31.

I stood in the middle of Rockefeller Center with my hands in my pockets, watching people go about their day.

The sun was bright and there was just a wisp of breeze.

A tour group pa.s.sed us by, clinking and clanking as the binoculars and cameras jangled about their necks.

There were lots of tour groups always walking about this area, and they would often look at me in my work clothes like I was some sort of alien species. These people didn't seem to believe that anyone actually lived or worked in Manhattan, that we all just bused in day after day and wandered about starstruck, wondering when we might run into Derek Jeter or Sarah Jessica Parker on the street.

I think they believed only celebrities and homeless people lived in the city.

I watched the corner of Fifty-first Street, knowing that's the direction she'd be coming from. Paulina wasn't too keen on meeting me up by the Gazette, Gazette, partly because partly because she didn't like to move for anybody and partly because when she left the paper she was thought of just about as fondly as Mussolini.

"Parker?" Paulina Cole said. She had just rounded the corner and was staring at me like I'd just thrown a pie at 235.

her from across a crowded room. She was wearing black leather boots and a knee-length skirt. Her hair was recently done, and I hated to admit it but she looked pretty good. "You'd better have a d.a.m.n good reason for calling me up to the Hard Rock Cafe."

I'd heard Paulina refer to Rockefeller Center by that moniker before. And she didn't mean it as a compliment.

To her, this neighborhood was a tourist mecca, drastically overpriced, and as close to real New York as the Hard Rock was to being the real Arnold Schwarzenegger. "I expense my cell phone bill and cab rides, and if you keep calling me I'll have some explaining to do when the finance department reviews it."

"Nice to talk to you, too, Paulina," I said. "Thanks for coming."

"Don't thank me. I came because you said you had more information about my daughter."

"Yeah...you might want to sit down."

"What, you think whatever you have to tell me is going to make me suddenly pa.s.s out in your arms or something?

Get over yourself, Henry. Nothing surprises me anymore."

"Well, I don't want to tell you what to do. But there is news."

"Did you find the man?" Paulina said. She said it like she'd expected us to do so all along. There was no appreciation in her voice. Whatever, that wasn't quite her style.

"No. But we know where the photo came from. The one of your daughter at the beach."

"How did you find it? Where did it come from?"

"Well, I'll let the person who figured it out tell you all about it. Hey, Jack."

Paulina whipped around to see Jack O'Donnell standing right behind her. He had a ma.s.sive smile on his face, 236.

and he was standing close enough to her that he could almost tickle her nose with his beard.

"Hey, Cole," Jack said. "Long time. How's the exhusband and your kid?"

"You've got to be kidding me."

The surprise in Paulina's voice proved that Jack O'Donnell was the last person she expected--and wanted--to see.

The reporter stood there, looking like she wanted to kill Jack, kill me, then tear our bodies to pieces.

Instead she merely said, "You've got to be f.u.c.king kidding me."

"I am neither kidding nor f.u.c.king you," Jack said.

"But I am going to help you."

Paulina's face contorted, as she sneered at Jack. I stood there wondering if this was a good idea. But Jack insisted that this meeting take place. He said it wasn't a vendetta, and it wasn't because he needed to get even with the woman who nearly ruined his career. He said it was because it was the right thing to do.

"What the h.e.l.l do you want, you dried-up old mummy?"

I wondered if Jack still felt like it was the right thing to do.

"You know the old saying, people only call you names if they really care about you? Well, between your sweet nothings and that big kiss of an article you wrote about me, I'm willing to bet most New York psychiatrists would testify that you're head over heels in love with me."

"What the h.e.l.l is this, O'Donnell? Parker, you'd better have a reason for this that goes well beyond morbid curiosity."

"Jack asked me to set this up," I said. I didn't have to worry about throwing Jack under the bus here; he told me 237.

he wanted it fully known that this was his decision. "But I knew you'd want to hear what he has to say."

"I only want to hear one of two things come out of your mouth," Paulina said. "One, that you know who threatened my daughter. Or two, you're leaving this business and wanted to thank me for showing this city what a washed-up, drunk old hack you really are."

I saw Jack flinch at that, but he stood his ground. Paulina was staring daggers into Jack's eyes, but he didn't waver.

"I can't say either of those," Jack said.

"Then why the h.e.l.l am I here? Serves me right for trusting you, Parker."

"You trusted me for a reason," I said. "Now hear him out."

Paulina looked at Jack, shook her head. "I'm surprised you had the b.a.l.l.s to poke your head out from whatever rock you've been under the last few months."

"b.a.l.l.s have never been my problem," Jack said. "It's knowing when to think with my head instead of my b.a.l.l.s that's gotten me into trouble."

Had Jack been thirty years younger, I could see these two having the best enemy s.e.x in history.

"Seems like that's a problem a lot of male journalists have. Even Henry here. Right, Parker? No reporter's had his life threatened more times in a few years than your protege, Jack. These b.a.l.l.s? How would you feel if one day Henry gets too close to the fire and gets burned to a crisp?"

