Ianelli eased to the curb. “I think we should be asking you that question.” The cop met Conor’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Since we just watched you come out of Heath Yeager’s apartment.”

“Yeah. He wasn’t home.” Conor spoke the truth without hesitation. No need to elaborate.

“Enough with the games.” Jackson turned and spoke through the cage separating the front and back seat. “We have you cold on breaking and entering. Tell me, why did you search Heath’s place, and what did you find?”

“Technically, I didn’t break in.” Conor put a hand on his chest. “Are you asking for my help?”

Ianelli turned around. “Asking? No, we ain’t asking.”

Conor sized up the cops. Were they backing off him as a suspect? Or was this a trick of some sort? “Heath has been blackmailing someone at the university.” It wasn’t like Conor didn’t want the cops to know. He’d e-mailed them the files. He just hated to be bullied.

Jackson’s eyes brightened like a gutter rat that just caught sight of a discarded burger.

Ianelli didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Who?”

Conor waited a beat. “Professor Xavier English.”

“What’d he do?” Ianelli asked, his dark eyes glittering with interest.

Conor spilled the rest about the videos of the professor with Riki and Isa. “I’m no expert, but the girls didn’t seem to know they were being taped, and English looked right at the camera.”

“So how did Heath get the copies?” Jackson asked.

Conor lifted a no idea shoulder. “You’ll have to ask Heath.”

Jackson chewed his lip in silence.

“Is sex with a student worth paying a blackmailer?” Ianelli mused.

“I’d think it could cost him his job,” Conor said. “But one of those students has been murdered, and another has disappeared. That is worth paying someone to keep quiet.”

“You didn’t get a copy of those videos, did you?” Jackson asked.

“It’s your lucky day.” Conor grinned. “Check your e-mail.”

CHAPTER 29

29

Louisa walked into the museum, late, in a daze. Conor had walked her to the front door and made her promise to call the hotel’s town car at the end of the day. She checked in at the security desk. The security guard requested secondary identification, and Louisa dug her driver’s license out of her wallet. In the wide corridor that divided the museum, an extra guard stood at attention, his eyes scanning the visitors.

In her office, she plunked her purse down on the blotter and sank into her chair. Out of habit, and because she needed to do something, Louisa booted up her computer. The monitor was off angle. Bumped by the cleaners while dusting her desk? She adjusted the tilt. When the screen came to life, an annoying window announced her operating system had crashed.