"I will," I said, and then hung up to go meet the one person I was absolutely sure would never have my back.

I opened the phone back up, and called Paulina Cole.

18.

The diner smelled the same as I remembered it. Diners never changed, but I had a history with this one.

Fried onions, eggs, hash browns, stale coffee. Today was only the second time I'd ever set foot in here, and once again my only companion would be Paulina Cole.

I wasn't a big fan of diner food in general, with the exception of Sunday mornings when a late breakfast consisting of a mushroom-and-Swiss omelet with a cup of hot coffee was better than a Swedish ma.s.sage.

Meeting Paulina was pretty much the opposite of all of that.

Paulina Cole was waiting for me in a back booth, a half-empty cup of coffee in front of her. There was no food, no condiments, just the coffee. She was wearing a flannel shirt over a tank top, her hair done back in a bun.

Her eyes, a fierce green that normally seemed to ache for you to put up a fight, were subdued. She wore a minimum of makeup, no perfume that I could smell. This was unlike Paulina, whose switch seemed to be permanently set to "on."

"Thank you for coming," she said as I sat down. I nodded, unsure of how to feel.

129.

"The last time I was this close to you," I said, "I was ready to hurl you in front of a speeding bus."

"Understandable," she replied.

"You tried to ruin his life," I said. "Jack O'Donnell has done more for this city and for this industry than you ever will. And you try to throw it all away for what? To sell a few extra copies? To put a big old smile on Ted Allen's face?"

"Henry," Paulina said.

"Don't try and justify it to me," I said. "You're a coward."

"If I was a coward," Paulina said, her voice taking on a metallic edge, cold and lifeless, "I would have hidden a drinking problem for years. I would have mortgaged the futures of my coworkers and my employer by reporting with enough liquor in me to inebriate all of Green Bay. I wasn't the coward, Henry. Jack was. If I'm the coward for telling the truth about Jack, you have a pretty warped view of what it means to be a reporter."

"Jack wasn't news," I said, gritting my teeth. "Millions of people are losing their livelihoods. So what gets plastered on your front page? An old man and his drinking problem."

Paulina laughed, and I felt anger rising within me.

"Jack is news, Henry, and it's time you realized that.

Maybe right now he's a broken-down old man, but he still has a name. A reputation. And a man with that kind of reputation is beholden to the public. You just don't get it, Henry. And you'd better soon, because even if Jack is back he won't be around for much longer. And Harvey Hillerman's paper is going to need someone else to step up and be the next golden calf. And if it isn't you, like Wallace hopes it will be, then they might as well declare bankruptcy and use their papers for a grade school art cla.s.s."

"You called me, and you're lucky I'm here at all. So 130.

if you want to throw mud, I'll get up and leave. I'll need a shower after this anyway."

"If you had any intention of leaving without hearing what I had to say," Paulina said, "you wouldn't have come in the first place."

I sat there, staring at her, willing my body to stand up and walk right out of the diner. But after what happened to Brett Kaiser, after the murder of my brother, I needed something I could control, something I could follow through to the end.

"Talk," I said. "Why did you call me?"

Paulina sat back and took a long drink of her coffee.

I wondered if she'd had more than one in the time it took for me to get there. Then she looked at me and said, matter-of-factly, "A few days ago, I was kidnapped."

My jaw dropped. "Wait...what? What do you mean, kidnapped?"

"Well, not kidnapped in the usual sense. It's not like there was a ransom note and the whole thing lasted about an hour in total. Somebody posing as my driver took me to Queens and..." I heard a slight choking noise come from Paulina's throat. I wondered if she was faking this, doing something to get me to sympathize with her, but deep down I knew it was real. Paulina Cole was never one to let anyone see her bleed, and the only thing worse than that would be to pretend. She wouldn't allow herself to be seen that way.

And I knew whatever had happened to her a few days ago must have scarred her deeply. "He threatened someone I care about very much. And I believed him. I still do."

"He just threatened you and left?" I said. "Did he hurt you?"

Paulina hesitated for the briefest moment before saying, "No."

I didn't want to press. But I knew she was lying.

131.

"Not me," she said. "He threatened to hurt someone close to me."

"You have someone close to you?" I smiled at the dig, but she did not. And for whatever reason, I felt somewhat guilty for it. "I'm sorry. Go on."

"My daughter," she continued. "He threatened to hurt my daughter."

