Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(65)

Isa would disappear as cleanly as the others. The police would find her car abandoned in the lot. Inside they’d find a surprise.

She hadn’t been carrying a purse. Where did she keep her keys? Not in her jeans pocket, I hoped. I really didn’t want to open the trunk again until we’d reached our final destination. Well, technically, it was only Isa’s final destination. I reached in the backseat and rummaged in the front pouch of her backpack. With a satisfying jingle of metal, I came up with her key ring. I dug in my own pocket for the Ziploc baggie. Inside it were a few of Conor Sullivan’s hairs, taken from the comb in his bathroom. I walked to Isa’s Nissan and pressed the fob. The door unlocked with a faint chirp. I sprinkled half of the hairs in the driver’s seat. I saved the rest for later.

The crime scene technicians had better find my little gift.

I got back in my car and drove out of the lot. A glance at the dashboard clock told me the entire feat had taken six minutes. I smiled. I’d allowed eight, but Isa had gone down with no resistance. No time to waste, though. I had a schedule to keep.

The campus disappeared in my rearview mirror. I headed for West Philadelphia and the crumbling house I’d selected for the next stage in my plan. Isa was victim number three. After I finished with her, I had one more death on my agenda. I would need to pay close attention to detail for the next phase, and its execution would require finesse.





25


Louisa clutched her purse in both hands as she hurried for the elevator. The fake smile she’d donned for the driver and doorman felt brittle as centuries-old metal. If she touched her face, her pleasant, composed veneer would crumble to dust. The elevator dinged at the eighteenth floor. The doors parted, and the hallway stretched out. She fumbled with her key, missing the lock several times, unable to hold her hand steady. Finally, she rushed into the foyer. Kirra met her in the hall and followed her into the kitchen. Louisa dropped her purse on the counter.

She’d expected to fall apart the second she was in the privacy of her home. Instead, numbness slid over her as if she’d wrapped her body in an ice pack. She leaned on the counter, the granite under her fingertips as cold and unyielding as her fear.

Kirra bumped her leg, and Louisa crouched to stroke the dog’s head. Kirra had been hurt, and yet she trusted Conor instinctively. What did the dog know that Louisa didn’t?

She’d hurt him too, wounded him in a way that would leave a scar. Guilt magnified her turmoil. She hadn’t meant to reject him, but she hadn’t been able to speak. Reflex had taken over. Her mind had shut out what it couldn’t accept.

What she’d seen in his eyes—and felt in her heart—had terrified her. Now that she’d caught her breath, she missed him with the same intensity.

Would she ever be able to trust? He had the power to hurt her more than anyone she’d let into her life. Her mother had died, her father abandoned her, and her aunt betrayed her. Could she give anyone the power to wound her again?

A knock sounded on her door, firm, demanding.

She should have known he wouldn’t let her off so easily. The next knock was louder. He wasn’t leaving.

She gathered the courage to face him, but she hadn’t moved when she heard him in the foyer. Had she forgotten to lock the door? She heard it shut. The deadbolt clicked into place. His boot heels rang on the tile until he was standing directly behind her body. His shadow fell over her.

“Louisa,” he said with gentle insistence.

Her throat couldn’t form words. Her lungs tightened, inelastic and unyielding. It felt as if her rib cage had turned to steel, refusing to expand. Light-headed, Louisa suddenly remembered to breathe.

His hands closed over her biceps. Warmth seeped through the cotton knit of her light sweater. With easy pressure, he turned her around to face him. She stared at the direct center of his chest. “I’ll completely respect your decision if you want this to end between us, but I think you don’t. I hope you don’t.”

Raising her chin, she searched his eyes. There was no sign of anger, just tenderness and worry.

“Talk to me.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

“I can’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper. But she took a step forward and pressed her face to his chest, turning her head to listen to the steady thump of his heartbeat.

A relieved sigh left his chest as he closed his arms around her.

His wide palm stroked up and down her back.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” She hesitated. Trusting him was frightening, but the thought of him leaving scared her more. Her life hadn’t been great before she met him, but how could she go back to that cold, loveless existence now that she’d tasted what life could really offer? “But I need to understand why you’re here. Why you came after me after I ran out on you in the middle of . . .” She waved a hand.

“Understand what? That I care about you? That I wanted to make sure you were all right?” His hand cupped the unbruised side of her jaw. He tilted her face up. A quick flash of anger blazed his eyes and heated her skin.

He cared about her enough to chase after her in the middle of the night.

“I’d hope you’d think more of me by now.” His tone was annoyed. “I don’t care about sex. Frankly, sex is easy to come by. You’re not.”