Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(58)

Xavier’s eyes narrowed to piggish slits.

“Look, there’s Damian.” Louisa waved at the lawyer, who was chatting up an elegant white-haired woman draped with diamonds and gold.

“I really should say hello.” Louisa smiled. “Excuse me, Xavier.”

She escaped before the professor could utter another word.

“Louisa!” Damian greeted Louisa with a gentle peck on the cheek of the uninjured side of her face. “How do you feel?”

“I’m fine, considering.”

“Yes, you could have been flattened.” Damian touched her forearm. He leaned close to her ear and whispered through gritted teeth. “What is you-know-who doing manning the bar?”

Louisa’s cover smile was tense enough to make her chin throb. “I have no idea.”

“We need to talk after the auction.” Damian flagged down a waiter and plucked a glass of champagne from a tray.

“Definitely.”

Damian looked over her shoulder. “Here comes your boss. Poker up.”

“Damian.” Dr. Cusack nodded politely at Damian before turning to Louisa. “I need to borrow Dr. Hancock.”

“Of course.” Louisa smiled at Damian. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“How are you?” Cusack asked as he steered her away.

“I’m fine.”

“Then there are several important guests I’d like you to meet.” Cusack leaned closer and lowered his voice. “But there will be no discussion of death, and if you want to keep this job, you’ll stop questioning people.”

Louisa stopped. “I won’t stop looking for Zoe.”

“I mean it, Louisa. I’ll fire you if I have to. This matter is police business, and I wouldn’t want to see you hurt again,” he said in a discussion over tone. He steered her through the crowd, introducing her to VIPs.

An elderly woman rapped her cane on the tile next to the exhibit case. “Have you gotten those murders straightened out yet?”

Louisa bobbled.

“The police have the situation in hand.” Cusack’s smooth voice steadied her. “Have you met our newest assistant curator, Dr. Louisa Hancock?”

“What a lovely brooch.” Louisa bent her head to examine a cameo pinned to the woman’s jacket. “Is it an antique?”

For the next two hours, Louisa deflected gossip about the murders, talked about the new exhibit, and charmed museum patrons while the throbbing in her knees grew to a crescendo. The auction topped off the night’s agenda. The evening had been a success, in spite of the negative publicity hovering around the museum, or maybe because of it. Louisa overheard too many fascinated whispers speculating about the murders. She surveyed the thinning crowd. Her gaze settled on Xavier. He was Zoe’s mentor, and Riki had been one of his students. He’d shown her a different, unflattering side of his personality tonight. Where had he been during the murder?



Conor mixed drinks and watched Louisa work the crowd. A few hours into the event, the line at the bar dissipated.

Damian approached. “Club soda.” He glanced around. No one was close by.

Conor flipped a glass and scooped ice.

“How did you get in here?” Damian asked in a low tone.

“I blackmailed the caterer.” Conor twisted the cap off the soda bottle. “If you don’t want people to know you’re messing around on your wife, don’t take your mistress to bars.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Damian said. “But seriously, what made you think this was a good idea?”

Conor squeezed a lime wedge into the drink and placed it on a cocktail napkin. “Because Louisa was coming, and one of these people could be a killer.”

“What will the cops think of you butting into the fund-raiser?”

“I don’t know. We could ask the one who followed me over here. He’s probably parked outside.”

Damian shot him a bad idea glare. “We need to talk after this. Louisa’s place.”

“You and Louisa are close?” Conor forced the words out of lips tight enough to crack.

Damian’s eyes sparked. “Oh my God. You’re jealous.” He covered his laughing mouth with his fist.

“Why is that so hilarious?” Conor grimaced.

Damian spun around and scanned the crowd. He raised a finger in the air, motioning to a tall, blond man. “Mark?” Damian turned back to Conor.

The blond extricated himself from a conversation with three well-jeweled elderly women and walked over. He gave Conor a critical once-over and raised an approving eyebrow at Damian. “You called?”

Damian gestured. “My partner, Mark, will have a Johnny Walker on the rocks.”

“And I’m not his law partner.” Mark smiled.

Cheered, Conor poured whiskey over ice. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too.” Taking the drink, Mark gave Damian a nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go back to charming those very wealthy widows into making fat donations.”

“You didn’t know I was gay?” Damian asked after Mark returned to his conversation.

“I’ve never felt so clueless in my life.”

“You’ve been preoccupied.” Damian handed over his empty glass for a refill. “Does it bother you?”