"Yes, darling, it's me," Doris said, slipping into a chair next to Riley's bed and taking her hand, awkwardly, the restraints still firm around her wrist. "You've figured out so much . . . I'm so sorry. I wanted to be the one to tell you, but I should have known. You were always such an intelligent child."

"What's happening," Riley questioned, still disoriented. "Why am I tied down? What's going on?" Her voice grew firmer, more resolute, as she questioned Doris. It wasn't the expected reaction, and Doris interrupted quickly.

"Riley, you have to stay calm," she said. "You have a severe concussion and several other injuries. When they brought you in, you were so traumatized that you were lashing out; you were a danger to yourself and others."

"Well, I'm sure that I'm not now," Riley said. "So please, undo the restraints."

"We still don't know . . . darling, I'm so sorry to tell you this, but you hurt someone. I know you don't want that to happen again, so for now - just be patient. As things come back to you, everything will be explained," Doris said, trying to soothe her. "I'm going to step out just for a bit. I'll get you some water, okay?"

Riley nodded dubiously.

Doris paused at the door. "Darling, are you in much pain?"

Riley studied her for a moment.

You're stronger, and smarter . . . no matter what . . . trust me, she remembered. That was all. A man's voice; a phrase. But she was sure now that it was a memory, not her imagination, and she clung to it desperately.

"No," she lied. "I'm okay."

Doris slipped out the door.

"She's far more disoriented than she should be," Doris snapped at Garrison. "It has to be from the concussion. She's not asking the right questions."

"She's refusing pain medication," Garrison commented. "But the data doesn't indicate that she's deliberately suppressing yet."

Doris shook her head. "She will, instinctively, subconsciously. But her refusal . . . " She fell silent.

"What?" Garrison questioned.

"She's fighting us," Doris said. "She doesn't know it, and she doesn't know why, but she's fighting us."

She turned away, and walked down the hall, before Garrison could read the pride that she suspected was reflected in her eyes.

#*#*#*#*#

Steve was sure that his convoy had been blasted with an IED. That was the only explanation for the bits and pieces of sounds and images that he was trying to grasp. An explosion, a grinding of metal . . . pain . . . crawling. The sound of someone groaning. Blackness. Voice, and then blackness again.

There had been something important. Something that he was trying to remember. He fought through the haze of darkness . . . the detachment that he was pretty sure meant that they'd given him the good stuff. He was having trouble getting his eyes to cooperate, but his hands seemed to be online. He tried twitching one, and was rewarded with voices.

"Steve? Catherine, he's coming around," a voice said. It was that Jersey voice again.

Jersey. Danny. Danny.

A rush of memory came flooding back . . . an explosion, Anton Hesse against a fence, Victor Hesse's voice in his ear, and then a gunshot . . .

"Dad," Steve gasped, fighting to open his eyes.

"Shit," Danny whispered.

"Danny, no, it's okay," Steve rasped out.

"Nothing is okay, Steve," Danny retorted, "but you remember - stuff?"

"Yeah, Danny. Dad's gone, you're my partner, it's been a while," Steve said wearily, finally prying his eyes open. He rather regretted it. The light hurt.

"Steve," Catherine said, and he turned his head toward her soft voice, wincing as the movement sent pain radiating through his skull. He wondered idly if this would be the time that it finally happened, that his skull just finally exploded.

"Cath," he murmured, giving her a loopy smile. "It must be bad if you came."

"I'm stationed at Pearl, Steve," Catherine said, her brown eyes soft and worried. "And I was close by, helping you with something. Do you remember what I was helping you with?"

"I was transporting . . . not Hesse," Steve said. "Important . . . very important . . . "

"Yeah, babe, very," Danny said. "Do you remember?"

Steve blinked, then gasped as another flood of memory and realization flooded him, the images and memories coming so fast and vibrant that it physically hurt.

