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“I don’t like it,” Houser said with a lingering survey of the street, as if he feared the hoodie guy or some other scumbag might be watching.
“Agreed.” She glanced around too—for exactly that reason. The very notion that Johnson was using her somehow to get to her father infuriated her. “I should check in with Jack and then give the good news to Johnson.”
Houser shrugged. “Tell him I may still have questions.”
Finley smiled. “I will. See you later, Houser.”
“You look nice today,” he said before she could open her car door. “You should always wear your hair down.”
She laughed. “Thanks, but that is probably not going to happen.”
He grinned. “You look exactly like a prominent district attorney.”
Finley laughed again as she climbed into her car.
He waited while she backed out first. She waved and drove away.
Finley had a hunch about where that custodian might be. Since Johnson’s office was on her way, she would stop by and talk to him first.
Or maybe she’d let him sweat a little longer.
She grinned. She liked that option way more.
25
O’Sullivan Residence
Jackson Boulevard, Belle Meade, 11:30 p.m.
Bart tried to concentrate on his work, but he couldn’t. He hadn’t been able to all week. Not since he’d heard the news that Finley was working with Ray Johnson. She wasn’t convinced that he was telling her everything, and that was the part that terrified him most. He knew his daughter. She would not stop trying to find the truth.
His chest tightened, felt as if an elephant was seated there. He got up from his desk and walked to the window. He stared out across the lawn he had so carefully cultivated over the decades. Ruth had always been in charge of most things. The house, the finances, their social lives. But she had left him alone when it came to the automobiles they drove and the grounds around their home. He kept up with all the maintenance and was able to plant and mulch and add little ponds and enclaves with seating areas in the landscape to his heart’s desire.
Their entire marriage had been that way. Other than the yard and his work, Bart had nothing that was completely his. Finley had always seemed to gravitate toward him a bit more than she did her mother, but that was likely only because he was available more than Ruth.
His relationships with clients in his work were his own, and he had cherished those. Lucy Cagle’s appearance in his professional life had also been a cherished relationship. By then Finley was so busy with college that she barely had time for him. But Lucy was eager to hear whatever he had to say on the subject of the children and families he helped in his work. She had adored his stories.
Perhaps he had been selfish to keep their time a secret from Ruth, even from Lucy’s own mother. But he hadn’t meant any harm, and in the end, he was certain that nothing he did had caused harm.
But the things he knew almost certainly had prevented justice according to the law, and for that Finley and Ruth would never forgive him.
Still, any way he looked at it, he had done what he had to do.
There was no question. No question at all.
If he could go back in time, he would do the same thing all over again, for there simply had been no other choice.
If the whole truth ever came out, he hoped that the people he cared about would eventually understand.
His cell phone vibrated against his desk. He turned to the intrusion. Since no image accompanied the number, he moved closer to see who was calling. The number was local but not one he recognized.
He took a breath and prayed he would not regret answering.
“Hello.”
“I need your help.”
The voice ... it sounded vaguely familiar. He swallowed the worry welling up in his throat. “Who is this?”
