister had been through enough. “Where’s Reed? I want to thank him for sending Damian to my rescue.” Jayne’s fiancé, now a wealthy artist, had once been a homicide detective.

Tears glittered in her eyes. “Reed didn’t send anyone. He isn’t even in town. He got a call yesterday morning that Scott got sick at school. He jumped on the first flight to Denver.” Reed’s son had started at the University of Denver in the middle of August.

“Is Scott OK?”

“His appendix burst.” Jayne sniffed. “I’m waiting for Reed to call when he’s out of surgery.”

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand. “Do you want to go home?”

“Reed wouldn’t let me go with him because I wasn’t feeling well.”

“You were sick?” Conor put a hand to her forehead. “Why are you here?”

“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.