"Riley," he said, his eyes widening in horror, looking back and forth between Danny and Catherine. "We were coming to Tripler - are we at Tripler? - is Riley here? We were going to . . . they hurt her, they're hurting her, we were going to try -" Steve broke off as he saw the sadness in Danny and Catherine's eyes. "No - NO -" he insisted, "Fielding . . . . Fielding was there, he got stuff out of my truck, he said that . . . so he could have found her, maybe he -"

"Steve," Catherine said, resting the back of her hand gently against the part of his cheek that wasn't black and blue, "Fielding managed to take out an entire clean-up team. He saved your life, and Jerry's, and Joe's. But we imagine Riley was long gone before Fielding arrived. They would have sent two teams: one to grab Riley and one to take the rest of you out."

Steve pressed his hands against his eyes.

"I have teams out searching, Steve," Catherine said.

"Joe and Jerry?" he asked quietly, afraid to meet their eyes, afraid of the answers.

"Concussed, bruised, but they'll heal," Danny said. "Jerry . . . his back is cut up pretty bad; hairline fracture of his hip. They think he was turned; the driver side of the SUV was decimated, and they think he had turned toward Riley. Tried to shield her from the brunt of it."

Steve nodded in relief, decided he couldn't process his gratitude to Jerry for what he tried to do, for using his own body to try to protect Riley. He'd think about that later. He took a deep breath, and took stock. The pain, dizziness, and nausea meant concussion. The dull, throbbing ache in his low back, to the left of his spine, was probably subdued by drugs, and probably meant bruised kidney . . . he wondered if . . . he shifted in the bed a little - yup. Catheter. He groaned.

"Babe?" Danny stepped closer to his side, worried.

"Damn it," Steve gritted out. "A catheter? Seriously?"

"You tanked your kidney, Steve; you're lucky you're not in surgery," Danny chided.

"How bad?"

"Bruised," Catherine answered. "Badly bruised; enough that there was some slow blood loss. Thankfully not torn, not as far as they can tell. Concussion, of course. Various stitches."

"Good," Steve nodded. "Nothing serious, then." He proceeded to start pulling at the various tubes and equipment attached to him. The pulse ox monitor went first; that, in his experience, usually brought a nurse running, and it was more efficient to get a nurse to dispatch with some of the other stuff.

"Steve, what in the hell do you think you're doing?" Danny asked, incredulous, his hands emphasizing his point.

Steve looked at him, equally incredulous. "I'm going after Riley," he said, as if Danny were completely lolo.

"Steve," Catherine tried, pressing his shoulders gently back into the bed, mindful of the colorful bruising from the seatbelt, the airbag and the . . . well, the fact that his truck had probably been blown up.

Steve fixed her with a level gaze, held her eyes with his. She stepped back, holding her hands up in surrender. Danny rolled his eyes - lot of help she was; she was Navy, for crying out loud, probably ate commanders for breakfast, and yet folded under the patented Super SEAL stare.

True to form, a nurse came in, exasperated. "Honestly, Commander McGarrett," she started, and Steve fixed her with that same look.

"Captain, my sister has been taken by some people who mean to hurt her," he said. "I need you to help me get these IVs and this catheter out, and I need my clothing, my gun, and my badge."

The nurse turned to Danny and Catherine. "If I give you instructions, will you keep an eye on him?"

Danny threw his hands up while Catherine nodded and backhanded him solidly in the chest.

"Oof," Danny heaved out. "Yes; okay? Yes, of course we'll keep an eye on him. This is crazy, I want to go on record as saying. Crazy."

The nurse nodded and smiled. "You want them to step out in the hall, Commander?"

Steve shrugged, busy untangling himself from the IVs. He certainly wasn't going to spare time to worry about such trivial matters as dignity and modesty at a time like this.

"How much time?" he demanded. "How much of a lead do they have?" His watch was nowhere to be seen.

Danny and Catherine were quiet.

