Hi, guys! I hope everyone had a great season and that 2018 is treating you okay so far. Before we get started, take a look around your screen for a second and see if anything stands out...got it? Did you notice? Three years ago today, I started posting this. WOW. Has it been that long? It's been an adventure, at least from where I'm standing, and I'm so glad and so honored you've decided to stick with me so far. It truly means the world to me. :) Now let's get this show on the road!

The circle was soon to close on Douglas Ledford. That much was enough to let Smecker sleep somewhat easier at night. It helped to think of the others of his ilk who would go down with him, the cycles of evil they maintained interrupted, at least, while their organizations struggled to regroup and reform. Some of them would fall apart entirely and scatter to the winds. While that wasn't an entirely satisfactory conclusion, it was at least one he could live with.

And yet.

The biggest part of Ledford's former enterprise was in human trafficking. The drugs, the weapons, the prostitutes, nearly all of it had roots in the kidnapping and selling of innocent people for slave labor. Smecker couldn't believe that was any different under Marcus Greene. It wasn't just a guilty man who got away with it years ago, it was innocents left to suffer, and the thought of what happened to them when Ledford went into hiding was one Smecker visited often in his darker moments.

How many in Marcus Greene's circle volunteered for the job, and how many were unwilling participants? With no one willing to talk, there was no way to know, no way to trace the other conspirators. They were that close to an entire network of evil reaching off to God knew where and they could shut it down if they were just a bit closer, but the trail went cold and there was little chance of a fresh scent.

And yet...

With Renata Malone's information, there was no further need to continue investigating the Sin Bin for ways to Ledford himself, and so he and the detectives had returned to the search for Yakavetta. They caught a bit of a break when a tip phoned in led to his arrest at a distant vacation home—a break, that is, depending on one's motives for capturing him.

"This is a fucking disaster," Smecker muttered when the call came in. Dolly had contacted him as soon as they got the tip and he and the detectives had been waiting at the station ever since. "Of all the shit that could have happened..."

"He could still make bail," Duffy reminded him, though without much enthusiasm.

"He probably will," Smecker agreed, "and he'll be under around-the-clock surveillance as soon as he does, or I'm a goldfish." If only they had been the ones to get the call, or the ones sent to pick him up...they could have called the MacManuses and made it look like Yakavetta tried to make a stand rather than be apprehended. As long as he remained in police custody, there was no way for Smecker to deliver him to the brothers' justice.

He gave a sigh of irritation and ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know what the fuck to do..."

"They gotta understand, right?" Dolly said. "We did everything we could. We just ran out of luck."

Smecker gave him a look that was more than irritation but just short of a glare. "I promised them the guy that murdered their friend," he said sharply. "I gave them my solemn fucking word that Pappa Joe Yakavetta was theirs, and only then did they leave Rocco behind in that basement. They didn't care that the Boston PD was on the way, that they would be arrested if anyone found them, hell, I doubt they would have cared if there was another fucking standoff and they were both shot dead. They weren't going to abandon their friend with anything less than a promise of retribution, and it was a hard sell at that. The risk they took to stay with him? I doubt it will hold a candle to what they'll do if they think Yakavetta is beyond their reach, and the last thing we need is for them to do anything stupid."

Dolly lowered his gaze and Greenly hesitated before speaking. "You can try to talk to them, though, can't you? I mean, they'll listen to you."

"They'll listen to me as long as they think they can trust me," Smecker replied. "As of now, my credibility is hanging by a thread."

The noise in the station was no worse than any other day, but it seemed deafening and intrusive while Smecker tried to think of a way to resolve this latest catastrophe. He had no doubt that if the MacManus brothers thought he had lost them Yakavetta, they would cut him off in a heartbeat and go after Pappa Joe on their own—again. He was equally certain that would end with them either dead or in prison, and no use to anybody at all.

