Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(36)

“Yes. I took a long lunch hour. I’ll be sure to stay later this evening. I won’t fall behind.”

“You could have asked me.”

“What would your answer have been?”

“I would have said no.”

“So you would have preferred I refuse Zoe’s parents?”

Cusack leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “This is a matter for the police. I would prefer you to leave the investigation to them.”

“The Finches called me,” Louisa clarified. “I didn’t initiate the contact, but I also didn’t have the heart to say no. They’re heartbroken. I work hard for this museum. I put in many extra hours. I fulfill my responsibilities and more.” Her teeth clamped together with frustration.

They both knew he’d taken advantage of the situation at the Maine museum. She was doing a full curator’s job at half the salary.

“Louisa, you are missing the point.” Exasperation sharpened his clipped accent. “You cannot drive off without letting anyone know where you are.”

“No matter how much I love working here, I can’t put my career ahead of Zoe’s life.” Louisa lifted her chin and prepared to be fired.

“I wouldn’t ask you to put your job ahead of Zoe.” Cusack crossed his arms over his chest. “But two museum employees have disappeared. I do not want you to be number three.”

Oh. Could Cusack have been worried about her?

“The museum can’t take any more scandal.” Of course. He was only protecting the museum. “You need to stay out of the investigation.”

“I can’t.” Louisa met his gaze.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not giving up on Zoe. She’s been missing for thirty-eight hours.”



Conor begged off the dinner rush to pick Louisa up after work. He texted her and waited a half block from the museum. She climbed into the car.

“How was your day?”

She rested her head against the passenger window. “I went to see Zoe’s parents on my lunch hour. Her father showed me the texts Heath sent to Zoe Monday night.” She summed up her meeting with the Finches. “Why aren’t the police investigating Heath?”

“We don’t know that they aren’t.” Conor scraped a hand down his chin. “But I think we need some background information on Heath.”

He glanced sideways. Her face was drawn and tired. The encounter with the Finches had clearly taken a lot out of her. If she’d spent her lunch hour driving, then she hadn’t eaten. “I have a late night. How about stopping for a sandwich and coffee?”

“OK,” she answered, distracted.

He found a lucky spot at the curb, parked, and swiped his credit card at the parking meter kiosk. They walked a block down Eighteenth Street and ducked into a café.

Conor chose a dark, high-backed booth in the back for privacy. The bistro café catered mainly to the lunch crowd. Half the tables were empty. The waitress arrived, and Conor ordered coffee and a club sandwich.

Louisa asked for green tea.

When the waitress left, she told him about her heartbreaking visit to the Finches’ house. He reached across the table and took her hand. “You were like Zoe, weren’t you? Ahead of your class, separate from the other kids?”

“Yes.” Louisa studied their intertwined fingers. “I earned my PhD at nineteen.”

His thumb rubbed a slow circle on the back of her hand. “Is that why you need to find her so badly? Because she’s like you?”

Was Louisa like Zoe’s parents, simply refusing to accept the girl’s death because the truth would be too painful?

“Maybe.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I know what it’s like to be alone in a room full of people, to be an academic success and not have friends, to be desperate to fit in. My father traveled. My mother was dead. My aunt wasn’t interested.”

“And you were alone.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

But she hadn’t gotten over it, and Conor thanked God for his three siblings. As crazy as his life could be, the Sullivans always had each other.

“That time-heals-all-wounds saying is total bullshit. Cuts that deep never go away, no matter how many years pass. I still miss my parents.” Conor’s sandwich arrived. He pushed the plate to the middle of the table, but she didn’t seem interested. Had she eaten anything since the muffin he’d brought her that morning?

The setting sun elongated shadows on the sidewalk outside. For the first time, she’d opened up to him. She’d given him a glimpse of the wounded soul beneath her mask.

Now, staring out the window, her profile had frozen again, all evidence of her grief smoothed away. She was a swan gliding at the edge of the Schuylkill River, for all appearances elegant, quiet, and still. All the motion occurred beneath the surface, hidden from view. He wondered for the hundredth time how many layers he’d have to uncover to find the real her.

She fascinated and challenged him.

With a sinking sensation, he realized getting closer to her would require more touchy-feely type discussions. And dear God, he was going to have to be the one to initiate them, which was the complete opposite of the natural order of the universe.