“I asked Zoe to call me when she got home.” Conor stared down the quiet tree-lined street. “But when she did, she said, ‘I’m almost at my place.’ At the time I assumed she was calling from outside because her roommate was asleep inside, and Zoe didn’t want to wake her up.” Conor closed his eyes and tried to replay the call in his head. He’d been half-asleep. “To make a call, she had to be aboveground. It must have happened between her house and the subway station. Except the police said she never got on the subway.”

“Maybe she took a bus or the camera just missed her somehow. What about campus security?”

“Timing would be key,” Conor agreed. “Unless she got into a car willingly. Maybe Zoe was walking home in the dark. She was tired and upset. It’s six or seven blocks from the subway station or bus stop. She calls me just to get that out of the way. She just wants to be home. It’s been a crappy night, and she wants to go to bed. She hangs up the phone. A car pulls alongside her and offers her a lift.”

“Heath would fit that scenario,” Louisa mused. “He’d be apologizing, asking her to forgive him.”

They looked at each other. The night could have played out just like that.

“Right. Let’s go talk to Heath.” Conor pulled out into traffic.

Louisa gave him the address.

“How did you find out where he lives?”

“I paid for an Internet search,” Louisa said. “If he lived in student housing, we’d be out of luck, but he lives off campus in a private residence.”

Conor found the street, circled the block until he saw a spot, and shoehorned the Porsche between a Ford Escape and a Nissan Maxima parallel parked at the curb.

Heath lived in a stately three-story town house. Though renovated, the building’s age showed in the slight tilt to the stoop and the blackened patina of the bricks. In Philadelphia tradition, a waist-high black wrought-iron fence encircled the tiny front yard. The gate was propped open with a fist-size rock. They went up the wide cement steps to the covered porch, and Louisa pressed the doorbell.

Conor leaned a shoulder against the side of the building and watched Louisa slide into the mask of stiff formality she’d worn back in Maine. She’d used that attitude on him when they first met. Why had he thought it was hot? What was it about that haughty profile that sent his engine into overdrive? Most women flirted with him. Why did he want the one who required effort?

“You’d better stay out of sight. He might not open the door if he sees you.” The grin and the conspiratorial tone behind it were damned sexy.

Conor stepped to the side of the door, out of the peephole’s view.

The door opened.