"I'm getting some air," he announced, taking a circuitous route past all the desks, dispatchers, officers, perps in cuffs waiting to be processed, a cluster of detectives deep in conversation...

If he thought fresh air would provide him with new insights, he was disappointed. He lit a cigarette and stood in the doorway, reasonably sheltered from the slight rain.

This was a fucking problem. All he had to do was close his eyes to see the MacManuses guarding their friend's body and he knew in his bones they would hunt to the ends of the earth to exact justice on his killer. The last thing anyone needed was for them to go storming the precinct and shooting Yakavetta in front of half the police department; running up against an obstacle this big so soon didn't seem to bode well for their working relationship.

He flicked the remains of his cigarette into the receptacle by the door and went back inside the building, no nearer to a solution than he was before. He wasn't looking forward to the moment he had to break the news to the brothers, but it had to be done sooner or later. He walked past the same group of detectives on his way back in the building, and this time he overheard part of their conversation.

"—nothing solid yet."

"Are you sure he's still cooperating?"

"Fuck yes. He knows he's looking at ten years hard time if he doesn't. And he's fucked if they know he's talking to us..."

The voices faded out as Smecker walked away, but the words still resonated. They were discussing informants, the lawman's allies when a case was going nowhere...

There had to be somebody in the Yakavetta family that was working with the Boston PD. After two previous investigations, there had to be guys on the inside...though after two investigations, the odds of any informant with his cover intact were slim. Still, a long shot was a shot nonetheless, and they could take out a few more of Pappa Joe's men if they couldn't get Pappa Joe himself. Yet, that is.

He only hoped it was enough of a consolation prize to keep the MacManuses from doing something foolish.

He made his way back to Dolly, Duffy and Greenly, looking from one to the next. "Do we have any contacts in the Yakavetta family, someone who will talk to us and doesn't mind naming names?"

"A buddy of mine worked the case last time," Dolly answered. "If there's anything to know, he'd be a guy to ask."

"Ask him, but be discreet. We don't need any informants with the department linked to this."

"You got a plan?" Greenly asked.

"More of an idea than a plan. Until we can give them Pappa Joe, maybe the MacManuses could pay a visit to more of his men. To that end, we need somebody on the inside working with us."

Dolly nodded. "I'll see what I can find out."

"I know guys in vice," Greenly suggested. "Maybe somebody over there knows somebody else."

"It's worth a shot."

"A guy in narcotics owes me a favor," Duffy added. "Couldn't hurt..."

Smecker nodded, satisfied. "I appreciate it, gentlemen," he told them. "Let me know as soon as something turns up."

The detectives scattered and Smecker was left to keep himself busy while he waited for their next move to make itself apparent, hoping it wouldn't take too long; he wanted to leave the MacManuses something in the way of good news.

Dolly came back first. There were indeed informants during the last two investigations, but they had disappeared before either case went to trial. No surprises there.

Duffy returned from his contract in narcotics shortly after. It was a slim chance as the Yakavettas as a whole didn't have much in the drug trade, but there were always guys on every crew making a buck on the side and one of them might be the guy they needed.

In the end, Greenly offered them their best shot. His pals in vice were pretty deep in a potential counterfeiting and laundering ring, and there was evidence to suggest one of the guys involved worked with Pappa Joe.

"Told them we didn't need anyone to testify, just somebody that could tell us where to look for dirt," he recounted. "They'll have us in touch with him faster than a kid jerking off with his mom's Victoria's Secret catalog."

"Nicely done," Smecker replied. "Thanks, Greenly."

Duffy's pager went off and he checked it, brow furrowed. "Excuse me, I gotta take this," he said, stepping away.

Dolly chewed his bottom lip for a moment, appearing to consider his words before asking, "What if this is a dead end? What if this guy can't give us anything, or the boys don't go for it?"

"Worst case scenario," Smecker replied, "they continue to go their own way and get themselves into something we can't get them out of."

