Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(55)

Conor looked around the apartment. “Do you really need it?”

“I don’t need the job in the financial sense, no. But I love what I do.” Losing another job would no doubt disappoint her father again. What would he think if Louisa didn’t work? If she just managed her trust fund and spent her time organizing charity events? Could she even do that? Her entire life had been focused on this career. It was a major part of her identity. The thought of leaving it behind was disconcerting.

Louisa pointed at her chin. “Do you think I can get this swelling down at all before tonight?”

“Maybe. Keep your head elevated and be diligent with the ice pack.”

“That’ll help?”

“It should. Back in my boxing days, I used to pack my face in ice after every fight. It wasn’t pretty.” He reached for his shirt.

Too bad. “I saw the picture the media released. It looked painful.” Though even battered, he’d been attractive in a virile, primal way. “And they tied in the fight you had with Kirra’s owner with your altercation with Heath. They succeeded in making you seem violent.”

“Which is exactly what Damian said they would do.” He grimaced. “I have to run by Jayne’s house and pick up the laundry I left there. Everything in my apartment was ruined. Are you all right here by yourself?”

“I’m fine.”

“OK then. I’ll bring lunch back with me. Anything special you want?”

Louisa moved her aching jaw. “Something soft.”

“I’ll be quick.” Conor kissed her gently on the uninjured side of her face before leaving.

Louisa put an ice pack on her face for twenty minutes, then grabbed her laptop and brought it back to bed. Turning it on, she propped a pillow against the headboard. Kirra jumped onto the duvet and stretched out next to Louisa.

She skimmed through her e-mails. Twenty messages into her inbox, she spotted a message from her father, the subject line: “Itinerary.” She clicked on it and copied the details of his upcoming holiday visit to her calendar. Nerves rattled in her belly. What was he going to tell her? She glanced at the clock. Nine a.m., three p.m. in Stockholm. It was time for their weekly phone call. Ward Hancock kept a strict routine. Saturday afternoons were spent in his study, working. If she was lucky, and she phoned early, she’d catch him still relatively sober.

She wasn’t the luckiest soul in the world.

She picked up her cell and speed-dialed his number, her stomach knotting as the line rang again and again. Where was he? She left a message and set her phone aside.

“Something’s wrong, Kirra.”

The dog rolled closer and flipped Louisa’s hand with her nose. Louisa settled a hand on the dog’s head. “Something is definitely wrong.”



The phone rang as Conor emerged from the shower in Louisa’s guest room. After toweling himself off, he pulled jeans from the duffel bag on the dresser. The basket of laundry he’d retrieved from Jayne’s house was all the clothes he had left. Almost everything else Conor owned was destroyed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and caught his breath. Renter’s insurance would cover most of the damage, and he didn’t have many personal possessions that couldn’t be replaced, except the photographs the scumbags had piled up and pissed on.

He’d hired professional cleaners to strip the place bare. Then what? Would these kids ever leave him alone? Why the hell were they so determined to have Kirra? The streets were teeming with pit bulls, and Kirra wasn’t much of a fighter. Why did they want her back so badly?

And how could his life have gone to complete crap in the course of a week?

He’d been questioned for murder, attacked with a knife and a gun, and his apartment had been ransacked.

Someone knocked on the bedroom door.

“Conor?” Louisa called.

He stepped into the jeans, walked into the bedroom, and opened the door. Her eyes blinked on his bare chest.

Conor grinned. Not everything about his week had been bad. “Can I help you?”

The pretty green of her eyes sobered. “The police are on their way up.”

“Be out in a minute.” He went back into the bathroom, tugged on the T-shirt, and brushed his teeth. He didn’t want Louisa to have to face the two cops alone. Jackson and Ianelli were walking into the foyer when Conor emerged. Louisa led them into the living room. The detectives eased onto the overstuffed couch.

“Coffee?” Louisa asked.

“No, thanks.” Jackson pulled his notebook from his pocket. “You might want to sit down.”

She chose an overstuffed club chair on the other side of the coffee table. Conor perched on the arm.

Jackson leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Just a short while ago, the body of a young woman was found in an abandoned building in North Kensington. The cause of death and disposal were similar to Riki LaSanta’s murder.” He took a breath. “If you turn on the TV, I’m sure you’ll see the story. The news crews were at the scene when we left.”

Louisa sagged. “Is it Zoe?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Conor put an arm around her shoulders. Her body was stiff, unyielding, prepared for the blow.

“We can’t confirm the body’s identification at this time.” The detective clenched and unclenched his hand on his knee.