“Coffee would be fine.” She removed her jacket and slid into the booth. Bordeaux-colored leather glided smoothly under the silk of her skirt. She folded her jacket over her purse on the seat beside her.

He went into the back and returned a few minutes later with a tray. Setting the edge on the table, he transferred two thick mugs of coffee, a thermal carafe, and a small ceramic pitcher of cream to the table. He might be the owner of the bar, but he’d obviously waited plenty of tables. Setting the empty tray aside, he sank into the seat opposite her. “I want to thank you again for helping me in Maine.”

“I didn’t actually do anything, and my intentions were entirely selfish.” He’d helped her as much as she’d helped him. “I simply wanted to recover my exhibit.”

Humor glinted in eyes the color of the sunny Mediterranean. “You could just say, ‘You’re welcome.’”

Heat flushed her cheeks. “You’re welcome.”

“What brings you here?” Conor sipped his coffee.

She added a drop of cream to her mug. “I took a job with the Livingston Museum.”

“Congratulations.” No surprise registered on his face. Had he known?

“Thank you.” Being let go still stung.

“They shouldn’t have fired you.” His head tilted. Was he reading her mind? “None of what happened was your fault.”

“It’s complicated.”

He let it go, but the tightness of his mouth suggested he didn’t want to. “How do you like your new job?”

“It’s good.” Louisa stirred her coffee. Last time he’d come to her for help, and he’d pursued her with dogged determination until she’d complied. This time she was the one who needed something from him.

“Where are you staying?”

“I’m renting a condo at the Rittenhouse.”

He whistled. “Nice.”

“It’s only temporary. I didn’t know what I wanted, and it’s convenient to work.”

He sat back and studied her, and she suddenly wished she hadn’t removed her jacket. The thin silk of her blouse wasn’t enough of a barrier. She felt almost naked under his scrutiny.

Louisa watched the swirl of cream in her coffee, but she could feel his gaze on her skin.

Conor set his mug on the table, his intense focus threatening to blank out her brain again. “So what brings you into my bar this afternoon?”

It was a good thing one of them was functioning with all his brain synapses. “I’m looking for a girl.”

Conor’s head snapped up. “A girl?”

“Yes, one of my graduate student interns at the museum didn’t show up for work today. But that’s not the whole story.” Louisa explained about Riki, the missing dagger, and the visit from the police the day before.

Conor leaned back against his booth. “I can’t believe it. Someone stole a dagger from the museum and committed murder with it.”