"Like going after someone high-profile, like Pappa Joe," Greenly surmised, "in the public eye, under tight scrutiny..."

"They'll get themselves captured or killed," Smecker concluded, "and if that doesn't spell the end of their mission, I don't know what fucking does."

Duffy returned, looking slightly less confused than before his phone call. "That was my guy in narcotics," he explained. "It's nothing to do with Yakavetta, but they had an insider in a smuggling outfit awhile back, mainly dealing in cocaine and heroin, though there was also something about trafficking into the sex trade."

Smecker took hold of the words, suddenly more on edge than ever. "Why did he tell you about it?"

"The insider worked at the Sin Bin, and he knew we covered that scene. A stripper named Stacy Carlisle, picked up for prostitution, apparently an addict herself. They lost contact with her about a year ago and haven't heard from her since."

Smecker was silent, the information roiling around in his mind like a scent to a hound on the hunt...

"Is this significant?" Dolly asked.

"Very," Smecker answered immediately. "If nobody in the department can get us in touch with Carlisle, what are the odds that Malone can?"

Duffy shrugged. "As good as any, I guess."

Smecker spared the flicker of a thought for how quickly he had memorized the MacManuses number as he dialed, and another for his hope that he wasn't about to interrupt anything...again.

They picked up on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Murphy?"

"Aye?"

"It's Smecker. I need to talk to Miss Malone."

"Aye. Sure." There was the brief murmur of multiple voices and what sounded like a TV in the background, then came a woman's voice. "Hello?"

"Miss Malone, it's Paul Smecker. I need to get in touch with one of the department's informants, and maybe you know her. A woman named Stacy Carlisle?"

The sound of the name threw Renata into immediate chaos. Her blood ran cold, her stomach lurched as if she was about to throw up, her ears rang with panic, and she only just kept herself from hanging up the phone. What the fuck was she doing to do? Someone wanted to know about Stacy, and Jesus Christ, what in fucking hell was she going to do?

"Miss Malone?"

She cleared her throat twice before finding her voice. "Stacy Carlisle?"

"Correct. She was a dancer at the Sin Bin and was arrested on a prostitution charge. She would have been working there the same time as you."

There had to be a way out of this if she could just think. "Huh."

"Do you know her?"

"No."

Fuck! She answered almost before he finished asking, and he was way too smart to believe her response when it came that fast.

"Renata," he said, his tone serious and stern, "we both know what kind of shit your boss was into. Miss Carlisle could give the police enough that she never went in front of a judge, and in fact stayed in contact with them until a year ago. It's highly important that I speak with her, and if you can help me, you need to do so."

"Sorry. I can't."

"I understand you're scared to talk about this." Through her panic, she could begin to hear the bitterness and the first note of impatience in the agent's voice. "I understand probably better than you do. I've had a fair share of witnesses recant because of this same guy. But think about this for a second: There's enough to suggest he's back in human trafficking, and apparently Carlisle knew enough to pass it on. Human trafficking. Does that make any impression? Innocent women bought and sold to the highest bidder so any paying customer could fuck them until their bodies couldn't handle it anymore. Even children, for God's sake. Is any of this getting through to you, Malone?"

Renata closed her eyes, struggling not to cry. How many girls had she seen moved through the club with her own eyes? Doped up just enough to keep them docile but functional, moving vaguely through one or two dances before they were parceled away and never seen again...some barely even teenagers under the layer of makeup...and why, God, why hadn't she said something as soon as she figured out what was going on?

Because of Stacy. There was a subtle change in her after she got arrested, a quiet sort of defiance that got the other girls whispering. Had she talked to the cops? Was she standing up to Marcus? The rumors reached the man himself and he found his own way of shutting them down, gathering all the girls after hours and giving Stacy that first hit of heroin as they watched, tying off her arm and shooting her veins full of poison while Reg restrained her. She didn't dance after that, just a druggie whore in Benny's employ working the guys in and around the club, and then came the day when she just disappeared. Everyone assumed she had overdosed...everyone, that is, except for Renata.

