"You had to be heroes, didn't you?" Zoe asked, watching the replay of the video from the accident on her laptop.

"They needed help," Julie answered stiffly.

Harold looked between them with mild concern. Julie had disliked Zoe Morgan the minute she came through the door. It wasn't, he guessed, the fixer's carefully coiffed hair, or the tight dress or the too-high-for-daylight heels she wore. It was, rather, that Julie recognized Zoe's opportunistic nature at a glance. Miss Morgan had been looking to get in with Will Ingram and Julie Carson since she'd first heard they were a couple. She saw advantages there, influence and information to be gleaned, power to be wielded. Money to be made. And she made no attempt to hide the reason for her interest.

To her credit, Zoe didn't seem to care if the young heiress liked her. She was likely accustomed to being disliked by other woman.

Zoe re-ran the video. "I don't know how they identified you from this tape."

"The hospital called me," Harold explained. "They had Will's wallet and phone, from his coat pockets."

"So Angelis has a source at the hospital." She nodded thoughtfully. "That's probably how they got your name, too." She nodded toward Julie. "The shopping trip didn't help."

"We bought a car seat for Bella and a t-shirt for the new baby," Will said. "We didn't think it was a big deal."

"Oh, it was very generous of you," Zoe said dryly. "Unfortunately, it's just fuel for the rumor fire." She looked at Julie again. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

"Not yet."

A little smile teased around the fixer's mouth. "Of course, denying it won't do any good in the short run."

"Can you help?" Will asked.

Zoe smiled warmly at him. "Of course I can help. It's what I do." She switched to other news feeds, but with the volume off. "I can shut down most of the major networks, or at least limit them to running a short H.I. tonight and then dropping it."

"H.I.?"

"Human interest. Two minutes, right before the last break. They have to cover it, but it'll be done and gone. Some of the other paparazzi I can call off." She frowned at the screen. "This Angelis woman? She's going to be a problem. She thinks she has some kind of news story here. But I can talk to her editor. Maybe convince him otherwise." Zoe considered. "And … she's more of a real news reporter anyhow. Maybe we can throw her a juicy bone, a political scandal to chew on. I can line something up." She glanced at Will again. "It won't be cheap."

"I don't …"

"We're good for it," Julie interrupted.

The fixer looked her up and down. "I'm sure you are."

"Just make them go away," Will pleaded.

"I'll make some calls," Zoe agreed. "The next thing is, we need to get all this footage off the internet." She glanced at Harold.

"Scotty's been taking care of that so far," Julie said.

They turned. The hacker was in the next room, through an open doorway. She was leaning over her laptop, intently focused. She'd looked up and said hello when they came in, nothing more. She and Zoe had obviously met before, which didn't surprise Harold. Her talents were impressive, and exactly the sort of thing Zoe Morgan was likely to need on a regular basis.

"So you in?" Zoe called to her.

Christine looked up blankly. "What?"

"We need you to get these two off the internet."

"Sure," she answered vaguely. "No problem. In a bit." Her attention turned back to the laptop.

"Sooner is better than later," Zoe said. "And now would be best of all."

Christine didn't answer.

Finch watched the stiffness creep into Zoe Morgan's elegant neck. She obviously wasn't used to being ignored by her subcontractors. And, too, she was trying to impress Will and Julie with how much influence she could command on the social world. Christine's behavior was undermining her efforts.

"She said she was in the middle of something important," Will offered quietly.

"This is more important," the fixer insisted. "Yo, Scotty. Come on, we need you."

"Not now." Christine shook her head without looking up. "Make a list, I'll get to it in an hour."

Just let it go, Harold urged mentally. Zoe Morgan was normally an excellent judge of people and situations, but she'd completely overlooked the fact that she was meeting Will and Julie in Christine's unfinished apartment, that Christine had gotten to them first because Harold had called her first. A great many people made the mistake of underestimating Christine Fitzgerald. It was easy to do: she intentionally presented herself as young and soft, easy-going and sweet. She rarely pushed to claim higher status. She simply didn't care about it, and like Harold himself, she preferred to be in the background and ignored. But he wouldn't have thought that Zoe Morgan would be unobservant enough to make that mistake.