"Shut the h.e.l.l up," I said. Paulina smiled.

"There are those b.a.l.l.s I talked about," she said. "You're a reporter, Henry, not a soldier. You're not supposed to have emotion or take sides. And you're not supposed to come this close to getting yourself killed on every story you report."

238.

"I do what I need to in order to get to the truth," I said.

"You don't seem to care much about the truth in the story I wrote about Jack," she said. "You might hate me for it, but every word in that was true. And you don't judge him the way you're judging me right now."

"You see, that's where you and I aren't alike," I said.

"I don't look at life as one big story to report. There's a big difference between blood and ink. It's a shame you never learned that."

"Enough of this c.r.a.p," Jack said. "Do you want to hear what we found or not?"

"Fine," Paulina said, folding her arms across her chest.

I could tell this was a practiced look, sternness crossed with just a hint of pouty s.e.xuality. She was used to pressing just hard enough to elicit a reaction, but not hard enough to drive people away. Jack had information she needed, but she wouldn't stay quiet without letting him know what she thought. And it was then that I realized Paulina didn't write that article just to get publicity, she did it because she truly loathed Jack.

"Does a girl named Pamela Ruffalo ring a bell?" Jack said.

Paulina didn't give any indication that she recognized the name. "No. Who the h.e.l.l is that?"

"She's a student at Smith College," Jack said. "A junior, I believe, according to her Facebook page."

As Jack spoke, I could see the blank look on Paulina's face changing. She recognized the name from somewhere.

"What does Pam have to do with any of this?" she said in an argumentative tone, hoping Jack would answer her in a way that would vindicate Pam. Not only did Paulina know Pam Ruffalo, but for some reason whatever Jack was going to say was going to hit her--hard.

239.

"A few months ago, Pam Ruffalo began posting to a personal blog. She talked about a lot of things on the site, one of which was her relationship with her new girlfriend. A girl named Abigail Cole."

Paulina watched, and I could have sworn she didn't blink for a minute straight.

"Keep talking," she said.

"She posted a lot of photos on the site. But she never posted any photos like the one you described the blond man having that night."

"So if she didn't post those photos," Paulina said, "why do you think she was involved?"

"Pam shut the blog down, according to records, just a few days after you were abducted. In the days leading up to the cancellation, there was nothing to suggest that there was anything wrong in her life. Did you ever tell your daughter what happened to you?" Jack said.

I was surprised, looking at Jack, to see a hint of sympathy in his face. He had no love for Paulina Cole as a reporter, but considering her as a human and a mother outweighed that.

"Yes," she said. "A few days after it happened. I went up to Smith and told her about it. Only to keep her safe."

"Do you think it's fair to a.s.sume," Jack said, "that Abigail told her girlfriend what you told her? That she told Pam?"

Paulina stood there, then wiped at her eyes which were reddening. For some reason I felt ashamed watching this.

"It's possible," Paulina said. Jack nodded slowly.

"Henry was able to log on to Facebook and contact a few of Abigail's friends. Through them, he found the photos you referred to, the beach shots. They were taken by a girl named Samantha Isringhausen, who then uploaded them to her account."

240.

"I called Samantha," I said, "in her dorm room. When I asked her about the photos, specifically the one of Abigail in front of the hole, she told me that when Pam saw it she immediately asked for the only copy. She loved that picture so much that she never wanted it to be seen by anyone other than her. Samantha agreed, and said after sending the file to Pamela and uploading the rest, she deleted them from her digital camera."

"So the only person who had that photo," Jack said, "was your daughter's girlfriend."

"Wait," Paulina said, tears starting to run freely now.

"Are you saying..."

"I'm saying that the man who attacked you that night,"

Jack said, "got the photo from Pamela Ruffalo, your daughter's girlfriend. She sold your daughter out."

32.

Paulina didn't move. Her entire upper body trembled as she looked from Jack to me and back again. Then she stared at me long and hard, without taking her eyes away.

I couldn't understand why at first, but then I realized that she trusted me more than she trusted Jack.

Paulina was hoping I would tell her that none of this was true.

Instead I walked up to Paulina, and I'll be d.a.m.ned if I know why I did this, but I took the woman's hand in mine and held it.

"It's true," I said. "We haven't spoken to Pam or Abigail yet."

"Why not?" she said.

Jack replied, "Because you're Abigail's mother. And you're a reporter, too. Because this part of the story needs to be reported by you."

"How can I..." Paulina said, trailing off. "My daughter, she'll be..."

"She'll hate you," I said, "for a while. But eventually she'll know the truth. And she'll respect you for it."

Paulina laughed bitterly. "My daughter hasn't respected me in a long time."

242.

"Well, if she doesn't respect you," I said, "she'll sure as h.e.l.l love you for it."

"What about you two? What happens next?"

Jack said, "We'll be waiting for your call. Your promise to Henry still stands. We did our part and will continue to."