“Apparently, Isa was the one who found the camera,” Jackson continued. “She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to lose the grant or her position as TA with her PhD right around the corner, or risk getting caught up in an ugly university scandal at that time, so reporting the professor was out. She found the videos on his computer, copied them, and went to Heath for advice. Heath had been chatting her up while he was dating Zoe. Heath is the one who suggested blackmail as revenge. Isa was angry enough to agree. Heath took care of the process, and they split the money. They’d already milked the professor out of twenty grand and had no plans to stop.”

“She opted to use him instead of being used by him.” In a way, Louisa thought that was apt. She took a deep breath, and pain cleaved her in two like a magician’s saw. Conor put the morphine button in her hand. She pressed it. If there were any other loose ends, she’d have to hear about them another day. The medication slid through her veins, smoothing and blurring all the sharp, painful edges.

“Zoe saw the video on Isa’s computer.” Jackson’s voice faded.

“What happened to Hector?” Conor asked.

Jackson shook his head. “He didn’t make it.”

“We’re looking for Louisa Hancock,” a woman’s voice said from the hallway.

Dread contracted Louisa’s muscles and amplified her pain. She fought the drug’s effects and the vulnerability they produced.

Conor put down her hand. “I’ve got it.”

Conor walked out of Louisa’s room. A thin, older woman in an expensive-looking dress and coat clutched a small purse with manicured fingers. Next to her, a guy in a suit glanced around him. He looked worried. As he should.

Conor’s feet took him to the desk. “Excuse me. You’re looking for Louisa?”

The woman sized him up and arched a snooty brow. “What I’m doing here isn’t any of your business.”

“You must be Aunt Margaret,” Conor said. He shifted his gaze to the blond man. “Does that make you Blaine Delancey?”

“Yes.” Blaine tugged at a cuff. “And you are?”

Conor punched him dead center in the face. Blood spurted across the pale gray linoleum. Blaine fell backward, landing on his ass on the floor. With a stunned blink, he covered his bleeding nose with a hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He climbed to his feet.

“Oh my goodness.” Margaret rushed to Blaine’s side and pushed tissues into his hand. “Someone call security.”

Conor jabbed a finger in the air. “I know what you did.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Blaine pressed the tissues against his nose.

“I know what you did to Louisa.” Conor enunciated the words individually. “In the boathouse.”