On a good day, Christine could be nothing but generous and helpful. On this day, she had something more important to do. Of course Zoe didn't know what that something was, Finch thought, but she ought to be picking up the cues better. Just because she lets you win doesn't mean you can beat her.

And perhaps Zoe was aware, but she was too intent on impressing her new clients to heed the non-verbal warnings. "Did you forget your OCD meds this morning or what?" she asked bitingly.

There was another silence. Then Christine looked up. "What?" She clearly hadn't heard the comment.

"What are you working on that's so damn important?" Zoe demanded.

Christine straightened. "I'm using a fake virtual identity to buy naked pictures of a ten year-old girl from her mother's boyfriend," she said bluntly.

"Why?" Will asked, startled.

"So I can get prove he's a pedophile." Her eyes went back to the screen before she was done speaking.

Zoe shot Harold a questioning look, one eyebrow raised as high as it could go. He nodded, just once.

"Shouldn't the police be handling that?" she asked. She was caught off-guard, but she made the adjustment instantly, smoothly. From her tone, she accepted that she'd deserved the rebuff. Grudgingly.

"They're on stand-by," the hacker answered without looking up. "But school gets out in thirty-five minutes, and I want him in custody by then. Whatever you need from me, it will wait that long."

"It will," Julie said firmly.

"I'm sorry we bothered you," Will added.

Christine waved them off. "Almost done. Negotiating payment terms."

Zoe looked to Harold. "Does she do this a lot?" she asked quietly.

"She doesn't talk about it much," he answered carefully, "but yes, I believe so."

She gave him another look, an unspoken, Thanks for the heads-up, Harold. He merely shrugged. She should have seen the signs.

"That's a hell of a hobby," Julie said. "Might explain the windows."

"Hmmm," Harold said noncommittally.

"Alright," Zoe said, regrouping. "We can handle the short-term. Get the mob down to a handful. Unless you do something else all heroic, then all bets are off." She smiled without warmth. "I can give you some tips, turn down the heat for now."

"Like what?" Will asked.

She scrolled through her laptop, opened a new site and pointed. "Kissing. Right now, the Enquirer will pay fifty grand for a picture of the two of you lip-locked. That's a lot of money, and it will attract a lot of the bottom feeders."

"So how do we stop that?" Julie asked. "Restraining order, what?"

"You kiss," Zoe said simply. "A lot. All the time. Everywhere you see a camera. It's simple supply and demand. When every tourist with a cell phone can post a kiss pic on Twitter, the price drops to nothing. So the leaches have no motivation."

"I … guess we could do that," Will said with mock reluctance.

Zoe rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I figured that wouldn't be a problem. I'll write you up an official statement, wishing the accident victims well, specifically mentioning the expectant mother. That will take some of the teeth out of the pregnancy rumor." She nodded to herself. "Now, what about the engagement?"

The young couple shared a look. "Um …" Julie said.

Will turned. "Uncle Harold, we have something to tell you."

He smiled warmly, unsurprised. "Congratulations." Then he moved to kiss each of them.

"Do the families know?" Zoe asked.

"Not yet." Will shrugged. "Well, my mom knows it's in the works. I haven't even met her family yet."

"We can stall a little. But long-term, you need to do some serious image management, and that announcement should be a part of it."

"Can't we just leave the country?" Will suggested.

"Sure, that would work, if you don't plan on coming back."

"Assuming we don't want to become ex-pats," Julie asked, "what do you suggest?"

"You pretty much have two choices," the fixer said. "One, you can muscle up your security and cling to every ounce of privacy you have. That means you never go out alone, ever. No unsecured locations, no unscreened crowds. It's very safe, but it's very restrictive."

"What's the second choice?"

"Be everywhere and bore them to death."

In the next room, Christine sat back from the computer and stared at the screen. Harold moved quietly to the doorway, still half-listening to Zoe. "Can I help?" he offered, very quietly.

She shook her head. "I've got him."

"Explain," Julie said to Zoe.

