“Oh, you’re a policeman.” Something clicked in her eyes, as if being a cop was the reason he was dressed in Levi’s instead of Armani. Come to think of it, some of Conor’s friends were cops, and they were strictly off-the-rack guys.

“No. I’m not a cop.”

“Are you a reporter?” Suspicion laced her voice.

Conor shook his head. “No.”

Her perfectly arched brows pinched tightly. If she kept that up, she was going to have a Mariana Trench between her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“This is going to seem a little odd.”

She took a step back, as if strange were contagious.

“Not that odd.” He hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans and tried to appear harmless, not a look he usually went for.

She put one hand to the single strand of pearls at her throat and the other around her waist. The vulnerable gesture roused guilt in Conor. He took a step back. They were alone in an empty building. He was a pretty big guy. He wasn’t an ink man, but he was wearing a lot of leather. The shadow on his jaw had passed five o’clock two days ago. She was slender and feminine and probably not used to disreputable-looking types perusing her exhibits. She might be more comfortable in a public place, with a guy in a tie and loafers. A public locale he could offer her. The tie and loafers were a no-go. A man had limits. “Can I buy you dinner or a cup of coffee?”

“I’d really just like to know what this is all about, Mr. Sullivan.”

“OK.” He sighed at the persistent coolness in her voice. Best to get to the point. “I’d like to know what was stolen from your museum. Did you read about the guy that tried to commit a Celtic ritual murder upstate last December?”

“Yes.” She paled. Not an easy feat when her skin was already the color of fresh cream. “You don’t think the theft is related, do you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know, but I want to find out. He tried to kill my sister.”

Cool green eyes considered his candor.

“Do you want me to lock up, Dr. Hancock?”

Conor turned his head. A young woman in a miniskirt and flats stood in the archway. How had he not heard her walk in?

“Yes, please.” Dr. Hancock nodded seriously. “Thank you, Lindsay.”

“Should I check all the windows?” Lindsay asked with a snotty sneer she tried to cover with innocence.

“No. I’ll take care of it.” Dr. Hancock’s jaw clenched hard enough to grind coffee beans. She turned back to Conor, all traces of consideration wiped clean. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sullivan. I can’t help you. Museum records are private.”

Bouncing on her toes, Lindsay gave Conor a flirty wave and smile, but he wasn’t buying the sweet act.