Rafael Barba sat in his Manhattan apartment, a book open in his hands. The evening was quiet, just the way he liked it. Books occupied nearly every available shelf, with a few stacked on the end table beside his favorite chair.
He lived on the bottom level. His apartment was a stylish bachelor pad, although you wouldn't know it from the state of the place. Random, mismatched, dirty dishes piled up in the sink of a splendid kitchen that was completely neglected because the man was never home. Clothes, books, and old work files sat on his leather furniture.
For once, there were no clients calling, no legal briefs demanding his attention, and no one asking him to explain why the justice system seemed determined to make his job more difficult than it needed to be.
He turned a page, settling deeper into his chair.
Outside, New York City carried on as usual. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance, horns blared from the street, and the neighbors went about their lives behind closed doors.
Rafael barely noticed any of it.
He had a book, a quiet evening, and absolutely no intention of getting involved in anyone else's problems.
At least, not tonight.
At about seven-thirty, he suddenly heard a commotion outside. Rolling his eyes and sighing, he looked out of his window.
A frazzled-looking woman with brown hair and blue eyes carried a dozen boxes into the apartment next door. A plump man with black, greasy hair stood nearby, watching the woman struggle while holding a beer can and barking orders.
There was also a young woman in a purple electric wheelchair with jet-black hair and hazel eyes. Her right hand clutched a sketch pad.
“That must be the new neighbors,” Rafael sighed. “I better offer to help. That guy is too busy being a sloppy drunk.”
He put down his book, rose from his chair, and headed outside. A moment later, he stepped into the cool evening air and approached the woman struggling with the boxes.
“Miss, can I help?”
The woman turned toward him, looking relieved. “Oh, thank you! That's very kind of you. We've got so much to move. I'm Sue Spear. That’s my husband, Bobby.”
Bobby just raised his beer can at Rafael.
“Charming,” Rafael thought dryly.
“Happy to help, Sue.” He reached for a box. “I'm Rafael Barba. I live next door.”
“It's nice to meet you, Rafael.”
The young woman in the purple electric wheelchair watched them from beside the doorway. She had a sketch pad still clutched in her right hand.
“H-hi. I'm P-Petra, b-but p-people c-call me P-Penny,” she said, trying to emphasize each word.
Penny had cerebral palsy, which made her speech garbled and sometimes difficult to understand. She also had a noticeable stutter. The stutter got worse any time she felt anxious.
Her father snorted. “For God's sake, Penny! Can you at least try speaking normally?”
Penny lowered her eyes, her face reddening.
“Don't start embarrassing us already,” her mother added sharply.
Rafael glanced at the couple, his expression tightening. He turned back to Penny.
“It's nice to meet you, Penny.”
She looked up at him, seeming a little surprised.
“Th-thank you,” she replied.
“Of course.”
Rafael picked up the box and carried it inside, wondering how anyone could be so unkind to their own daughter.
Rafael carried the box into the apartment and set it down near the living room wall.
“Where would you like the rest?” he asked Sue.
“Anywhere for now. We haven't had a chance to organize anything yet.” She gave him a tired smile before turning toward her daughter. “Penny, why don't you find somewhere to put your things?”
Penny glanced down at the sketch pad in her lap.
“I-I c-can—”
“Honestly, Penny, must everything take so long?” her father interrupted from the doorway. He took another drink from his beer.
“We'd be finished by now if you weren't always in the way.”
Penny fell silent.
Rafael straightened, watching the exchange. He had met the family only minutes ago, and already the father was making himself unpleasant company.
“She's hardly in the way,” Rafael remarked, picking up another box. “There's plenty of room here.”
Sue gave him a tight smile but said nothing. Instead, she turned away and began unpacking a box on the kitchen counter.
“Penny, keep that sketch pad out of the way,” her father ordered. “We don't need your mess everywhere.”
Penny held the pad closer to herself.
“I-i-it's n-n-n-not a-a m-m-mess,” she murmured.
Her father's expression hardened.
“What was that?”
Penny lowered her eyes. “N-n-nothing.”
“You'd better watch that attitude. Talk back to me again, and I'll tear that stupid sketch pad to pieces. See how much you like drawing then.”
Fighting back tears, Penny held the pad tightly against her chest and went quiet.
The sketch pad wasn't just paper and a pencil to her. It was hers. It was something she loved, something she could express herself through. Being creative was the only time she felt in control.
