“No worries.” Jayne smiled. “He’s been hit on by every available woman in the neighborhood, and a fair number of the unavailable ones, come to think of it. But deep down, they all know the chase is pointless. Which is the reason they all keep staring at you.”

Louisa choked. Coke dribbled down her chin. She mopped her face. “Me?”

“You’re the first woman to catch his attention in years.”

Louisa’s eyes were drawn back to Conor, extricating himself from a woman’s grasp on his forearm. A head above most of the crowd, he turned back to look at Louisa with apologetic eyes. Had he felt her gaze, or was he in a rush to get back to her?

He pried the woman’s fingers from his wrist and squeezed through an opening like a fish slipping through a hole in a net.

“Sorry about that.” He slid into the booth next to her.

She checked the time on her phone. Eight thirty. “Don’t you close soon?”

“We’ll close at nine.” He leaned back and studied her face. “Do you feel OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“OK, then.” He scanned the bar. The band was packing up. People paid their checks and drifted toward the door. “I’ll go help Ernie and Jayne so we can get out of here faster.”

Conor turned the deadbolt in the front door of the bar, then led her past the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign into the back hallway. His police babysitter had moved from his booth to an unmarked car at the curb out front, where he would wait to follow Conor wherever he went for the night. The constant police presence was a reminder that the body still hadn’t been confirmed as Zoe. Conor still headed the short list of suspects.

On the bright side, Louisa was safer with the cop hanging around. Since her pavement dive, Conor didn’t want to leave her alone. Sure, it could have been an accident, but what if it wasn’t? What if the killer didn’t like the questions she’d been asking? What if the murderer was someone she knew and trusted enough to let into her apartment?

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” He hoped she did, and not just because his apartment was uninhabitable.

Louisa locked eyes with him. “Yes.”

Her gaze was level and . . . hungry?

“I’ll be finished in a few minutes.” He lifted the cash register tray in his hand.

“All right.” She followed him into the office, pacing impatiently while he sorted and filed the night’s paperwork.

Something was up with Louisa. On autopilot, he counted cash and tallied the total with the computer-generated numbers. Tucking the bills into a bank envelope, he closed the zipper. Nerves slid up his spine with the same deliberate zing.

“Ready?” he asked.