The police took Conor? That was impossible. She couldn’t believe he would have hurt Zoe, not after the lengths he’d gone to in Maine to stop a killer, not after he’d rescued the dog and stepped in to defend Zoe the night before. She’d witnessed his devotion to his family.

Also, Conor was an intelligent man. The police found something in their search. If he had committed a crime, he wouldn’t have left evidence in his apartment.

“What just happened?” Pat was standing in front of her, his jaw hanging open, his face shockingly pale.

Alarmed, she went to his side. The dog stayed close. “Don’t worry. We’ll get this straightened out.”

“I know my brother. The last thing on earth that Conor would do is hurt a young girl.” Pat scrubbed his red buzz cut with a huge, shaking palm, his eyes confused. “This can’t be happening.”

“Maybe you should sit down.”

Pat didn’t move. She wasn’t sure he even heard her. His face was drawn as if he’d aged ten years in the last ten minutes. Louisa took his thick biceps in her hands, steered him to a table, and backed him into a chair. “Sit.”

His legs folded obediently. The chair creaked.

“Dr. Hancock?” Detective Jackson summoned her from the open door. The triumph in his eyes sent a wave of anger rushing through her. Zoe was missing, and the police were pursuing the wrong person.

Louisa lifted her chin and steeled her spine. “I’ll be with you in a moment, Detective.”

His eyes narrowed. She turned back to Pat. “Do you have a lawyer?”

He frowned at her. “We haven’t needed that kind of lawyer in ten years, not since Danny was young. My sister’s husband might be able to help, but they didn’t answer their phones.”

“We’ll take up a collection for a retainer,” a man’s voice said.

Louisa startled. She’d been so focused on the situation that she hadn’t noticed the bar’s handful of customers gathering around them. Voices murmured, and heads nodded in agreement.

She turned her attention back to Pat. “I know someone who might be able to help.”

“Thank you.”

The small crowd filled in the space, surrounding Pat with support and emphasizing her own solitude, while Jackson waited in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his stare impatient.

“What’s the best number to reach you?” she asked Pat.

“I got it.” Another customer wrote on a cocktail napkin. “Here’s Pat’s cell number.”

These people weren’t just the Sullivans’ customers. They were friends and neighbors. How did it feel to have a group of people who would stand by one’s side? The intimacy spotlighted her outsider status, but then she should be used to being alone.