Rafael paused with a box in his arms. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing more. He wasn't interested in starting an argument with people he'd only just met.
Still, as he carried the box toward the kitchen, he glanced back at Penny. She sat quietly in her wheelchair, protecting her sketch pad while her parents carried on as though she weren't there.
Rafael had seen plenty of unpleasant behavior in life and in his line of work. He'd never understood the need to make someone feel small just to feel important.
He set the box down beside Sue.
“Anything else I can help with?”
“No, thank you, Rafael. You've done more than enough.”
“Glad to hear it. I was beginning to think you were going to put me to work all night.”
Sue managed a brief laugh.
For the first time since he'd arrived, Penny smiled, too.
Friday morning arrived with an unusual lack of urgency for Rafael Barba.
He had no court appearances scheduled and no pressing work demanding his attention. For once, he could enjoy a quiet morning without a legal brief waiting to ruin it. He was wearing a blue hoodie, grey sweatpants, and black house slippers.
He was halfway through his coffee when a knock sounded at his door.
Rafael set down his mug and opened it to find Sue standing outside. She looked flustered, her brown hair hastily brushed into place and her purse hanging from one shoulder.
“Good morning, Rafael. I'm sorry to bother you.”
“It's all right. Is something wrong?”
“Not exactly.” Sue glanced back toward her apartment. “I'm running late for work, and Penny's home care aide hasn't arrived yet. Her father is busy, and I can't stay much longer.”
Rafael raised an eyebrow. “And how can I help?”
Sue hesitated before answering.
“Would you mind taking Penny out to breakfast? Just until the aide gets here. There's a little café nearby. She enjoys getting out of the apartment.”
Rafael stared at her for a moment.
“Breakfast?”
“Yes. It shouldn't take too long.” Sue offered him a hopeful smile. “I'd really appreciate it.”
He barely knew Penny. They'd exchanged a few words while he helped the family move in a few days ago, but that was the extent of their acquaintance. Asking a virtual stranger to take her daughter out for breakfast struck him as an odd request.
“Wouldn't her father be able to take her?”
Sue's expression darkened briefly. “He's busy this morning.”
Of course he was.
Rafael considered refusing. He had no desire to become involved in his neighbors' family arrangements, and he certainly hadn't expected to spend his Friday morning babysitting.
Then he remembered Penny's quiet smile that evening.
“All right,” he said at last. “I'll take her to breakfast.”
Sue's shoulders relaxed with relief.
“Thank you! I'll let Penny know.”
“Just make sure she has everything she needs.”
“Of course.”
Sue hurried back into her apartment, leaving Rafael standing in his doorway with his coffee growing cold behind him.
He glanced at his watch and sighed.
So much for a quiet Friday morning.
Lena's Diner was only a few blocks from their apartment. It was a cozy little place with red tables and vinyl booths, checkered floors, and the comforting smell of fresh coffee and pancakes.
Rafael guided Penny to a table near the window before taking the seat opposite her.
“So,” he said, picking up the menu, “what's good here?”
Penny was already opening her sketch pad.
“P-pancakes,” she answered.
“Pancakes. A bold recommendation from someone who appears to have extensive experience.”
She grinned and began sketching something on the page.
Rafael glanced at her drawing. “Should I be concerned that you're drawing me?”
Penny looked up innocently.
“M-maybe.”
“Wonderful. I've been here less than five minutes, and I'm already being documented.”
Penny giggled.
A waitress approached their table.
“Good morning! What can I get you two?”
“C-chocolate c-chip pancakes!” Penny announced excitedly. Her words still came out a little garbled, but her enthusiasm was unmistakable.
“Excellent choice. Anything to drink?”
“O-orange j-juice,” Penny replied.
Rafael glanced at her. “Chocolate chip pancakes and orange juice? You're living dangerously.”
Penny gave him a mischievous look.
“Y-you're just j-jealous.”
“Jealous? Of a breakfast that could send a dentist into early retirement?”
She nodded solemnly.
“Y-yes.”
Rafael shook his head. “I'll have scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee. And I suppose I'll have to endure the sight of your chocolate-covered extravagance.”
The waitress laughed as she took their menus.
Penny returned to her sketch pad, her pencil moving quickly across the page.
“What are you drawing now?” Rafael asked.
