I sat across from Tom. The bruise over his eye had started to yellow, but he walked with a limp. More indication that he had been in another fight.

"Who's doing this to you?" Tom looked at me, but didn't answer. "Seriously, which little shits did this to you."

He nodded his head, implicating someone behind me. Turning discretely, I saw the oldest of the boys that had given me a tour around the facility. The boy was sitting next to a woman with white blond hair and too much makeup. Her Louis Vuitton purse was sitting forgotten beside her. We had all been asked to check our belongings at the door, my own purse now sat in a box behind the receptionist's counter. I had been right about him. Moneyed. I turned back to face Tom. We didn't say anything for a long time.

"Tom, who is your dad" His eyes met mine, and he leaned away, like he was considering bolting away from the table. I reached over and covered his hand with mine. "Please, I know this is going to be hard, but just tell me what you can."

He relaxed, lulled by my calming tone. I kept my eyes on his and waited, silence spreading.

"I don't know my dad. Mom said she didn't know for sure. That he hurt her really bad and she couldn't remember."

"That's okay, hey, that's good. You did really good." I couldn't push him into recounting his mother's assault any further than I already had. I smoothed a piece of his hair. He tensed again and I pulled my hand back. I had to remind myself that not all people had a stomach for human touch.

"She said I have his eyes."

"That can't be true. Your eyes are too kind to belong to anyone but you." I smiled at him and asked about his day, what he did for fun. The invisible force that weighed him down had slipped away for the briefest time and he talked and laughed freely with me. Before I left, I promised to visit again.

Tom was ushered out, and the families all began to leave. As a guard was leading Tom's tormentor out of the room, I stepped in front of them. His mother had turned at the door to watch as I leaned in close.

"If you touch him again, I will make you regret it, understand?" The boy looked surprised, but nodded his head silently. His mother's mouth dropped, and the guard eyed me closely. I gave the guard my darkest glare and walked to the door, smiled sweetly at the boy's mother, and then left the building after grabbing my things.

Frank had the driver's window down, hat pulled low over his face, and was apparently in a deep, relaxed sleep. I rolled my eyes. Must have been a result of his time in service. I opened my door, and took a seat, hesitant to wake him.

"How was the visit Mother Theresa."

"Oh, Frank, you're awake, how nice." I said with a honeyed sarcasm that would have made my grandmother proud.

"Where too now?"

"George Kannapolis. He's a butcher."

George was a nice older man, deep wrinkles, weathered hands, white hair. He had taken Tom on as a favor to his mother. He had been a potential suitor before she had gotten pregnant with Tom, believed that he really had a shot with her and was more than willing to raise the boy as his own. It hadn't happened that way. She had been haunted by what had happened to her. It had driven them apart, but he never stopped loving her.

I asked him about Tom's birth, and he smiled.

"Tawny never did like hospitals. Found herself a doula."

"A doula?"

"Midwife. Took 12 hours to deliver him. Prettiest baby I'd ever seen. 8 pounds 4 ounces. She filed all the right paperwork, but wouldn't step foot in the hospital. I remember the first time I held him. You know what that's like Pete?"

I looked at Frank wide eyed, not knowing what to expect.

"I do. Cried like a baby. I was deployed when my little girl was born, but man I remember holding my baby boy. Felt like my heart would melt right out of my chest."

George and Frank shared a moment, one that only fathers could appreciate. I took the silence as an opportunity to ask the him about Tawny. I felt like an intruder in their loss, but needed to a get at the real reason that I had come.

"What can you tell me about that night? About the night she was attacked?"

George stayed silent a moment longer, considering the question and his answer.

"That James Garonne, he isn't who everyone thinks he is. Real womanizer. Didn't always wait for them to say yes neither. Never did buy that story he was selling, bout finding her like that. Miss, I wasn't there, but if I had to guess, Garonne was the one who hurt my girl."

I could tell that the memory affected him deeply. I placed a hand on his shoulder, thanked him for his help. Him and Frank shook hands, and George's hand lingered for a moment, cementing their bond.

I had a pretty good picture of what had happen, but had to find something to back up the claim that Garonne wasn't a nice guy. I hadn't come across anything damning while searching old newspaper articles. Court records weren't likely to produce anything. I seriously doubted that any woman that he'd hurt would come forward. Who would've believed them. James was a local legend. He had a lurid boxing career, and was a decorated army vet, using the GI bill to get his education.

I would have to dig up names from his past, push harder. Frank would definitely not approve of this decision, but I knew it had been Garonne that had assaulted Tom's mother that night in the park, beating her senseless while he violated her. He must have gotten his point across because Tawny never made a report, and Garonne got to play the hero that night by taking her to the hospital, like some goddamn good Samaritan.

My thoughts drifted to Tom. I truly wanted to find Garonne and beat the truth out of him, unbury the experiences of what I assumed had to be dozens of women. This pulled at something deep inside of me. The feeling of helplessness and fear; the fear of reliving it every time someone moved in the shadows. The fear of not being believed. My heart ached. I found my way back to the car. I don't know how. I don't know how I walked up the steps into Frank's apartment, but when I finally made it into the apartment, my vision blurred. Despair wrapped around me tightly.