"Talk to all of the reporters, any time you see them. Seek them out. Go on afternoon talk shows. Let them take your picture. Go to social events. Premiers, parties, openings. Be seen. Be everywhere. Until you're not special anymore."

"What, like the Kardasians?" Will asked.

"Exactly like that." Zoe reconsidered. "Okay, not exactly like that, but close. Get out there. Pretend you like it. Make your engagement a big deal. Make your wedding a bigger deal. Embrace the celebrity."

"That sounds awful," Julie said.

"Your mother would love it," Will teased lightly.

"Oh, shut up. They won't be critiquing your fashion choices." She looked to Zoe. "I don't do fashion."

"Maybe Harold could help you." She looked toward him where he hovered in the doorway. "Everything okay with the pedophile?"

Christine groaned. "He'll accept payment through ."

"Doesn't that make things simpler?" Will asked.

"It means he's a rank amateur," Julie said. "That's not good." She stood up and moved to Harold's side. "You got him?"

"Soon as he accepts the payment," Christine said tightly.

"Amateurs are bad?" Will asked. He joined her in the doorway, and so did Zoe.

"They do stupid things," Zoe volunteered.

"They're unpredictable and dangerous," Julie confirmed.

"That's why I want him picked up before she gets out of school." Christine picked up her cell phone and held it, ready to dial. She glanced up. "I don't usually do this with an audience."

"You're doing fine," Harold assured her.

"But we can go, if you want," Will added.

She shrugged. "I'm done, except for dropping the dime." She looked at the screen again, hit the refresh button twice. "C'mon, c'mon."

"How do you even find these people?" Zoe asked.

"Sometimes I just fish for them," Christine answered. "This one … one of her classmates came to me." She glanced at Harold. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to take from that look. She looked at the screen, then back at them. "Changed my mind. Go away. He won't cash out any faster with you all standing there."

They drifted back to the living room, but remained standing.

"What you really need," Zoe said, dragging herself back to the subject at hand, "is a cause."

"A cause?" Will asked.

"A cause. Clean water, global warming. Any cause will do, as long as it's not too controversial. I'd stay away from abortion and gun control, either side. But health care is good; you're with Doctors Without Borders, so that would be a logical fit. Cancer research. Land mine removal. It doesn't matter what. Just pick one and talk about it. A lot. All the time. And raise money for it when you can. People get bored faster when you're always asking them for money."

"A cause," Julie repeated.

"Bono," Zoe said. "Al Gore. Just pick something." She held a hand up. "But make sure it's something you really believe in, something you want to be talking about for the next ten or twenty years. Because you'll be stuck with it."

Will shook his head. "I don't know."

"We'd have to think about it," Julie agreed.

"Let me know what you come up with."

From the other room, Christine said, "Yes!" to herself. Then they heard her on the phone. "Sherry? I got him. Pick him up. I'm sending the file now." There was a brief pause. "Let me know, okay?"

She typed a bit more, then pushed the computer back, stood up and stretched. She made another phone call, which evidently went straight to voice mail, said, "Hey, we need to talk, this afternoon. Soon. I'll buy you cake. Call me." Then she clicked her phone off and joined them in the living room.

"Don't they need a warrant?" Julie asked.

"Imminent danger," Christine answered. "They can arrest on suspicion, get the warrant after. It won't be a problem."

"You do this a lot, don't you?"

"I do," she admitted. "But this one – I really wanted this one." She considered, then told them. "He told the girl that if she told anybody, he'd post her pictures on her school's Facebook page and everybody would know she was, and I quote, a slut."

"Bastard," Zoe said.

"Yeah." Christine rolled her neck, then her shoulders. "So. I'm taking things off the internet?"

Zoe filled her in quickly on what they needed. She nodded. "Not a problem. I'll get on it."

"It all seems sort of stupid," Will said thoughtfully. "I mean, this whole press thing, it seems kind of trivial compared to what that little girl's dealing with."

Christine's phone chirped and she glanced at the screen. "They got him," she said with grim satisfaction. "Not the partner yet, but him."

"Will he give up the partner?" Julie asked.