"Danno?" he asked, swallowing against a lump in his throat, a rush of bile as he realized that it looked suspiciously dark behind the blinds of his window.

Danny cleared this throat, glanced at Catherine, back at Steve.

"Hours, Steve. You were out cold for a while there. Which was good, really," Danny said.

Steve stared at him.

"Eight hours," Danny finally said. "It's been eight hours, buddy."

#*#*#*#*#

Riley closed her eyes and tried to pull her fractured, scattered thoughts together. At first, every thought was overwhelmed by a blanket of pain, but little by little, she realized that she could ignore some of it.

You're stronger, and smarter . . .

She had a flash of memory . . . her arm, cut and bleeding, strong, steady hands putting in stitches. Pushing the pain away until it was a thread running far at the back of her mind. She was certain now of two things: the hands belonged to the voice, and she could push this pain away if she tried.

The various lacerations and stitches faded to the back of her mind quickly, almost without her conscious effort. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply and focused. One pain at a time, she thought, and turned her attention to her injuries. At first, a flash of pain would make her gasp, but then one by one, she had shoved her aching collarbone and ribs, her throbbing knee and hip, slowly but surely to the far corners of her mind.

Her head, though was still pounding, threatening to split open, and her thoughts were still fuzzy.

You're stronger, and smarter . . .

The fuzzy felt somehow familiar, and she concentrated on that. Had she felt this way before? Yes, she decided . . . and she remembered a name for it: ketamine. The name had been murmured by a soft voice . . . much like the voice she thought she'd heard earlier, and also by the strong voice, the one that kept telling her she was strong and smart.

Riley took a deep breath and took stock of what she knew for sure: she was injured, drugged, and restrained. Olivia had confirmed that she was really her mother, and had told her that she'd hurt someone, offered her more drugs, and refused to take off her restraints.

"Shit," she mumbled to herself. There was a flash of blue eyes, warm and gentle, chiding her goodnaturedly for her language. They didn't belong to the voice, or to the hands, but they went along somehow.

You're stronger, and smarter . . . and you can trust me . . .

Riley decided that, for the time being, she would trust the voice and the hands, and the blue eyes. And nothing else.

#*#*#*#*#

"Eight hours," Steve repeated, in disbelief. "They have an eight hour lead on us?"

"I'm sorry, Steve," Catherine said. "I had teams there right away."

"It's SAD, Catherine," Steve said quietly. "You know they aren't going to leave a trace that your teams can track."

"Then what do you think you're going to do, Steve?" Danny asked, trying to get Steve to see reason.

Steve looked at Danny, his face starting to slip into what Danny thought of as his Scary SEAL mask. "I said they wouldn't leave anything the intelligence teams could track, Danny," he said, not unkindly. "I didn't say that I couldn't track them." Free of the various tubes and wires, he started casting about for his clothing.

Catherine silently handed him a bag which contained his boots, his boxer briefs, and his wallet. "Security has your badge, and your and Joe's guns," she said. "Sorry, sweetheart, this is all that could be salvaged."

Steve sighed. "Danny," he started, but as usual, Danny was one step ahead of him.

"You have a go-bag in the back of the Camaro, yeah," Danny said. He paused at the door. "Steve, I don't suppose we could try again to convince you to stay in that bed where you belong?"

As Danny headed out the door, Chin appeared. He arched an eyebrow at the sight of Steve, obviously moving toward freeing himself from the hospital, and obviously in pain.

"Before you get too far, Steve," Chin said, shaking his head and coming to help Steve, despite his better judgment, "Joe is awake and insists that he needs to speak to you. He says it's important."

Steve nodded, gritting his teeth against a wave of pain that radiated from his back.

Chin studied him for a moment then disappeared into the hallway.

Catherine placed a cool hand on the back of Steve's neck, and pressed her forehead to his.

"Steve, what can I do?" she whispered. "Do you want me to go join the teams, start looking?"

