Heath’s eyes darted sideways. With jerky movements he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a gallon of milk. “Um. Apparently I texted her after I got back here, but I don’t remember doing that. I was pretty wasted.”

“What did you say to her?” Louisa asked.

He over-tilted the jug, splattering milk down the side of his mug and onto the counter. “I called her a bitch and some other names.” He lifted his chin to let them see his misty eyes. “I’m not proud of it.”

Though Heath gave a soap opera–worthy performance, Conor wasn’t buying into the sad act. This guy didn’t need alcohol to be an asshole.

Louisa pressed. “Did she answer you?”

He shook his head. “No. I guess whatever happened to her had already happened.” He swiped a finger under his eye.

“I have to go.” Heath picked up his backpack.

“One more question,” Conor said. “Who picked Sullivan’s?”

Heath’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t remember. We’d already been to two bars. We didn’t really have a plan.”

Escorting them outside, Heath locked the front door and jogged down the steps.

“Thanks for talking with us,” Louisa said as Heath went through the gate and turned down the sidewalk.

Conor and Louisa walked back to the car.

“He’s playing us.” Conor opened the door for Louisa.

“Probably.” With a graceful body twist, she slid into the leather bucket seat, a feat that should have been awkward given the snugness of her skirt.

Conor watched her long legs swing under the dashboard. This morning’s suit was a pale, practically colorless gray. The tailored cut showed off her slim form, and the forest-green blouse made her eyes greener. She didn’t put anything on display, but her prim and proper suits made him more eager to get a glimpse of what lay beneath all that silk. He was hopeless.

He rounded the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. She shifted her legs and crossed her ankles. Her skirt rode a few inches past her knees. His glance drifted sideways, and he was rewarded with a flash of pale thigh.

How could a scant two inches of skin make him drool? He saw a lot more than that every night of the week. Half the women who came into the bar wore skirts a scant inch shy of indecent, and he was hung up on Louisa’s hot librarian getup.

Louisa looked at him expectantly. He ripped his gaze off her legs. What had she asked him? Oh, yeah. Heath.

“Sleep texting?” He started the engine. “That’s just lame. If he was awake enough to text her, he was awake enough to snatch her.”

“I’d love to get a look at the texts he sent.”