"If he hasn't already." Christine looked at Will. "And it's not trivial. It all connects."

"How do you figure?"

"The press is after you two because you saved a woman and her child last night. If we get the press to go away, then next time you have a chance to save someone you won't have to kick reporters out of the way to do it."

Will considered. "I'm pretty sure that was bullshit."

"I've had a rough day, Will. That's the best I can come up with."

"Pallet cleanser?" Harold suggested. "Something pleasant to do after dealing with an internet predator?"

"Oh, I like that one," Christine agreed. He could almost see the tension draining out of the young woman. She gestured to Zoe's computer. "Let's have a look."

She got her own computer, and they sat down together and shredded digital records of the rescue and everything that had happened since. Julie and Will called Olivia and briefly filled her in on the situation. Then they pulled folding chairs over and helped find places their images might appear.

Harold drifted to the front windows, listening absently. He spotted one of the private security men across the street, and after some looking found another on a rooftop. They couldn't see him, he knew, through Christine's windows. But they knew that only allies had entered the building. The bodyguards from Skydd were very nearly the best money could buy, and certainly the best money could buy openly.

He felt notably apprehensive.

He examined the circumstances methodically. Will and Julie were here, safe, well-protected, and well-advised. Christine had taken some risks that he wasn't entirely comfortable with, but her quarry had just been arrested. Red Geis remained at large, and they still hadn't determined his exact purpose for being in New York, but Reese was following him, keeping him under surveillance and out of trouble. There had been no voice in his ear telling him that situation had changed.

Christine's new apartment was coming along more slowly than he would have liked, but construction was definitely progressing. He liked the solid feel that the old salvaged woodwork gave the place. He liked the security measures. He liked that she was already working here; it seemed like a good indication that she would, eventually, move out of the apartment over Chaos, where she could look out the window and see the precise spot where her father had died in front of her.

Everything was as it should be.

Still, there was something not right.

He turned back to look at the little gathering.

Harold's nephew. His lovely, intelligent fiancée, who knew both Harold and Reese in an entirely different context. Zoe Morgan, also lovely and intelligent, and who also knew far more about him and John than she should. And Christine Fitzgerald, who knew almost everything. They each came from different parts of his carefully segregated life, and in times past Harold would have struggled mightily to keep them from ever meeting. Now it seemed not only impossible to keep them separated, but also unwise. Harold had brought them together because they could help each other.

If the time ever came when they compared notes …

They wouldn't, though. They each, in their own way and for their own reasons, trusted Harold completely. They would keep his secrets from the others.

He had lied to all of them. And they had believed him.

Harold had the notion that he should feel worse about that. But as he watched the pieces mesh so firmly together, he couldn't help but feel satisfaction where he likely should have felt shame.


The last known address for Daniel Geis had been a bust, but John Reese had one advantage that his quarry did not: a contact inside the police department. He'd called Fusco and gotten addresses of the old man's known associates, particularly the prostitutes he ran. Red Geis had probably had to work street sources to get the same information. At any rate, Reese got to the residential hotel just in time to see Geis was through the front door.

John decided to go in through the back.

He moved down the hallway toward the front desk. He'd seen worse places, he thought, and smelled worse places, too. Of course, those had all been in third-world countries. He'd looked at some places like this when he was homeless, and he'd decided that living on a blanket in an abandoned warehouse was preferable.

He stopped just behind a thin wall that separated the lobby from the hallway. Beyond, at the desk, he could hear Red Geis. The detective was perfectly straightforward with the woman at the desk, and from the sound of it, not stingy with his bribes.

John took the opportunity to finally clone Geis' phone.

Yes, the woman said, she recognized the man in the photo. Yes, his name was Danny, but not Geis. Danny King, she thought, or Danny Cane. He didn't live there, but sometimes he visited some of the guests. Some of Geis' money changed hands, and she gave up their names: Mae and Juney. Room 215. Geis asked if they were hookers. The woman said she didn't know. Reese imagined there was a wink involved there, or at least a knowing look.

