Page 166 of The Advocate’s Ultimatum

“You just need to make sure it sounds natural,” DuBois said.

“What do I tell him?”

JP looked at the files spread across the table. “The truth.”

Sabre spun toward him.

“Part of it anyway.”

DuBois nodded. “That’s probably safest. Maybe you could tell him Bay said something that changed how you see the situation.”

JP sat back down, thinking it through carefully. “We can’t use Bay directly.”

“No,” DuBois agreed. “If Rourke thinks she’s talking, he could disappear tonight.”

JP nodded. “Whatever we bring him has to feel old. Historical. Something that sounds like we’re chasing the past instead of getting close to the present.”

“The Mustang,” Sabre said. “We still have legitimate questions about the car.”

DuBois nodded. “And it’s harmless enough not to spook him.”

“I’ll tell him JP tried tracing it but hit a wall.” Sabre suggested.

“Which is true,” JP added.

“And then,” Sabre said, “I’ll ask whether he developed anything on the Mustang back then that didn’t make it into the official file.”

JP cleared his throat. “That sounds perfect. It’s exactly the kind of thing an attorney revisiting an old case would ask the original investigator.”

“And more importantly, it sounds like you’re stuck.” DuBois added.

“Right,” Sabre said. “Like we’re not close, or dangerous, just chasing another dead end from nine years ago.”

“He’ll come,” JP said.

“Investigators hate unfinished work. And he’ll think he can help steer us again. But mostly because he’ll do anything Sabre asks him to.”

DuBois looked at Sabre. “Are you comfortable selling that?”

“No,” she admitted honestly. “But I can do it.”

DuBois started pacing. “Meet him in a public place in the daytime. There won’t be any visible police near the actual meeting. We’ll follow him in a tag team.”

“He’s still a PI,” JP warned. “He’ll notice bad surveillance.”

“What if he asks why now?” Sabre asked.

JP answered. “Because Marcus’ sighting finally gave the Mustang context. It’s simple and believable.”

Sabre stared at Rourke’s number for a moment before making the call. The line rang twice.

“Sabre.” Rourke’s voice was warm and familiar.

Sabre kept hers steady. “I’d like to run something by you on the Hannah Caldwell case.”

“I’m kind of busy right now, but I could meet you tomorrow for lunch if that would work.”

“That would be perfect. How about Dockside 1953 at 12:15?”