The warmth inside his gut went cold. His skin went clammy, sweating like a glass of icy liquid on a hot day.

What just happened? Conor shook off his stunned paralysis and followed her out the back door. His booted feet hit the pavement just as she disappeared out of the alley. He jogged to the corner, emerging just as the hotel’s car pulled up to the curb. Louisa didn’t wait for the driver to open the door. She got in, and the car sped away.

Conor ran back to the bar and snatched his cell phone from the desk. He had to see Louisa. If she wanted to end their relationship, there wasn’t anything he could do to prevent it. He couldn’t make her talk to him. But he wasn’t going to let it end like this. After all they’d been through, she owed him an explanation.

He couldn’t let her run away from what had just happened between them. If he did, he’d have to live with being tossed away like garbage one more time. Barbara had done a number on him, and what he’d felt for her seemed like nothing compared to the staggering connection he’d just shared with Louisa.

He couldn’t lose her. If she rejected him, it would take his heart down like a sweep to the ankles, and discarding the precious, fragile bond they’d formed felt like a sacrilege.

He climbed into his car and started the engine. Conor stopped for a few red lights, but Broad Street was quiet on a Sunday night. Ten minutes and three turns later, he pulled up to the Rittenhouse Hotel and tossed his keys to the valet.

Fear roiled in his gut as the elevator carried him toward Louisa’s floor and the coming confrontation.

CHAPTER 24

24

Double-crossing should be an Olympic sport. I’d thought murder took planning and intelligence, but turning the tables on criminals was twice the work. The guilty were naturally wary, constantly suspecting others of doing the illegal and immoral deeds blooming to life in their own minds.

Guilty is as guilty does.

I watched Isa cross the library parking lot. The bitch. She wore her backpack by one strap. The glow from her cell phone illumined her features with an odd uplight, adding sinister shadows to her pretty face. I’d parked my nondescript sedan ten feet away from her car. Just out of range of the overhead light. I adjusted my hood, got out of the car, and slumped my way toward the entrance. I tilted my chin down. The university hoodie was excellent camouflage. At least 25 percent of the male student population was wearing a logo hoodie at any given time. Not that I had to worry about being seen. Not by Isa. Her head was down, and she was so entranced by her phone screen she saw nothing of her surroundings.