She didn't let Geis stay, she said. He got drunk and then he got violent. She didn't need trouble like him. But he came by to pick up the ladies and take them out, a couple times a week.

"When was the last time you saw them?" Geis askd.

"Mae and Juney? Yesterday. And Danny, too. He came and picked them up." The woman coughed harshly. "They went up to Atlantic City. One of those bus tours, you now? They won't be back until tomorrow."

"Oh," Geis answered.

"Either they'll win a fortune at the tables and move to Florida to live in the sun, or they'll pick up pocket change blowing the old men on the bus on the way back."

Reese had to admire the lack of emotion that Geis answered with. "Well, I guess I'll stop by tomorrow then."

"Bus gets in around noon," she said.

"Thank you."

Reese waited until he heard the front door open and close. Then he eased around the corner and looked.

The detective was standing on the front stoop, looking around. To an untrained eye he was simply surveying the neighborhood. To Reese, it was obvious that he was looking for a place to set up a stake-out.

John tapped his earpiece. "Finch? We're in the right place."


"You haven't said one word," Fusco said, "and I already don't like this."

Christine nodded solemnly. "I ordered carrot cake for you."

Lionel sat down on the stool next to her and looked around the diner. It was getting late in the afternoon. The place was half-way busy, people ducking out of work to grab a bite on their way home or before they went in for the evening shift. Either way, they were chugging coffee like they'd been stranded in some hellish decaffeinated desert.

The waitress brought cake, carrot with cream cheese frosting for him, chocolate on chocolate for the woman. She brought coffee, too. It wasn't bad. Fusco took a bite of his cake. It wasn't bad, either. Not like his grandma used to make, but not as bad as some he'd tried.

"Okay," he said, after a second bite. "Let's have it."

Fitzgerald looked nervous, which set the detective on edge. And she'd bought him cake. Whatever she was about to tell him, he was absolutely certain now that he wasn't going to like it.

"Did you ever hear Lee talk about a girl named Marisa Finley?" she finally said.

Fusco turned to face her squarely. "Whoa. This is about Lee?" His level of not liking jumped through the roof.

"He's fine," Christine said firmly. "Lee's not in any danger. He never was. I promise."

"You just put Lee and danger in the same sentence," Fusco barked. "Out with it, right now."

Heads turned. Fusco ignored them.

Christine, for once, did what she was told. She kept her voice down, but she talked fast. "Lee has a classmate named Marisa Finley. A while back she borrowed his laptop after school and was looking for pornographic photos on the web with it. That's when Zelda busted him the first time."

Lionel nodded slowly. This was not about dirty pictures. Either the kid's porn searches had escalated a whole lot, or else …

"She asked him yesterday if she could use the computer again. He told her no, because he knew he'd get busted. And she cried at him. The pictures Marisa was looking for were of someone who looked like her. Exactly like her, actually."

He got it. He wished he didn't, but he absolutely did. "Some creep's making this kid pose naked. And then what, posting the pictures for other sickos to see?"

"Selling them, actually. And for an extra hundred dollars he'll make her do custom poses. Also, the creep in question is her mother's boyfriend." She put her hand up before Fusco could speak. "He's in jail already. They're still looking for his co-creep, but the boyfriend is locked up and Marisa's safe. This is all done. Everything's taken care of."

"And where's Lee?"

Christine shrugged. "On his way home from school, as far as I know."

Fusco took a deep breath, grabbing on to his last shred of patience. "Where is Lee in this story of yours?" he clarified. "How the hell did you find out about it? And why am I just hearing it now?"

Christine leaned back a little. "I got you cake," she said in a small voice.

"Ah, shit." The rest of the story Fusco didn't like, but it was a cop thing. This part, he knew, he wasn't going to like in a way that was deeply personal.

"Lee came to see me this morning, before school."

"What, at Chaos?"

"Yeah."

"By himself?"

"Yeah."

"And you didn't think you should call me about that?"

"No, I definitely did think I should call you about that," she protested. "But once I heard his story … I told him I'd help him. And Marisa. And I told him that I was going to tell you, or help him tell you. So … I am."

"But you didn't think you should call me this morning, when this was going down?"

