Page 54 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

Hayes looked back down at the photo. “I loved that kid like she was mine. I wasn’t her father, but I was there every day at breakfast, school stuff, cartoons at night. I knew her favorite cereal. I knew she hated brushing her hair.” His voice tightened. “I knew all of it.”

JP watched him closely.

“I was a lousy boyfriend,” Hayes went on. “Her mom deserved better. And yeah, it turns out I was a lousy stepdad too.” He looked up again. “But I swear I didn’t hurt her.”

JP just nodded.

“I didn’t take her,” Hayes said again, firmer this time. “I made a mistake. A big one. But I didn’t deserve this.”

There it was, different men but the same story. I didn’t do it. I made mistakes. But not that mistake. JP had heard it more times than he could count. Sometimes it was true. Most times it wasn’t.

“Did Hannah ever mention anyone? Anyone who paid attention to her? Watched her?”

Hayes frowned. “No. Why would she?”

“Anyone at the school, or on her walks home? Maybe someone who didn’t belong?”

Hayes shook his head. “No. Nothing like that.”

JP held up the paper with the symbol Sabre had drawn. “Have you ever seen this?”

Hayes’ brow furrowed. “No.”

JP watched for hesitation. There wasn’t any.

~~~

JP stepped back into the daylight, pulling his hat down lower as he walked to his truck. Hayes’ story wasn’t clean, but it could be the truth. Yet, JP didn’t think so.

He rested his hand on the door handle, thinking it through. A man lied because he was guilty. Or scared. Sometimes a man lied because the truth would make him look worse than the lie. Which one was Hayes? JP didn’t know.

He got into the truck, started the engine, and pulled out. As he drove, one thought stayed with him. If Hayes hadn’t taken her, then someone else had. And whoever that was had never been caught.

Chapter 19

Thursday morning

JP found Daniel Rourke exactly where Sabre said he would be, outside the Vista courthouse, leaning against the low wall like he’d been there long enough to belong.

He wasn’t what JP expected. Rourke was in his late forties, with a solid build. He was clean-shaven, but not polished, the kind of man who blended in until you observed twice. It was a good look for a PI.

Rourke glanced up as JP approached. “Are you Torn?”

“You must be Rourke,” JP said. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

Rourke pushed off the wall and offered a hand. “I’ve heard about you.”

JP shook it. The man had a firm grip, but no show.

“Likewise,” JP said. He’d heard the name, had seen it in the file, but names didn’t mean much to JP. People did. “Are you still working out of this court?”

“Mostly, North County work,” Rourke said. “I live out this way, so it’s easier than Meadowlark or El Cajon. And it’s enough to keep me busy.”

Then Rourke looked him up and down, assessing. “So,” the PI said casually, “have you and Sabre worked together much?”

“About five years.”

Rourke smiled faintly. “Does she ever slow down?”