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He struggled not to allow his frustration to show. He was confident Finley had not been ready to make her consideration public. But that was Maureen’s way. She liked getting ahead of the crowd. Her ambition was the reason she remained managing editor of a paper like theTennesseanafter all these years.
“She asked about Lucy.”
The idea made him sick to his stomach. “Her firm is representing Ray Johnson.”
“I know.”
The resignation in her eyes matched the worry and defeat warring in Bart’s gut. How had this been set in motion again after all these years? It was supposed to be over. How the hell had it happened?
“What did you tell her?” Maureen asked.
He forced away the worry gnawing at him. “I told her the truth.” He reached for his water. “Most of it anyway. Lucy wanted a big story. She came to me for help.” He gulped down a third of the glass in hope it would slow the swelling in his throat. The emotion rising high enough to choke him from the inside out.
“This is Bauer’s fault,” she grumbled. She glanced around as if she feared the man would appear out of the crowd gathering in the popular diner.
The waitress arrived with Maureen’s salad. The waitress smiled and asked Bart if he was sure he didn’t want anything, and once more he declined. How could he eat with this business hanging over his head? How couldshe? For heaven’s sake, it was a disaster.
“He was only doing his job.” Bart focused on controlling his runaway heart rate. He had to be calm. Had to behave as he always did; otherwise, Finley would recognize there was something wrong. Heknew his daughter. She would see through him in an instant. Dear God, what would he do then?
“Bauer’s one job was to find Lucy’s killer.” Maureen stabbed her fork into the salad. “He failed. If he had done his job ... we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
Bart clenched his jaw. He swallowed the thickening lump climbing up his throat. Drew in a tight breath. “But we are ... in this situation.” He closed his eyes and fought to evict the demons clawing at his thoughts.
“I wish Lou were here,” Maureen said, emotion making her voice unsteady. “But I don’t blame her for what she did. How was she supposed to resume her life after it was all gone? Even her work couldn’t balance it out.”
“If I had lost my daughter—my only child—and then my wife ...,” he said, his voice sounding distant, disconnected. He rallied his composure before he lost complete control. “Nothing could possibly balance out that loss.”
Maureen nodded. She placed her fork next to her salad as if she’d lost her appetite. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to my Jessica.”
“Therein lies my rub,” he said with something that sounded and felt far too much like defeat. “My daughter is representing that scumbag, and I am terrified that it will all blow up and she’ll be hurt. I can only hope for her sake and by some miracle she won’t be successful.”
“She’s never failed before,” Maureen argued. “What are the odds she will this time?” She closed her eyes a moment, shook her head. “How did this happen? Of all the law firms in Nashville, why did the bastard have to choose Jack Finnegan?”
“Anyone who’s smart wants Jack,” Bart confessed, sick to death of the worry throttling through him. “He’s the best.”
“As long as he’s sober,” Maureen amended.
“He’s sober.” Bart braced his elbows on the table and clasped his hands. Rather than pray, which would do no good whatsoever, he pressed his fists to his lips. When he could speak, he said what he knew to be a fact. “And you’re right. Finley will not stop until she finds the truth, and then—”
“No,” Maureen argued. “We have to find a way to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
He turned his hands up, aghast. “How do you propose we do that?”
“Every good newswoman knows how to turn most any situation around.”
What on God’s earth was she suggesting? He waited for her to go on. His anxiety far too out of control now to attempt a response.
“When you want to cover something up or keep it under wraps, you create a diversion. You ensure the players don’t have time to focus on the things you want to stay hidden, so you give them someplace else to focus. You direct the narrative.”
Bart was afraid to ask what she had in mind, but he recognized it was necessary. “Meaning?”
“I’m going to fuel the speculation I started about your daughter running against Briggs—she admitted as much, so I feel well within my right to move on it. I know Briggs, and he’ll have no choice but to react. The fire will catch fast, believe me. Finley won’t have as much time to devote to the Johnson case. She’ll be too busy trying to control the flames.”
Bart laughed, no matter that inside he wanted to cry. “You have no idea with whom you’re dealing. Nothing—do you hear me, Maureen?—nothing will stop her.”
Maureen stared at him for a long time without saying a word. What was there to say? The loud music and hustle and bustle of people faded into the background.
“Then,” she finally said, “what you’re telling me is that we’re fucked.”