Heads turned again.

Christine flinched. "Lee didn't want to tell you until he was sure there was something to it. That Marisa wasn't just making stuff up."

"Why?" Fusco demanded. "Why would he tell you and not me?"

"Because his school health class taught him that as a cop you're a required reporter."

"I'm a … are you kidding me? That's why he didn't tell me?"

"And you told him," Christine added carefully, "that if he got in a jam and he didn't think he could talk to you about it … "

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up." Fusco ran his hand over his face. "You aren't even fucking kidding about this, are you?"

"Not really something I would fucking kid about, no."

The detective took a deep breath and blew it out. Then he did it again. It didn't help much. "How did he even … why didn't the school call when he didn't show up?"

Christine cleared her throat delicately. "They apparently got an e-mail from his mother saying that he had a dentist appointment and she'd drop him off after."

"Oh, did they?"

"Yep. And then he just got on the right bus and went to Chaos." She smiled tightly. "He's a bright kid, Lionel."

"Oh, yeah. He's a regular fucking genius. I suppose he learned that trick from you."

"Not to my knowledge. Anyhow, he wasn't wrong about the girl." She shifted a little. "The creep told her if she told anyone, he'd post the pictures on her school's Facebook page and everyone would know about it."

Fusco worked his jaw a little. That didn't help much either. "Think if I went to the 15th, LaBlanca'd let me have a little time alone with him?"

"It's a possibility," Christine allowed. She let the silence grow for a minute, gave him space to think. "He did the right thing, Lionel. Maybe not in the right way, but at least he told somebody. I get that you're mad. I don't blame you. And I'm really sorry. But … be mad at me, and get Lee some damn counseling."

He turned his head to look at her again. "You think he needs counseling."

"His friend was molested and exploited by a pedophile. I don't think he's old enough to sort out that shitburger all by himself."

"What about the girl?"

"Oh, Marisa too. Absolutely. I've got LaBlanca working on that end."

Fusco sighed. "What the shit am I supposed to tell his mother?"

"What I just said. I'd leave the rest of it out. About his coming to Chaos and all."

"Yeah, you think?" he asked sardonically. "She'll fucking kill me if she finds out."

"And Lee doesn't need the added stress of you two fighting over it."

"Jesus Christ."

"I'm sorry, Lionel."

He shook his head. "Damn it, Chrissy, how could you not call me? I get Lee, he doesn't know, but you? I've broken rules up, down and sideways for you. If you told me not to report it I would have kept my mouth shut. But he's my kid. My kid. I thought you trusted me. I get why Lee doesn't, all the shit his mother tells him about me, but you …"

"This isn't about my not trusting you. It's about Lee trusting me."

"Yeah, but he trusts you because I told him he should, because I thought I could trust you. Apparently I was completely wrong about that."

"What did you want me to do, Lionel? What would you have done?"

"I would have called you," he said firmly. "I would have remembered that it was your kid, not mine, and I would have called you."

Christine toyed with her fork, cut off a little corner of her cake, then put it down. "I'm sorry," she said again.

Fusco pushed his own plate away. "Damn it."

Her phone rang. She jumped at the sound, then ignored it. It kept ringing.

"You should answer that," Fusco finally said. "That's probably Mr. Kneecaps."

"Uh-uh. He's got nothing to do with this. This is you and me."

Fusco smirked at her. "You really think so? Let me clue you in, little girl. Everything you do now, he's a part of."

"I'm sure he likes to think so."

The phone stopped, then rang again. Christine swore under her breath, then answered it. "What?"

Fusco thought the voice sounded like a woman's, or maybe a girl's.

"Calm down," Christine said. She scrambled to her feet, slapped a bill down on the counter. "Where are you, sweetie?" The reply was louder, higher. "Okay, okay. I'll be there in ten minutes. Less. Just hang on. I'll be right there. Just hang on." She snapped the phone off. "I gotta go."

"That the girl?"

"Yeah."

"I'll drive." He stood, took her arm, herded her out the door.

Heads turned again as they hurried out. Fusco didn't give a rat's ass.