"I need you with Five-O," he said. "Catherine, I need you with me. Do you want me to call the governor? Or will your CO approve it?"

"I've been given discretion to do what seems in the best interest of finding WoFat," Catherine said. "Since we can assume WoFat is still tracking Riley, then finding Riley falls within my orders. And Five-O has a better chance of finding Riley than Naval Intelligence, it would appear."

Steve nodded. "Look, if everything goes sideways . . . pull what strings you can, Catherine, and call my SEAL team, okay? Call my guys."

Catherine nodded, and then turned as Danny returned, accompanied by the nurse.

"Your armor, m'lord," Danny said, handing over Steve's go-bag.

The nurse smiled, and raised her hand, holding a fistful of papers, a pharmacy bag, and a syringe. "And a few talismans against the evil pain," she added. "It's obvious we aren't going to keep you here, Commander, so let's make you as comfortable as we can, shall we?"

"I need to be able to focus," Steve protested.

"I understand this," the nurse assured him. "But you won't focus if you've passed out from pain and slow blood loss." She proceeded to inject Steve smartly with the syringe, in the hip opposite his bruised kidney. "This should take the edge off until the oral meds can kick in."

Steve nodded in thanks and grabbed his bag, wincing and moving stiffly into the bathroom to dress.

The nurse turned to Danny and Catherine. "Okay, which of you is more likely to be able to convince the Commander to keep up with pain meds and antibiotics outside this room?"

Danny pointed to Catherine. "She has wiles. I have no wiles. Also, she outranks me."

Catherine rolled her eyes, but accepted the instructions and the pharmacy bag from the nurse.

"Okay, that's everything but the discharge paper," the nurse said. "It would appear that Detective Williams is the medical proxy," she added, raising an eyebrow as she handed the clipboard to Danny to sign.

"It's complicated," Danny said.

"I'm active Navy; I'm not usually available in person," Catherine added.

"Hey, DADT was repealed," the nurse said, holding up her hands. "Good luck with him. And with finding his sister. I hope it all works out." She gathered the paperwork and closed the door gently behind her.

Steve came out of the bathroom, looking pale but determined.

"Okay, we go see what Joe wants, and then we start back at the scene. I want all the phones . . . I want to know why Fielding knew what was coming, I want to know if our phones were being tracked or if they -" his voice broke, and he cleared his throat, "they were just tracking Riley."

Catherine held out a few tablets on her palm, and a bottle of water. "Take these now. With any luck, they'll kick in before the shot wears off. It's non-negotiable, sailor. You only get my cooperation with this mission if I get your cooperation with mine."

Steve huffed but obediently tossed back the pills with a gulp of water.

"Can we go talk to Joe now?" he asked, barely restraining his impatience.

#*#*#*#*#

Garrison nodded in satisfaction at the stream of data coming across the screen. "She's actively suppressing now," he said, holding the tablet out for Doris to see. "Brain activity is stabilizing. You should be able to have some sort of meaningful interrogation with her now."

Doris nodded and pushed the door open into Riley's room; a file folder tucked under her arm.

"Darling, how are you feeling?" she asked. Sweet.

Riley looked at her steadily. "I'm feeling as if I'm restrained with leather cuffs to a bed."

Doris sat down next to her, and patted her hand. "RIley, what do you remember about the last few weeks?" She pulled out a photo of Charlie Fong, wearing an HPD windbreaker, and held it up to Riley. "Do you remember this man?"

Riley looked at the photo, her heart rate increasing as her anxiety level soared. She did recognize the picture . . . she associated it with pain, and confusion, and -

"I shot him," she gasped. "I shot him . . . he was law enforcement?"

"Yes, darling," Doris said sadly. "He was trying to help you; he was undercover, of course, you didn't know . . . but you were confused, and injured, and you shot him."

"Is he okay?" Riley asked, her voice filled with dread.

