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.

Louisa let out a breath. Her frame trembled. “But?”

Jackson broke eye contact. He examined his fist for a few seconds before meeting Louisa’s gaze. “Her identity hasn’t been determined by the medical examiner.”