Page 3 of Off Limits Daddy

I sat back again, deciding that if I were going to learn more from them, I needed to give a little. “I was the agent Liam was talking to. He said he knew of an identity theft ring that targetedfoster children. He showed his own case as proof, but of course, while his identity had been stolen, there was no proof his foster father had taken it.”

“That’s it?” Oliver asked.

“We spoke several times. Liam would share with me what he was learning. Unfortunately, he didn't manage to uncover substantial evidence before his passing. We were in contact, but I couldn't officially involve the Bureau without concrete proof."

"Did Liam have any leads or suspicions about who might be responsible?" Oliver asked.

"Other than Mr. Creighton, he didn't mention anyone specific. He thought it might go deeper, but he never had the chance to find out."

"Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything that might help us understand what happened to Liam?" Lindsay asked.

"Sadly, no. As much as I want to help, there's nothing more I can divulge." That was true. I didn’t have more except that Wally Creighton was known to be a part of the Crew, but they knew that already.

Oliver clenched his fists, frustration evident on his face. "Something doesn't add up. Someone broke into Lindsay's house, and my laptop was hacked."

Again, that news intrigued me. "What do you think they were looking for?"

"Maybe whatever Liam had found. Evidence he wanted to give to you,” Oliver shared.

"Are you saying someone connected to this scheme could be after you two?"

Oliver shrugged. "They want what Liam had and they think one of us has it.”

“Byit, what do you mean?”

“He’s never said,” Lindsay said.

“Why do you think it’s related to this case? After five years, it could be anything.”

“This is the only thing we’ve come across that fits,” Oliver said. “Why now, we don’t know, but if Liam was talking to you about a member of the Crew and trying to find evidence, this has to be what our anonymous texter is looking for.”

"Did either of you find anything unusual in Liam’s things?” I asked.

“No,” Lindsay said.

"Same here," Oliver added, rubbing the back of his neck. “But if we find that evidence, then we’ll likely find Liam’s murderer.”

It was clear they were poking around on their own, which didn’t seem wise considering what happened to Liam. "I strongly advise you both to be cautious. If someone is after what Liam knew, they won't hesitate to target you if they think you have it.”

"Shouldn't the FBI be doing something about this?” Lindsay asked.

"Without tangible evidence, our hands are tied.” I hated that. I wanted so much to dig into this case.

Oliver’s jaw tightened. “You’re the fucking FBI. Isn’t it your job to investigate and find the clues and evidence?”

I pursed my lips, not at all fazed by Oliver’s outburst. “Mr. Quinlan?—”

"He was a twenty-two-year-old kid who you expected to do your job, and now he’s dead!”

That one hit in the gut because I’d felt that guilt for five years. But the FBI had rules and protocols. I hadn’t been able to open a case, not because I didn’t want to, but because my supervisor said I didn’t have anything on which to base a case.

"Mr. Quinlan, I understand your anger, but there were limitations to what I can do without solid evidence."

"Limitations?" Oliver scoffed. "It’s not bad enough that he had endure a foster care system that allowed him to be fuckedover. Now, he’s a victim who slipped through the cracks of this messed up system?"

"Oliver, please, let's just go." Lindsay rose from her chair, reaching for his arm.

His jaw tightened, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he exhaled sharply, his eyes still locked with mine.