"Riley . . . let's try to see what else you remember. You have a terrible concussion, and you've been through a traumatic ordeal," Doris said.

"No," Riley insisted, "tell me about him."

"He's dead, Riley," Doris said. "They tried but . . . you don't miss. You're a very good shot. Do you remember that?"

Riley's eyes filled with tears, and some of the pain that she had so doggedly pressed out of her mind seeped back. "I didn't . . . I killed him?"

"Yes, Riley," Doris said, "and that's why you're restrained. You're so confused . . . until we know that you're understanding reality, this is really safer for everyone. Now, what do you remember? Think about the university . . . yes, I know that you were at the University of Tokyo. Tell me about it; tell me what happened when you . . . left."

"I -" Riley broke off, looking up at Doris in surprise. Where she knew there should be memories, there was mostly pain; flashes of memory, remnants of voices. Strong hands. Warm blue eyes. A word . . . ohana. She closed her eyes and pulled against her restraints.

You're stronger and smarter . . .

"I don't remember," she said quietly, her eyes still closed tightly.

Doris smiled, then carefully schooled her features. "Riley," she said, "let me try to explain it to you. Open your eyes, darling."

Riley reluctantly opened her eyes, squinting against the bright overhead lights.

"Do you need something for the pain?" Doris offered.

Riley shook her head stubbornly. "I need to know what's going on."

Doris sighed and pulled out another photo from the folder. She held it up for Riley.

"Do you remember this man?" she asked, watching Riley carefully for a reaction.

"Agent Pierce . . . no, Joe White," Riley said. "He said he was Agent Pierce. He said he was WITSEC and that you had gone into hiding because of one of your stories."

"Yes, yes, darling, that's true," Doris said, nodding. "I'm sorry; we thought it best for him to not use his real name, for your safety. But the rest is true; he was with WITSEC. I had exposed a Yakuza crime ring, researching one of my stories. We were just trying to keep you safe." She pulled out another picture. "What about this man?"

Riley smiled in spite of herself. "Frank," she said.

"Yes, that's right," Doris said. This was going well so far. "Joe took you to Frank's. Do you remember what you did there?"

"Joe taught me stuff," Riley said, looking at Doris cautiously.

"We wanted to prepare you to look out for yourself," Doris said, "in the event that I couldn't be reunited with you. You took to it quite naturally."

You're stronger, and smarter . . .

Doris tilted her head, as if she were considering something. "Riley," she said, hesitating, "I need to show you another picture. Is that okay?"

Riley shrugged, as best as she could in the restraints, and nodded.

Doris pulled out a picture of WoFat, and held it up. No conditioning or tampering had been attempted in connection with WoFat's picture; none was necessary.

Riley recoiled from the picture, and drew in a sharp breath of pain as her concentration slipped, and memory of her interaction with WoFat filled her mind.

"No," she whispered. "Please . . . please . . . I don't want . . . "

Doris made sympathetic noises but didn't put the picture away. "I'm sorry, darling, but you need to remember. Do you know who this man is? How do you know him?"

"He . . . there was . . . he hurt me; I think . . . more than once-" Riley broke off, a broken sob escaping her. "His name is WoFat . . . I'm not sure how I know that, but he wanted . . . he wanted to know about Shelburne and . . . people came, and took me away from him, Frank, and Joe . . . "

Doris finally put the picture away. "Riley, what about Joe?"

"Joe . . . there was a fight . . . " Riley shook her head. Her memory felt distorted, fractured.

"Yes, you put up a great fight, Riley, but you were outnumbered and Joe . . . I'm so sorry, Riley, but Joe betrayed us. He arranged for WoFat to take you; he tried to make it look like an ambush, but it wasn't. I'm sorry," Doris said, shaking her head sadly.

"How . . . I don't understand," Riley said.

Doris sighed and pulled out another picture. Her eyes flicked up to the one-way mirror, where she knew Garrison still watched. She held it out toward Riley and watched closely for her response.

