Was Zoe Finch dead? What happened to her after he dropped her off at the subway station? Both were questions he couldn’t possibly answer tonight.

He finger-combed his hair and brushed his teeth with the diligence of an obsessive-compulsive. The second he finished, his stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since lunch. He stomped into an old pair of running shoes and went downstairs. Conor joined Damian at the booth, but he didn’t sit down. The lawyer was digging into a plate of wings.

Pat walked up behind him. He wrapped an arm around Conor’s shoulder and handed him a burger. “I’m damned glad to have you back.”

“I’m glad to be back.” Conor ate the hamburger in a few bites. “Thanks for springing me.”

“Wasn’t me.” Pat shook his head.

Setting the plate on the table, Conor glanced from Pat to Damian. “Then who—?”

“Louisa hooked you up,” Pat said. “You should go see her.”

“It’s late.” But he knew he’d never sleep until he talked to her.

Damian nodded toward the door. “Really, she’ll want to see you. She was worried.”

“She was?” Conor asked.

“Yes. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Damian sipped his Guinness. “Go.”

Conor was already out the door, car keys in hand. Louisa had saved his ass tonight. Why? Sure, he’d thought they’d had a couple of moments earlier, but he could never tell where he stood with her. She seemed confident about her professional abilities, but personally aloof and alone. He had to work to get a hint of the real person underneath all that expensive silk. But the glimpses he’d seen were a fascinating combination of strength and vulnerability. Reading her was like trying to see through frosted glass. After being skewered by Barbara’s lies, lack of transparency made him wary. Louisa was definitely holding back on him.

Yet two minutes later, he was in his car and driving toward Rittenhouse Square.

CHAPTER 11

11

Louisa removed the tea ball from the ceramic pot and breathed in the jasmine-scented steam. Would Conor call? He was home. She’d talked to Damian earlier. The police hadn’t pressed charges. Though Damian warned Conor was still in jeopardy.

The phone on the counter rang, and Louisa jumped to answer it. Only the front desk called on the landline. Everyone else used her cell number.

“Dr. Hancock, Conor Sullivan is here to see you,” the doorman said.

“Please send him up.” She hung up the phone and turned to the dog sleeping on the sofa. “See? I told you everything would be all right.”