The cop motioned to the uniforms behind him. “Get started.” More cops flooded into the bar. Jackson turned to Conor. “We’ll need the keys to your apartment and car.”

Conor flipped through the search warrant. There was a basic description of Zoe. Fingerprints, blood, fibers, DNA, weapons, other trace evidence, weapons, the list went on. He skimmed through the legalese. In summary, the cops were looking for Zoe or evidence that might lead to a possible suspect in her abduction. Seeing no options, he handed the keys over.

“Before you go into the apartment, I’d like to get my dog out,” Conor said. “I haven’t had her long. I’m not sure if she’ll bite if she feels threatened.” He doubted it, but he didn’t want her frightened.

The cop nodded.

Conor turned to Louisa. “Would you hold on to her? Pat can’t take her to his house.”

“Of course,” she said.

“Dr. Hancock.” Jackson’s gaze darted between Conor and Louisa with suspicion.

Pat hurried over. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure, but I think it’d be best to close up.” Conor walked toward the back door with Jackson right on his tail. Upstairs, the cop watched him open his door, grab the leash, and snap it to the dog’s collar. He led her downstairs and handed the leash to Louisa. “Thank you.”

The dog cowered against Louisa’s calves.

Jackson pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket. “Now we’re going to the police station.”

Conor swallowed his shock and found his voice. “Would you find me a lawyer, Pat?”

White-faced, Pat pulled out his phone. “I’ll call Jaynie. Maybe Reed can help.”

Jayne’s fiancé was a former cop.

The cop pushed Conor through the doorway by the elbow and paraded him through the bar.

The cop marched him out onto the sidewalk. A patrol cruiser was double-parked next to an unmarked car at the curb. Three more vehicles lined up behind them. Jackson steered him toward the black-and-white. Two uniforms waited by the vehicle. The cop shoved his head down, and Conor dropped onto the seat with an awkward side shuffle.

He looked out the window. Pat was standing in the doorway, cell phone against his ear, lips pressed into a bloodless line. Louisa, and everyone else who’d been in the bar, clustered behind him. Humiliation buddied up to Conor’s discomfort.

The car smelled like the cold, stale grease of fast food. A wire cage separated the front and back seats. Conor was enveloped with a surreal sense of claustrophobia.

What could the police possibly have discovered?

CHAPTER 8

8

Stunned into paralysis, Louisa stared out the glass doors.