She wasn't disappointed. Riley's eyes widened in horror, and she scrambled ineffectively, pushing herself back on the small, hard bed.

"No!" she cried. "I can't . . . please," she gasped, pain overwhelming her. "I don't understand."

Doris casually put the picture of Steve back on top of the folder, but kept it within Riley's line of sight. "Riley, this is WoFat's right hand man. He carries out WoFat's orders; he does WoFat's dirty work for him, sometimes."

Riley shook her head. "No, it's not right . . . something isn't right. There's . . . no, I know him. I remember . . ." Through the swirl of pain and confusion, she heard the voice again. A memory, she was sure of it, not her imagination.

You're stronger, and smarter . . . no matter what, trust me . . .

"No," Riley insisted, "he's not . . . "

"Oh, Riley, darling," Doris said gently. "It's not unusual. This happens. It's called Stockholm Syndrome. When people are taken and . . . mistreated; sometimes the mind, in order to protect itself, will fabricate an elaborate alternate reality. We believe that's what happened with you; that's why you're so confused."

Riley shook her head stubbornly.

"Riley, do you know how long you were missing?" Doris asked.

Riley looked at her in confusion. She couldn't seem to grasp a sense of the passage of time and space.

"You were with WoFat for six weeks," Doris said quietly. "Six weeks, Riley . . . you have no idea . . . it was as if you'd disappeared off the face of the earth. I called on WITSEC and they found you, in Hawaii. They put together a joint team with Honolulu Police Department and went after you. But you were so confused . . . you fought the WITSEC team and that's when . . . "

"That's when I . . . killed the officer?" Riley whispered. "I don't . . . I don't remember . . . "

Dead, but not dead - the flash of memory was accompanied by a stabbing pain.

"Shh," Doris soothed, "The important thing is, you're safe now. He can't hurt you again."

"He didn't -" Riley protested weakly.

Doris held up the picture again. "Riley," she said, sternly. "You need to let go of this delusion. This man held you captive, along with WoFat, for weeks. He . . . Riley, you have bruised ribs, your collarbone is fractured, you have bruises that go bone-deep . . . darling, he did this to you. It was too much; your mind couldn't accept the torture, and you created some sort of reality to protect yourself. So much so, that when your rescuers came, you . . . you attacked and killed one of them before you could be restrained."

Dead not dead . . . a memory . . . trust me . . . a voice, and an image of strong hands. Warm blue eyes. Sunshine. Ohana.

Riley turned her head away from Doris. "I don't believe you. Please go away," she whispered.

Doris glanced at the mirror. "Riley," she said, making her voice as motherly as possible. "Why, darling . . . my darling girl, what possible reason would I have to lie to you?"

Riley turned her head, fixing Doris with flashing eyes, and Doris dropped her file, pictures scattering on the ground. "I don't know . . . mother . . . " she said, her voice strangely and suddenly strong. "What possible reason would you have had to lie to me my whole life? Why should I believe you now?"

Doris regrouped as best as she could, and carefully schooled her features into a mask of sympathy and sad fondness. "Oh, Riley, I know, it's all so confusing . . . but everything I've ever done was to protect you."

"It didn't work," Riley said, gritting her teeth as her concentration and control faltered, allowing the pain from her injuries to overwhelm her. "Please, just go away . . . "

Doris gathered up the file and photos and stalked from the room, closing the door behind her. She glared at Garrison.

"It. Isn't. Working," she hissed.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Garrison said. "This is the best that technology can offer. You've always known that the girl herself would be the wild card. You were the one who wanted her left with McGarrett, in order to collect the data. Science can explain many things but the bond between siblings . . . "

"Damn Joe White and his interference," Doris seethed. "If he hadn't tried to squirrel her away, tried to manipulate and play both sides . . . WoFat never would have grabbed her and the Five-O team never would have gotten their hands on her."

