“Physically, just a little banged up, but it shook her.” Damian snatched his suit jacket from the back of a stool. “She’s changing her clothes. I don’t think she had dinner. She could probably use something to eat.”

“What the hell happened?”

“I’m sorry, Conor. I have a teenager in big trouble waiting for me.” Folding his jacket over his arm, Damian headed for the door. “Louisa will have to fill you in on the details. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Conor paced the kitchen. The rushing water sound ceased. He froze, the breath tightening in his lungs as the door opened.

“Damian, I can’t get this zipper.” Louisa stopped short. The dog sat next to her feet and looked up at her. “Conor.”

She stood barefoot in the entry to the kitchen. His gaze snapped to the bruise on her chin and the stark white bandages on her hands and knees. Her hair tumbled down her back in a wild blond tangle. The slim black dress left her arms bare. Her face was pale, her eyes exhausted, and her dress torn.

He wanted to rush to her, to fold her in his arms, but he couldn’t. She hadn’t called for him, and that fact stung even as relief at seeing her whole and minimally injured swept through him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

He stuffed his hands in his front pockets. “I was with Damian when you called him. What happened?”

“While I was waiting for a cab, someone shoved or bumped me in front of a bus.”

“Which one was it?”

“I don’t know.” Louisa didn’t move forward either. “The sidewalk was crowded. Detective Jackson showed up at the hospital. He said he’d look into it.”

“But you’re all right?”

“Yes.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. She winced and reflexively touched her swollen jaw.

“Let me get you some ice for that.”

She exhaled as if she’d made a decision. Then she limped closer and turned around. “Would you unzip me?” She lifted her hair over her head with both hands.

Being careful to not pinch her skin, Conor drew the zipper down slowly from her neck to the small of her back. Inch by inch, the fabric parted, revealing the straps of her bra and a whole lot of soft skin. His hands itched with the need to strip the dress from her body and check every inch of her skin for injury. He lowered his head and kissed the back of her neck. The dimples at the base of her spine tempted him to press his lips there, but he resisted. “I wish you’d have called me.”

She leaned against him and dropped her hair. Her body deflated with a slow exhalation of breath and tension.

“Me too,” she whispered.