Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(30)
“What’s wrong?” Conor moved a step closer, scanning the area. The dog hunkered between them.
“I don’t know. Probably nothing.”
“Come on. She’s done.” He took Louisa’s elbow and steered her back toward the Rittenhouse.
She followed Conor back into the building, but she couldn’t shake the cramping sensation deep in her belly, the feeling that someone was watching.
12
In the shadow of a building on the west side of Rittenhouse Square, I pulled the hood of my sweatshirt over my head. I leaned a shoulder against the worn brick, the rough texture catching on the cotton fibers of my shirt like Velcro. Taking in the cool fall night outdoors was no hardship. The small patch of green was mostly empty, except for a man walking his dog. At the end of a retractable leash, the corgi sniffed the curb with unabashed enthusiasm. Some straggling late diners spilled out of a closing restaurant, two couples that walked slowly, as if digesting too much food and alcohol was requiring all their concentration.
Winter and its long, frigid nights were coming. This week’s mild weather was merely a temporary reprieve, a delay of the unpleasant and inevitable months of cold darkness breathing down Philadelphia’s neck.
I wasn’t the only one watching the square. From my corner location with its clear view of the Rittenhouse, I could also see the unmarked police car parked in front of Smith & Wollensky’s.
I’d observed Conor Sullivan walk into the hotel earlier. My prediction had come true. He’d gone to see Louisa almost immediately after being released. What did the police think of that? Did they question the nature of their relationship? I certainly hoped so. I’d all but written it down for them.
Across the street, Conor Sullivan and Dr. Hancock came out of the hotel. He was holding a pink leash connected to that ugly dog he’d taken in. He took Dr. Hancock’s hand.
As soon as the dog had done its business, they hurried back inside. Sullivan’s protective stance didn’t escape my notice. Echoing the old newspaper clipping from last spring, he kept his body between Dr. Hancock and the park, as if shielding her from danger. Were the cops watching? Yes, they were.
Perfect.
13
Ugh. A heavy weight settled on Conor’s chest. He opened his eyes. Kirra stared down at him, front paws planted on his solar plexus, tongue lolling.
“Good morning.”
She wagged her tail stub.
He squinted at the brightness pouring in through the huge expanse of windows in Louisa’s living room. He was on her sofa. After their walk and Louisa’s sudden attack of anxiety, they’d returned to her apartment. Her building was as secure as possible, but he hadn’t wanted to leave until she’d calmed down. He must have fallen asleep while she ate her dinner.
Nudging the dog aside, he sat up and stretched. A cotton blanket fell down to his waist. She’d tucked a pillow behind his head too.
He got to his feet and used the convenient half bath off the foyer. His socks were silent on the tile as he returned to the kitchen. The open floor plan flowed right into the living room, taking advantage of the expansive windows with their stunning views of Rittenhouse Square and the city beyond. Her apartment was twice the size of Pat’s house, and it was fitted out like a magazine spread in granite, leather, and gleaming wood. He ran a hand across the smooth, black counter and spotted an empty wine cooler underneath.
The Rittenhouse was one of the most exclusive residences in the city, with condominiums that provided all the amenities of the attached luxury hotel. He couldn’t even imagine what this three-bedroom unit cost. Just how wealthy was she? Conor brushed his unease aside. It wasn’t like he could ask her for a bank statement, but the House Beautiful decor was one more example of the fundamental difference between them. Not that her income should affect their relationship, but putting the dollars aside, their lifestyles highlighted that they lived in different worlds.
A short hallway branched off the kitchen. The closed door at the end must be Louisa’s room. Last night he’d seen her more relaxed than ever in snug yoga pants and a loose sweater instead of one of her suits. A blast of need zoomed through him. He wanted to see her wake up. All that blond hair would be down on her shoulders, her eyes sleepy, her body warm . . .
The dog whined at the door. Conor turned around. He’d walk the dog before he left, and maybe bring Louisa coffee.
He slipped into his shoes, grabbed her apartment key from the bowl in the hall, and opened the hall closet. Kirra’s leash hung on the back of the door. He walked the dog through the square to Nineteenth Street and ducked into La Colombe for two large coffees and muffins. When he let himself back in, the condo was still quiet. Last night, Louisa had eaten the baked potato and salad for dinner. She’d chopped the remaining steak and green beans and left them in the fridge.
Conor put the bowl on the floor for the dog. “You wouldn’t be getting this kind of service at my place. Hamburger is high-end on my budget.”
A door opened, and a bleary-eyed Louisa shuffled into the kitchen. She was still wearing the snug yoga pants from the night before, but a heavy sweatshirt covered her to midthigh. Her tousled, just-out-of-bed hair tumbled onto her shoulders and made Conor want to take her right back to bed.
She blinked at him in surprise. “Oh, you’re still here. I thought I heard you leave.”