Nobody went against Marcus, no matter what. Not after Stacy.

"Malone." Smecker's voice sliced through her thoughts and she flinched at his tone. "What happened to Stacy Carlisle?"

"She stopped dancing," she replied, the words barely a whisper past the knot in her throat. "Nobody's seen her."

"But you know what happened to her."

Renata glanced over at Connor and Murphy, sitting by in silence. Connor turned down the volume on the TV and Murphy edged his way to stand next to where she stood. Both of them watched her with identical expressions of confusion and concern, and how could she say anything in front of them? Anything at all?

"Ledford isn't acting alone in any of this," Smecker went on relentlessly, "and if we know who he's working with, we can take down his entire goddamned enterprise, but to do that we need inside information, and if you can't fucking tell me what I need to know, then you can at least point me to someone who fucking can!"

"Stop," she said, tears blurring her vision a split second before falling.

"You've known a lot fucking more than you've let on this entire time," he persisted, his voice rising, "and I don't believe for a single goddamn second that you suddenly don't know jack shit. If you've got the power to help stop these assholes and you do nothing, you're just as responsible for what they do as they are—"

"Goddamn it, just shut up!"

The brothers moved forward, Murphy taking the phone back from her and Connor took one look at her, cupping her face in his hands and peering into her eyes before folding his arms around her. "Jesus, sweetheart, what the fuck did he say ta ye?" he asked softly.

"What the fuck?" Murphy demanded loudly into the phone. "I dunno what the fuck ye want with her, Smecker, but the conversation's fuckin over...no, I don't fuckin care, call back when ye've got yer fuckin head on straight or we're done, ye got it?" He hung up and set the phone aside, shaking his head and looking incensed. "The man's fuckin lost it," he muttered. "Ravin about leads an' insiders, dunno what the fuck's crawled up his ass..."

"What did he want?" Connor asked Renata, running his hands through her hair in an effort to calm her down; belatedly, she realized she was shaking as hard as she ever had during withdrawals...God, she needed a drink, a hit, something.

"Asking about Marcus again," she answered. "He just kept fucking haranguing me over and fucking over—"

"He'd better start watchin himself if he wants ta work together," Murphy commented darkly.

"Aye," Connor agreed. He moved her over to the couch and guided her to sit, still handling her like a spooked horse. "Are ye okay?"

She shook her head. "I need a drink."

Murphy poured her a glass of water and she took it, downing a few swallows before asking, "Anything stronger?"

He and Connor shared one of their looks that communicated more than words and he replied, "One."

"For fuck's sake, Murphy, I don't need you babysitting me."

"An' ye don't need ta be tryin ta fix yer mood with this shit either," he told her, pouring a single shot of whiskey and handing it to her.

"Whatever." She threw back the shot and stared into the bottom of the glass. What was her mood, exactly? Fear and self-loathing fighting it out as always, and a shadow lurking behind them she hoped with all her heart didn't get any closer. It all hinged on whether or not Smecker kept asking about Stacy.

"Are ye okay?" Connor asked again.

She shrugged. "At the moment, you mean?"

"It's a good starting point," Murphy said, sitting down on her other side.

"Then at the moment, no. And I'm not looking farther down the road yet."

Connor smoothed his hand over her hair a bit more before saying, "We'll get ye outta Boston before long, all right? Outta all this shit with Marcus an' the club, just start fresh, ye know?"

"With the family pew at church?" she asked ironically.

"Sure, if ye want."

"And in the meantime?"

"Smecker's not fuckin talkin to ye anymore," Murphy told her. "Not after the shit he just pulled."

"You still think I need a babysitter."

"We think he crossed a fuckin line," Connor corrected. "Ye've made it clear often enough ye don't wanna talk about that shit, an' he shoulda fuckin taken that inta consideration. If it's gonna work, him an' us, he's gotta quit throwin his weight around like he's fuckin in charge."

