Louisa reached for her phone, stopping with her hand halfway across the desk. She was going to call Zoe—her go-to computer geek when she didn’t want to wait for a visit from the museum computer tech—but Zoe was gone. Louisa pressed a fist to her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. It took several minutes to regain control. With no energy to deal with the computer, she simply turned it off. She’d put in a request to tech support later.

April came in, closing the door behind her. “Did you hear about Isa?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe it.” April dropped into the guest chair facing the desk. Her eyes were glazed, her usually chipper attitude deflated with shock. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on the desk and tipped her forehead into her hands. “Riki, Zoe, Isa . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Louisa reached across the desk and grasped April’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe Zoe is dead.” A small sob squeaked from April’s chest.

Louisa squeezed her fingers and released them. “They haven’t confirmed that.”

“But it was on the news that the investigators believe the body they found could be Zoe.”

“Believing isn’t the same as knowing.” Hope was crucial. Hope kept people going. When hope died, all that was left was despair. It was coming. Louisa could feel the truth shaking her control, the tiny quakes of sadness that would fracture her denial and leave her shattered.

April’s head bobbed in a tight-lipped nod. “But Isa was taken from the library, right?”

Louisa choked on the sudden grip of grief around her throat. Even April believed Zoe was dead. She was just humoring Louisa. But what if the police were wrong? What if Zoe was out there, hurt, waiting to be rescued? Tears pressured Louisa’s eyes. She blinked them back. “Yes. The police came to my apartment this morning to . . . tell me.”

“Those poor girls.” A tear slid down April’s cheek.

Watching her gutsy assistant cry broke Louisa wide open. Tears poured down her cheeks as sorrow rattled her bones. She felt a strong arm around her shoulders. Sobbing, April stroked the back of her head. “Let it out. You’ll feel better.”

No, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t deny the fact any longer. Zoe was dead. She’d been abducted, tortured, and murdered. How could accepting that make her feel better?

Louisa straightened, sniffing hard. April brushed a hair from her cheek, a motherly gesture that almost made Louisa break down again. She yanked a tissue free and wiped her eyes and nose. She took three long, slow breaths and gathered her control around her like a shield. “I’m sorry.”

“No reason to be.”

“I hate being weak,” Louisa admitted, realizing too late that the admittance was in itself weakness.