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“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I can take care of myself.”

“I would have said the same,” he argued.

And yet while he was attempting to help Finley bring down Dempsey, Houser had ended up beaten and shot in a low-end motel room with a dead potential key witness. It was a flat-out miracle he had survived.

“Got it.” She reached for her wine to drown the images that went with the memories.

“Be extra careful,” he said quietly. “That’s all I’m asking.”

She nodded, took a big breath. “I will. Believe it or not, I actually have a lot to live for these days. I’m not dancing on the edge anymore.”

She wasn’t. Mostly.

He smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.” The worry lines on his face melted into a smile. “What’s the deal with the rumor I’m hearing about a run for DA?”

“I haven’tofficiallyannounced, but I’m leaning more and more in that direction.”

His smile widened to a grin. “Men like Dempsey won’t stand a chance.”

She could hope. That was her goal. To stop bastards like him.

“You were one of the people who got me thinking about it,” she reminded him.

He gave an acknowledging nod. “I’m glad I played a small part. Maybe in return you’ll have me come work for you when you win.”

“Deal.”

They talked awhile longer about the Lucy Cagle case and the lack of useful information. It was clear to Finley that Houser was being careful about what he shared. She supposed she understood. The girl’s murderer had gotten away with what he’d done for a very long time. If Ray Johnson was the one, it was time he paid the fiddler for the dance. If it was his younger brother, then he had to pay as well—assuming he hadn’t settled up already.

As they left the café, Finley sensed there was something more on Houser’s mind.

She paused next to her Subaru. “Just spit it out,” she ordered. “I can tell there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

When he still hesitated, she gave him a look that said “spill it.”

“There’s this one report in the file.” He tucked his sunglasses into place. “It may have been nothing.”

“We’re talking about the Cagle murder case?”

“Yeah.” He took a breath, seeming to need to buy time. “It’s a statement from a man who worked in social services. Evidently there was some vague connection to Lucy and her family, but like I said, I guess it turned out to be nothing.”

Her instincts stirred. Two nothings added up to something. He should stop beating around the bush and give her that something. A name would be helpful. Social services could mean some sort of abuse or other family issue. She couldn’t see the trouble being from the Cagles, or it would have been all over the news. It was possible it was the family of one of Lucy’s friends.

“It must be something, or you wouldn’t bring it up,” she argued.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Okay. Barton O’Sullivan.”

“What?” Finley drew back slightly. Her father knew the Cagle family? She supposed that was possible ... but in his capacity as a social services director? How did she not know this? Then again, why would she know it? She and Jack had only just taken the case yesterday, and she hadn’t spoken to her father since.

“I wasn’t sure telling you—”

Before Houser could finish, Finley interrupted, “Are you saying there was some sort of complaint filed and my father did the investigation in his capacity as a social services director?”

“At first,” Houser explained, “Blake thought maybe there had been some sort of incident that your father had investigated. But that turned out to be wrong. It wasn’t work related.”

Finley digested this information. “It’s conceivable,” she said with some measure of reluctance, “my parents were acquainted with the family on a social level.”

She could see the possibility. The Cagles were a high-profile family. Her parents were as well. It was probable that they’d run in at least some of the same social circles. It wasn’t unusual that she hadn’t known Lucy personally. Finley’s parents had friends and acquaintances whose children she hadn’t known back then. The idea wasn’t a stretch at all. Yet, in this context, saying so felt wrong somehow. Maybe it was the way Houser was tiptoeing around it.

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