Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(51)

Her jaw ached from its impact with the pavement, and from the thoughts and suspicions turning in her mind. She wanted to go home, get into bed, and pull the covers over her head.

Jackson shoved the notebook and pen back in his pocket. “Do you have a ride home?”

The question surprised her. Was he offering assistance? “I called a friend.”

“Sweetie, what have you done to yourself?” Damian’s arrival ended the interview. He frowned at the cop. “How did you get here so fast?”

Jackson didn’t blink. “I can double-park.”

Louisa looked from Jackson to Damian. “Did I miss something?”

“Have you talked to Sullivan tonight?” Jackson asked.

“No. Why?” She swung her feet over the edge of the gurney. Ouch. “Is there something wrong?”

“He had some trouble tonight too.” Jackson watched her face. She was likely more transparent than Blaine.

“What happened?” Louisa’s gaze swung from Jackson, who wouldn’t give anything away, to Damian.

Her friend shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Conor.”

With a nod, Detective Jackson moved toward the door. “Be careful, Doctor. No more playing detective. You had a close call tonight. Next time, you might not be so lucky.”





20


Conor paced the alley. The police were finishing up in his apartment. Damian had said Louisa was all right, but Conor wanted to see her with his own eyes.

Terry pulled up in his cruiser. Conor hadn’t seen him since the break-in a few hours ago. The cop was still in uniform, and his face was all business.

Conor walked over to the police car. “What’s going on?” He gave Terry’s partner riding shotgun a hello nod.

Terry lowered the window and handed Conor a picture. “Is this the kid who broke into your apartment?”

Conor looked down at a mug shot. “Yeah. That’s him.”

“His name is Hector Torres.” Terry tucked the photo back into the chest pocket of his uniform.

“Who is he?”

“A little piece of garbage, but a dangerous one.” Terry tapped a finger on the wheel. “He’s been in and out of juvenile detention a few times, mostly petty shit. But the word on the street is that Hector’s running with the Big K. That’s how we found him, from your description of the tattoo on his neck.”

“Damn, that’s not good.” Conor rubbed his scalp. The Big K was a gang that claimed a hunk of North Kensington as its territory.

“No. It’s definitely not good.” Terry shifted his weight. “The Big K is bad news.”

“All gangs are bad news. What’s the kid doing down here? This isn’t North Kensington.”

Terry shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“This can’t be over a dog.”

“It doesn’t make any sense. We’re trying to find Hector, but you better be extra careful, Conor,” Terry said. “You should be glad you have cops watching you.”

“Thanks.” He stepped back from the car. The idea of the bar—and Conor’s family—making any gang’s radar sent terror skittering across his skin.

The two cops came out of his apartment. “We’re done,” the one holding the camera said. “You’re going to want to call a professional cleaner.”

“Thanks.” Conor went back inside the bar and scanned the room for his sister. The kitchen was closed this late. Behind the bar, Jayne was popping the top off a couple of bottles of beer.

“No word from Reed?”

She shook her head. “Not since dinnertime. Scott is still in ICU.”

“I’m sorry, honey. I haven’t been there for you this week, and now I have to leave again.” He explained about Louisa. “I called Pat. He’s on his way over. He’ll help you close up.”

She put her hands on her hips. “I don’t need Pat to close the bar.”

“I know,” he said. It might tweak Jayne’s pride, but there was no way he was letting pregnant Jayne and old Ernie handle any potential rowdies.

Jayne heaved an exasperated sigh. “You and Pat are overprotective, but I guess you’re too old to change your ways. Now go see Louisa.” Jayne turned Conor around and pushed him toward the door. “Call me or text me. Let me know what’s going on.”

“You let me know if you hear from Reed.”

“’Kay. Love you,” Jayne called after him.

Philadelphia nightlife ended early. The drive took ten minutes. Why did Louisa choose to call Damian over him?

He parked in the garage at the Rittenhouse and gave his name at the desk in the lobby.

“Go on up,” the doorman said.

Two minutes later, Conor knocked softly on her door. It opened. Damian and Kirra greeted him in the foyer.

Damian waved Conor inside.

“I’m glad you’re here.” The lawyer grabbed his keys from the counter. “I was just on my way out, and I really didn’t want to leave her alone.”

“How is she?” Conor stooped to pet the dog. She wagged her tail and then bolted for the master bedroom. The door was ajar, and the dog slipped through the opening. Conor could hear the sound of water running.