Page 118 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

Rourke turned and offered his hand. “JP Torn. Nice to see you again.”

JP shook it. “Likewise.” No edge. No challenge.

Rourke gestured toward the shop. “Can I get either of you coffee?”

JP said, “I’m already over-caffeinated enough to make mistakes.”

Sabre smiled. “I’m good too. We’re here to work.”

“Then let’s work.” Rourke held the door for them.

They took a table on the patio where traffic noise softened the spaces between words. Rourke angled toward Sabre. JP sat where he could see both of them and the street.

Rourke looked at Sabre. “How have you been, really?”

“Busy.”

“That means overworked.”

“That means busy.”

He laughed softly. “Still translating yourself.”

“She charges by the hour now,” JP interjected, “so we should probably get to the mystery.”

Rourke smiled at that. “Fair enough.”

Sabre said, “I received this bracelet in a special delivery at my office.” She showed him a photo on her phone.

“I remember that bracelet.” Rourke examined the photo more closely. “Where is the ladybug?”

Encouraged, Sabre asked, “You remember that?”

“You gave the charm to Hannah the day she went home.” He looked at Sabre, his voice soft. “You were angry that they cleared reunification so fast, but you didn’t want her feeling that.”

The memory landed hard because it was true. Sabre had forgotten that she had said any of it out loud.

Rourke continued. “You told her ladybugs always find their way home.”

“Do you know if Hannah ever repeated that to anyone else?”

Rourke thought a moment. “Not that I heard.”

JP stepped in. “You continued to investigate even after Hannah disappeared to try to help Sabre find her, right?”

“That’s right. The case was still open. She could still bill for my services, and she wanted desperately to find her.”

“So, you saw things the cops may not have seen?”

Rourke intertwined his fingers, stretching them. “Different things, I suppose. The problem with Hannah’s case,” he said, “wasn’t that no one had access to her. It was that too many people did.”

JP waited.

Rourke looked toward the street a moment, then back. “For example, there was Nigel Gates, the registered sex offender. He lived close enough to matter. His alibi held, but I never liked it.”

“Why?”

“It was too neat. And even though he had an alibi, the timing wasn’t perfect. He was supposedly with a friend who vouched for him, but it was sketchy.”