The emptiness that I felt inside must have been palpable. Frank caught me before I collapsed to the floor. He held me tight, forehead pressed against mine. My heart thumped hard, throat tight. I could feel him move, his lips against my cheek, a calming sound coming deep from his chest, almost a coo. Then his lips were pressed against the side of my mouth, then hovering over my lips. I felt his breath against them. I could smell coffee and something that was undeniably Frank. I pressed my lips against his. His hand wrapped gently around the back of my neck, holding us together. I moaned lightly, breaking the spell over him.

He released me, with a glance he stood up and went to the table. "I have something for you." His voice was deeper. "I got his accountant to give up some information that will help build a case against him. At least prove that he's taking kickbacks. It won't do anything for the other stuff. For Tom's mom."

"Does this mean you approve?"

"Shit no."

I took the documents he gave me and looked them over. He was right. The numbers didn't look right. I flipped through the pages, looking over domestic and international accounts with numbers way too impressive for a New York City judge. He had been making some serious investments into something.

I looked over some of his property holdings. James appeared to have purchased a large property shortly before he took his post. I looked over a cluster of numbers, Parcel ID. I pulled my bag close to me and reached for the file folder without looking up. My hand found nothing. I looked up and cut my eyes at Frank. He sighed loudly, walked to a trunk in the corner, and extracted my file. He brought it to me and I pulled it from his hand. He held it tight for just a moment before letting it slip out of his hand.

I waited until Frank had left the apartment before leaving to go to the library. The assistant, who was quite familiar with me at this point, waved enthusiastically and I returned it with a smile. I buried myself in the reference section, large red orange records, bound into one volume, lay on the floor in front of me. I found the parcel number that I was looking for, but was confused when, upon referencing it with the "real" address, found that it was a fast food joint.

I put away the volumes that I had been looking over after copying them, and logged onto a computer. Half an hour later, I found the connection. I printed out the missing pieces, and placed it in the folder. My phone chirped in my purse as I walked outside. Figuring it was Frank, I didn't immediately answer, but after it had gone to voicemail and started once again, I got an odd feeling. I slid my hand inside the void and came out with the phone. "Unknown" was plastered on the face where caller information and phone number usually displayed.

I answered after it began to ring for a third time.

"Karen Page." I looked around to make sure that no one was going to attack me while I was preoccupied on the call. Once I was satisfied, I answered slowly.

"Can I help you with something?"

"I think I can help you. Made a call this morning and Tom, well he was in an accident. Been taken to the infirmary. Meet me at Reagan Park or maybe he doesn't make it."

"Listen here you son of a bitch, if you hurt that boy I swear." The voice interrupted my threats.

"You won't do shit lady. Meet me in 20. No calls, we'll be watching."

I jerked my head around again, but still saw nothing. I put my phone back in my purse and placed my hand over my gun. The grip in my hand helped the growing sense of dread recede, however temporary that would be. I shuffled up the cold street, jacket pulled tight over my body.

When I arrived at the park, all the lights were out. It had only been dark for 10-15 minutes, but without the help of the florescent bulbs, the space seemed ominous. I strained my ears, but could not hear anything. I walked further into the park, using the lights from the surrounding city to navigate. In the middle of the park sat an empty merry-go-round.

"You've been quite a pain little lady. Didn't think it would come to this." The voice in the dark startled me, but I remained silent. He cracked his knuckles.

"Come to what?" I asked softly. I still couldn't see him, but I had heard his voice on TV enough to know that I was speaking to the infamous James Garonne.

"Why have you been bothering me?"

"I think you're a liar." I abandoned caution for directness.

"You're lacking in manners. Maybe I should teach you some."

"You can't teach what you don't have." I glared in the direction of his voice. He called out to someone behind him and a spotlight was lit. I hadn't heard more than one person approach. I figured they walked up unnoticed while I was focusing on James.

The light blinded me, but I looked, almost unblinkingly at the man in front of me. He was taller, and larger than I had expected. In the papers and on TV, he'd looked old, bowed, unassuming. He obviously knew how to the play the game, because I had him pegged for a man way past his prime. I was so wrong.

"I was just going to try to talk to you, maybe lay down some money to keep you quiet. I don't think I'm going to do that now."

"This is the age of social media, camera phones. Instant reporting. Everyone, literally everyone, is watching all the time James. Everyone is going to find out about you. Hell, how do you know I'm not recording this right now?"

I knew what he was going to do, and in that split second from a position of rest to one of chaos, I acted. I pulled out the .28 and frantically shot in Garonne's direction. I grazed his knee, but didn't stop him from charging. He and his men were running towards me and I emptied my gun into them. One man fell down, clutching his shoulder. I turned to run, but a man wrapped his hands in my hair and pulled me back. I was yanked heavily to the ground. I tried to raise the empty gun, bluff them, but the man kicked my wrist hard, causing me to drop it. I cried out, trying to crawl away, but this caused the man to laugh and put his booted foot hard into my stomach.

He waited, and I saw Garonne clearly. I heard his voice, but not the words. I didn't need to hear the words. I knew that he had told them to kill me. I raised myself to my hands and knees, spitting blood onto the ground, and gave him a look of deep defiance.

"You will not get away with this." I glared at him as he raised a gun. I turned as quickly as I could, trying to put my back between us. The shot was deafening, and then pain. The deepest, aching pain spread through my body, radiating from somewhere that I could not define. The world went watery and dark.