"Though ta be fair, ye do need some lookin after," Murphy added.

She elbowed him. Her nerves were still rattled, echoes of memories chipping away at her a little at a time, and she heaved a sigh. "Talk," she said. "Whatever you want to say in whatever language you want to say it in. Anything but silence, since you're looking after me."

They both shifted on either side of her, making themselves comfortable and speaking in lilting Gaelic. It could have been something of real importance or they could have just been shooting the breeze; either way, the irregular rhythm of the words, the rounded vowels, the peculiar consonants shook her out of her thoughts and filled her head with enough to distract her from her fear. Self-loathing dug its claws a little deeper and always would no matter what she did.

And the shadow still hovered.

She lay awake hours later, looking around the dark loft without seeing any of it. Her head was on Connor's chest and Murphy was curled behind her with his head resting on her shoulder; one brother's heartbeat in her ear with the other's breath across her skin felt natural as nothing else had before. She pressed her lips to Connor's chest and reached for Murphy's hand to wrap his arm tighter around her. They fit together as if they were meant to.

Out of Boston. That's what Connor promised. And yet something in her ached to think about where that place might be. They were more involved in their work than ever and that posed risks of its own, and now with Noah and Smecker on the scene, there really was no telling where the three of them would end up. Her boys weren't ordinary men, not by a long shot, delivering God's justice to evildoers...and with that knowledge, the closer they got to Marcus, the greater her pain over her own evil, the heavier her guilt, the darker her shame.

Tears pooled in her eyes despite her effort to hold them back, falling in accord and she squeezed her eyes shut to keep the rest of them in.

Connor stirred beneath her, woken by the tears striking his skin. He slowly raised a hand to her hair, pushing it back from her face. "What are ye doin awake?" he asked, his fingertips brushing across her tear tracks. "Why are ye cryin, sweetheart?"

She shrugged and Murphy shifted behind her, scooting closer and holding tighter. "Just thinking about shit," she replied.

"Must be some serious shit, ta keep ye up this late."

"No. Just the usual shit."

"Wanna tell me?"

"It's not important."

"Tell me anyway." He continued to trace her features with his fingers and she could see veritas standing boldly against his skin in the dark.

How could she lie to him? "I'm worried."

"About what?"

"Everything. You and Murph, the work you do, where all this is leading..."

His fingers stroked her eyebrows soothingly as he replied, "We worry about the same shit. Losin Roc reminded us what we're riskin. It's strange, ye know, we left home coz a shit like this, an' we ended up runnin right inta it again, like it was s'posed ta happen. Where this leads is outta our hands, Renata. Ye won't wanna hear this, but ye gotta have faith."

"I'm not sure what faith is anymore," she confessed, "no matter how much you preach it to me."

"No one's preachin, love. I'm just givin ye the truth as I see it an' hopin for yer sake that somethin in it reaches ye."

It was hard to breathe past the lump in her throat. She lifted her head from his chest to look him in the eye, nearly dislodging Murphy from her shoulder. "Do you love me?" she asked.

"What the fuck kind a question is that?"

"Do you?"

He outlined her lips and she kissed the tips of his fingers. "Aye," he said. "I do."

"Is that the truth?"

"Sure it is. It sets ye free, doesn't it?"

Doing her best to ignore the stabbing of her conscience, she asked, "No matter what happens, what I've done and where I've been?"

"Ye mean yer wild youth?"

"If there was something you wouldn't like to know, that would be hard to learn..."

"When ye were workin for Marcus?"

She didn't answer, and her silence spoke for her.

He paused in grave reflection before asking, "Is there somethin ye wanna tell me?"

Veritas...

She shook her head. "No. There's nothing."

Thanks again for coming along for the ride, and don't bail on me, yet! We've still got a way to go!