Midnight Betrayal (Midnight #3)(84)

What was happening?

A shadow loomed over her. A knee pressed into her back, shoving her face into the seat. The weight holding her down sparked a surge of brain-numbing panic. Before she could move, something bound her ankles. Her hands were pulled behind her back and fastened together. In seconds, she was effectively kidnapped.

The weight moved off her back. Unable to control her body enough to even turn her head, she caught the driver’s back in her peripheral vision. She couldn’t see his head, but the figure was too tall, too thin. It wasn’t the short, stocky driver from the Rittenhouse. Then who was it?

The door closed. Her captor got into the driver’s seat. The quiet snick of the door locks made everything fall into place.

Oh my God. Fear slammed through her with the same jolt of electricity as she realized the truth. The police had arrested the wrong person as the murderer.





31


The back room at the veterinary clinic smelled like dogs and disinfectant. Conor stared at the plastic pouches of coffee-colored liquid spread on the stainless-steel tray. “What is that?”

Standing next to him in pale blue scrubs, the vet scratched her head. “We aren’t positive, but we suspect drugs.”

“Drugs.” Events and information clicked into place like the tumblers in a lock. “And you took them out of Kirra’s stomach?”

“Yes.” The vet gestured to the packs. “There have been several other recent cases of liquid heroin and cocaine being transported inside animals.”

“Liquid heroin.” It made perfect sense. Hector had been way too determined to get Kirra back.

“Yes. Kirra is a lucky dog. If one of those pouches had burst, she would have died.”

“But you said she’s going to be OK.”

“She is.” The vet nodded. “The police are on the way. Since she’s your dog, you’ll need to stay and talk to them. Do you want to see her while you wait?”

“Yes.” Relief coursed through Conor as his gaze swept over the pitiful dog. Her belly was shaved. A long row of stitches closed an eight-inch incision. An IV line was taped to her foreleg. The line snaked out of the metal cage and attached to the bag of fluids hanging on the bars above the door.

The vet opened the cage door. “You can pet her.”

Conor reached in and stroked the dog’s head. Her eyes opened. Her tail stub jerked in a weak wag the second she caught sight of him.

“I spayed her since she was under anesthesia anyway. She’ll need to stay here overnight,” the vet said.

“Thank you.” Conor checked his messages but saw none from Louisa. A sliver of apprehension slid through his gut. She’d been waiting for word on Kirra.

The next hour was spent answering questions for the police report. The cops verified the pouches were likely full of liquid heroin. They’d had several other cases of drugs being transported in animals recently. It was seven o’clock before Conor finished. He left the vet’s office. Pulling out his phone, he hurried toward the bar. He left a message on Louisa’s cell phone and sent her another text. Something was wrong.

He went into Sullivan’s.

Behind the bar, Pat set a freshly drawn draft in front of a customer. “Is everything all right?”

“The dog was full of heroin packets.”

Pat’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. No wonder that kid wanted her back so much.”

“Yeah.” Conor’s gaze swept the bar. “Louisa hasn’t been in?”

“No.” Pat took an order and tilted a tall glass under the tap. “Was she supposed to come here?”

“No, but I haven’t heard from her. She was worried about the dog. She should have called me right after work.” Conor paced the length of the bar. “I’m going to drive over there.”

“Go.” Pat straightened the glass. A perfect head of foam topped the amber liquid. “Text me when you find her, all right?”

“Yeah.” Conor headed out the back door. Was it just this morning that he’d found Hector bleeding in the alley? Seemed like much longer. His Porsche was parked on the street at the end of the alley. He started the engine. His phone chirped as he pulled away from the curb. He didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Sullivan?” a familiar voice asked.

“Yes.”

“This is Gerome from the Rittenhouse.”

Conor’s heart double tapped.

“The police have already been notified, but I wanted you to know too,” Gerome said. “You know Dr. Hancock arranged for the car to pick her up after work.”

“Yeah. I was there.”

“Right. When she didn’t come home right after work, I thought maybe she wanted to stop somewhere. But we just found our driver in the men’s room utility closet. He was tied up. Someone zapped him with a homemade stun gun. His uniform and the car are missing. Dr. Hancock isn’t in her apartment.”

Conor’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Someone stole the town car?”

“Yes.”

“Did you try Dr. Hancock at the museum?”

“She left two hours ago.”

“I’ll be right there.” Conor floored the Porsche. Weaving in and out of traffic on Front Street, he dug Detective Jackson’s card out of his wallet. He left his name and number on the cop’s voice mail with a simple message. “Louisa is missing.”