Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(33)

“I guess.” Heath looked doubtful. “I mean, yes. I want to find Zoe. But why him?” He jerked a thumb at Conor. “I heard he’s the prime suspect.”

“So you remember me? I thought maybe you were too drunk.” Conor kept his distance, slouching against the far wall.

Heath’s face went blank, but thoughts churned in his eyes. Would he throw a fit about Conor’s presence or play it cool? “I remember you.”

What was the kid hiding?

Apparently choosing to be cooperative, Heath led them down a short, narrow hallway into the living room. The house was tall and narrow, with an open kitchen and living space on the first floor and probably four or five bedrooms and a couple of baths on the two upper floors. High ceilings were set off by fat architectural molding. The corner fireplace appeared original. Aged pine floor gleamed with a smooth matte finish.

Heath didn’t lack for any of the amenities. A large flat-screen TV hung on the living area wall. Electronic tablets, a cell phone, a laptop, and game controllers were scattered on a round table in front of a leather sectional sofa. Stainless-steel appliances equipped the adjoined kitchen. Three pizza boxes were stacked on the black granite counter. Next to them, someone had erected an impressive four-tier beer can pyramid.

“Nice place,” Conor said. “How many of you live here?”

“Four.”

“The same guys you were with Monday night?”

“Yes.”

“What else do you remember about that night?” Louisa asked.

Heath turned around and retreated behind the L-shaped counter. “Coffee?”

Conor shook his head.

“No, thank you,” Louisa said.

Heath filled a steel travel mug. “The night is sketchy. I drank way too much, and I’m well aware that I acted like a jerk.”

Conor played along. “Alcohol makes lots of guys act like *s.”

Heath nodded. “I feel terrible about what happened. I never thought . . .” He swallowed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I never thought anything would happen to her. I figured she’d take the subway or bus home.”

“No one could have expected her to disappear.” Louisa placated him. “We just want to find her. Did you hear from her at all after you left her at the bar?”

Heath’s eyes darted sideways. With jerky movements he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a gallon of milk. “Um. Apparently I texted her after I got back here, but I don’t remember doing that. I was pretty wasted.”

“What did you say to her?” Louisa asked.

He over-tilted the jug, splattering milk down the side of his mug and onto the counter. “I called her a bitch and some other names.” He lifted his chin to let them see his misty eyes. “I’m not proud of it.”

Though Heath gave a soap opera–worthy performance, Conor wasn’t buying into the sad act. This guy didn’t need alcohol to be an *.

Louisa pressed. “Did she answer you?”

He shook his head. “No. I guess whatever happened to her had already happened.” He swiped a finger under his eye.

“I have to go.” Heath picked up his backpack.

“One more question,” Conor said. “Who picked Sullivan’s?”

Heath’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t remember. We’d already been to two bars. We didn’t really have a plan.”

Escorting them outside, Heath locked the front door and jogged down the steps.

“Thanks for talking with us,” Louisa said as Heath went through the gate and turned down the sidewalk.

Conor and Louisa walked back to the car.

“He’s playing us.” Conor opened the door for Louisa.

“Probably.” With a graceful body twist, she slid into the leather bucket seat, a feat that should have been awkward given the snugness of her skirt.

Conor watched her long legs swing under the dashboard. This morning’s suit was a pale, practically colorless gray. The tailored cut showed off her slim form, and the forest-green blouse made her eyes greener. She didn’t put anything on display, but her prim and proper suits made him more eager to get a glimpse of what lay beneath all that silk. He was hopeless.

He rounded the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. She shifted her legs and crossed her ankles. Her skirt rode a few inches past her knees. His glance drifted sideways, and he was rewarded with a flash of pale thigh.

How could a scant two inches of skin make him drool? He saw a lot more than that every night of the week. Half the women who came into the bar wore skirts a scant inch shy of indecent, and he was hung up on Louisa’s hot librarian getup.

Louisa looked at him expectantly. He ripped his gaze off her legs. What had she asked him? Oh, yeah. Heath.

“Sleep texting?” He started the engine. “That’s just lame. If he was awake enough to text her, he was awake enough to snatch her.”

“I’d love to get a look at the texts he sent.”

Conor waited for traffic to clear. He checked his rearview mirror as he pulled into traffic. A big sedan pulled away from the curb right behind him. He went around the next block.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I think we’re being followed.”

Louisa turned her head to look out the back window. “The dark-blue sedan?”