"I'm sorry," I said, feeling an odd combination of guilt for making light of the situation, and surprise that Paulina had a daughter. In our brief time working next to each other, she never had any pictures. Never talked about her.

"That's okay. I didn't ask you here to sympathize with me."

"Good thing for both of us."

"I asked you here because I want to find the guy who did it."

I sat there, watching her. "And?" I said.

"And I need your help."

I laughed. "You need my help? What can I do that you can't?"

"You have friends," Paulina said. "Friends that I don't have."

"You're talking about cops," I said. She nodded. "It doesn't matter if they like you or not, this is a criminal matter and they'll investigate..."

"I can't go to them," Paulina said. "I can't go to the cops."

"Why not?"

"He told me if I did, he would know."

"You think he has an informant in the department?"

"I have to a.s.sume he does."

"How do you know he was telling the truth?" I said.

"Because if I a.s.sume the other side, and I'm wrong, my daughter is dead."

132.

"Dead... You say he threatened to hurt her, not..."

"I was being kind. Maybe to myself, because I didn't want to think about it. But yes, he threatened to kill her."

I sat there in silence. Paulina was staring at me, a curious look on her face.

"What?" I said.

"I bet there's a part of you that's a little happy about this. You feel like I had it coming."

"I'm not like you," I said. "I don't take joy in the miseries of others."

Paulina smiled, a mischievous grin. That was the Paulina Cole I remembered. The one who pushed your b.u.t.tons until they bled.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you," I said. "You and I, we'll never be friends, but I wouldn't wish that kind of thing on anyone. Not even you, whether you want to believe me or not."

"You know," she said with an odd smile, "I actually do believe you."

"Well, that's peachy. But I still don't know why I'm the right person for this."

"My daughter is closer to your age than mine. You have access to the cops, and you know the world she lives in better than me. You could figure out how someone got a photograph of her."

"What do you mean?"

"My daughter, Abigail. The man showed me a photograph that my daughter said came from a set she posted online. Only this particular photo was never posted, the only one from the set that wasn't available online. This one was private, yet somebody got it."

"What's the photo of?"

Paulina shifted in her seat. She looked uncomfortable.

133.

"It's a recent photo. Taken within the last year. Abigail wearing a pink bikini, and she's standing in front of a big hole on the beach. And she's smiling."

I took out a notepad and wrote it all down. I tried not to look at Paulina. This couldn't be easy for her.

"Don't worry," I said. "n.o.body sees this but me."

Paulina nodded, but it was clear this was as enjoyable for her as an endoscopy.

"Do you know how to use Mys.p.a.ce? Facebook?

Whatever the h.e.l.l else people do to exploit themselves these days?"

"I have accounts," I said, "but I really don't use them.

I had a cyberstalker once and...long story, but let's just say my girlfriend won't let me go to Staten Island anymore. Go on."

"Well, if you know how to log on you've got a leg up on me. Between that and your access to the cops, you can get information. There's bound to be a news story in this. And even though I'm still p.i.s.sed about the last time you boned me over on a scoop, if you come up with a trail that leads to something printable...it's yours. And I think you're the only person I could trust to keep it a secret."

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered."

"You need to find out who the man is who got the photo," she said.

"And who he could have gotten it from."

"That's right."

"And what makes you think there's a story in this?" I asked. "Beyond what this guy did to you. How do you know he wasn't some random nutjob?"

"Because he asked me to do a favor for him, too," she said. "And this favor wasn't exactly the kind of thing that 134.

a nutjob asks of you. It was something planned. It's part of a much bigger plan."

"A plan?" I said. "What did he ask you to do?"

"It's not important," she said. "Well, it is, but important enough that I'm only going to trust you with so much."

"Are you going to do it?" I asked.

Paulina met my eyes. "You'll know in a few days."

"I a.s.sume that means you're no longer taking any personal time and that your column will be back shortly."

"Safe a.s.sumption, Sherlock."

"You're a real charmer, Paulina. You know that, right?"

"Listen, Parker. There's a story here. Trust me on this.

That's all I can say. And that's the trade-off. You find this man, you get to follow the trail to wherever it leads. We both come out ahead. And I promise you, this trail will lead somewhere."

I nodded, thought about it. If this man who kidnapped Paulina did have a photo of her daughter and did go so far as to pose as her driver, it meant the crime was planned out well in advance, weeks if not months. n.o.body went through that kind of trouble unless the ends justified the means.