Louisa waited just inside the door, watching raindrops roll down the glass. Conor’s Porsche pulled up to the curb. She went out, popping up her umbrella as she ran for the street. A fine drizzle amplified the scent of falling leaves. She climbed into the passenger seat, shook the umbrella, and closed the car door.

“How do you run in those shoes?” Conor eyed her pumps.

“It isn’t easy.” Her toes had felt the quick jog across the sidewalk.

“I still don’t get why you wear shoes that aren’t comfortable.”

She looked down at the pretty, nude, patent leather Pradas. “Because I like them.”

Shaking his head, Conor eased into traffic.

A tractor-trailer rattled past as he took the ramp for the Schuylkill Expressway, nicknamed the Sure Kill Expressway by Philadelphia residents for a reason. A bus driver blew his horn as Conor merged into traffic and drove toward University City. He reached behind the seat and handed her a Styrofoam box.

She lifted the lid. He’d brought her a sandwich. “What’s this?”

“Turkey club. This is the third lunch you’ve missed this week.”

“Thank you.” She took a small bite. Her stomach approved.

“You’re welcome. Now eat,” he ordered.

She raised a brow at his bossy tone, but he ignored her. She finished the sandwich in a few impolitely large bites. She opened the bottle of water he handed her. “Are the police following you today?”

“Probably. Black-and-whites stand out, but sometimes the unmarked cars are hard to spot.” Conor sighed. “I just assume they’re there all the time.”

He parked at the curb a few units away from Zoe and Isa’s apartment. “Be careful.”

“I’ll be fine.” Louisa opened the car door and popped her umbrella as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. She hurried to the covered front porch and scanned the list of names. She rang the intercom for apartment 3B. Nothing. She pressed the buzzer again.

“Who is it?” a sleepy and slightly testy voice asked.

Gotcha. “Hello, Isa. It’s Dr. Hancock.”

After a few seconds of silence, the voice mumbled something incoherent. With a faint buzz, the door lock clicked. Louisa went into the foyer and went up the two flights of dark, wooden steps to the third-floor landing. A girl in pajamas and a camisole held the door open. Her brown hair was pulled back in a sloppy tail, her face devoid of makeup, her eyes wary and irritated. She hadn’t expected Louisa’s visit, and she wasn’t happy about it.

Louisa stepped inside. “I’m Dr. Hancock.”

“I’m Isa.” She rubbed a hand over her face.

“I’m sorry I woke you.” Louisa crossed the threshold. The door opened into a cramped living room and kitchenette combination. Squeezed between the couch and the kitchen counter was a round laminate table covered with books and papers.