"We can't rewrite history," Garrison said. "What do you want me to do now?"

Doris thought for a moment, tapping her folder against her hand. "Benzodiazepines. Induce complete amnesia, if we need to. If we can't convince her of our version of the story, we'll just have to wipe the slate clean. Then she'll have no choice but to accept what we tell her."

Within moments, the young technician with the soft voice entered the room. She kept her face turned away from the mirror as she slid a needle into Riley's vein.

"Hang on to whatever you can," she whispered, her lips safely hidden behind the surgical mask. She slipped her hand into Riley's, and held on until Riley's eyes slid shut.

#*#*#*#*#

Joe looked up as Steve, Danny, and Catherine entered his room.

"Oh, Joe . . ." Catherine said softly, taking in his battered appearance.

"I've been worse, Lieutenant," Joe said, smiling wanly at her. "Steve, you okay, son?"

"Bruised kidney," Steve said. "Joe, they have hours and hours on us. Intel teams have come up empty. Please, tell me you have something for me; some idea of where Do- my moth-" he stumbled over the words. "Tell me you have some idea of where Shelburne would be. Please, Joe? You've got to have some idea."

Joe nodded. "How badly is Jerry injured? How bad was their vehicle hit?"

"Pretty bad," Danny said quietly. "Although Jerry's injuries . . . it looks like he may have been able to shield Riley somewhat."

Joe nodded. "He's a good man. Probably underestimated and underappreciated. Fielding?"

"Sacrificed himself to take out the clean-up team," Steve answered. "We owe him our lives."

Joe was silent for a moment. "They wouldn't be able to travel terribly far. Riley is surely injured; they have to have a massive amount of computer and medical equipment to contend with. My guess is she's still on the island; at most, maybe on MolokaŹ»i."

Steve allowed himself a sigh of relief. "What am I looking for?"

"Heat signatures; a higher than expected consumption of electricity for the size of the facility," Joe said. "Delivery of medical or computer equipment. We can hope that we've at least kept them scrambling enough to make some sort of mistake."

"Thanks, Joe," Steve said, turning to leave the room.

"Steve," Joe said. "As much as I hope that information helps you, that's not why I asked to speak to you."

Steve turned back slowly.

"Could you give us a minute?" Joe asked, looking at Danny and Catherine.

"No," Steve said decisively. "We don't do secrets, Joe. Whatever you need to say, you say to all of us."

Joe took a deep breath. "Steve, I believe you're going to find Riley. I can't accept any other alternative. But when you do . . . I promised you that if you gave me a second chance, I wouldn't lie to you. And I need to tell you something, now, before you . . . before you possibly stumble upon it."

"I'm listening, Joe," Steve said, prompting the older man as he went silent for a moment.

"Steve, you tested Riley's DNA against yours," Joe said.

"Yeah, and it proved with almost complete certainty that we are full siblings," Steve confirmed.

"Yes," Joe said. "But Steve . . . did you compare your DNA, and Riley's, against a DNA sample of your father? Of your mother?"

"I - " Steve stopped, looked at Joe in disbelief. "Well, no, Joe, seeing as how my father is dead and my mother is currently unavailable, I didn't. What are you saying?"

"I don't know anything with any degree of certainty, Steve," Joe said. "But I think . . . if you just think about it a minute. You and Riley. And then Mary. Just - I think there are questions, Steve, and I don't know the answers. I swear, I don't know anything with any certainty. But I couldn't . . . I can't not say something, and then if you find something, when you find Riley . . . if you thought I knew something, and had withheld it from you . . . it would destroy whatever trust and respect I had managed to earn back."

Steve stared at him, swaying a bit on his feet.

"Steady there, partner," Danny murmured, putting a strong hand on Steve's bicep.

"Joe," Steve said, his voice hoarse. "Are you saying . . . whose DNA should we cross-match?

"Well, son," Joe said quietly. "Mine, for starters."