She tilted the pad toward him. It was a caricature of a man, wearing a casual dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, slacks, and loafers. He had an exaggeratedly serious expression and a coffee cup in one hand.
Rafael stared at it.
“Is that supposed to be me?”
Penny nodded, looking delighted with herself.
“I've never looked so distinguished.”
She giggled again.
“You're s-supposed to say thank you.”
“Thank you. I'll be sure to display it prominently in my office, right next to my law degree.”
Penny beamed and went back to drawing.
As Rafael watched her, he noticed how much more talkative she was than she'd been the evening that her family moved in. She teased him without hesitation and smiled freely. Without her parents hovering over her, Penny seemed much more relaxed.
Their food arrived a few minutes later. Penny's eyes widened at the enormous stack of chocolate chip pancakes placed in front of her.
“Oh, wow,” Rafael said. “I hope you have a strategy for conquering that mountain.”
Penny picked up her fork.
“E-eat it.”
“Brilliant. Why didn't I think of that?”
She laughed and reached for her knife.
Rafael noticed her left hand struggling to steady the pancakes as she tried to cut a piece. She adjusted her grip, tried again, and frowned when the knife slipped against the plate.
He also noticed a large bruise on her wrist. It looked like a hand had grabbed her hard. His gaze lingered for a moment before he looked back at her face.
“Here,” he offered. “Would you like some help cutting those?”
Penny hesitated, looking embarrassed.
“Y-yes, p-please.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Rafael gently took the knife and fork, cut the pancakes into manageable pieces, and returned the plate to her.
“There. Breakfast rescued.”
Penny smiled at him.
“Th-thank you.”
“Anytime.”
He didn't ask about the bruise. There could be an explanation, and he wasn't in the habit of making accusations without knowing the facts. Still, the mark stayed in the back of his mind.
While Penny ate, she turned to a fresh page in her sketch pad.
Her pencil moved more slowly this time.
Rafael took a sip of coffee, glanced down at his plate, then let his attention drift back to her drawing.
A monstrous woman stood beside a bed, her face twisted into a cruel grin. Heavy chains bound a girl to the bedframe. The girl looked small and frightened beneath the looming figure.
Rafael's amusement faded.
“That's quite a change from my portrait,” he remarked. “What's the inspiration for this one?”
Penny stopped drawing.
For a moment, she stared at the page.
“It's f-f-from a-a-a m-m-movie.”
“Really? What movie?”
She hesitated, her pencil hovering over the paper.
“I-I d-d-don't r-r-remember.”
Rafael studied the drawing again. The chains, the frightened girl, the monstrous woman looming over her. It was vivid enough to make him wonder what sort of movie Penny had been watching.
But he didn't want to interrogate her over a drawing.
“Well,” he said, lifting his coffee cup, “I think I'll stick to courtroom dramas. Much less frightening.”
Penny gave a small laugh, though it wasn't quite as carefree as before.
She turned the page and returned to her pancakes.
Rafael let the subject drop. People drew all sorts of strange things, and a disturbing picture wasn't proof of anything.
Rafael watched Penny finish another bite of her pancakes before glancing at the sketch pad beside her plate.
“You certainly have a talent for drawing,” he remarked. “Have you ever thought about going to art school?”
Penny's expression brightened for a moment.
“Y-yes,” she answered sadly. “I w-wanted to.”
“Wanted to?” Rafael asked, catching the change in her tone.
She lowered her eyes to her sketch pad.
“M-mom said no.”
Rafael set down his coffee cup. “May I ask why?”
Penny hesitated, tracing the edge of the paper with her fingers.
“M-M-Mom and D-Dad s-say I'm n-not s-smart e-enough f-for c-c-ccollege.”
His eyebrows rose. “Not smart enough?”
Penny shook her head.
“M-Mom says I'd n-n-never manage it. That I s-s-should f-forget a-about a-art s-s-school.”
Rafael leaned back in the chair, his expression thoughtful. He'd met plenty of people who mistook a person's physical limitations for a lack of intelligence. It was an assumption that irritated him more than he cared to admit.
“Your parents do realize that being able to draw like that requires skill, patience, and imagination?” he asked. “Three things I suspect plenty of college students would struggle to manage.”
Penny looked up at him, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Y-you t-think s-so?”
“I do. And for the record, I've met people with college degrees who couldn't draw a straight line with a ruler.”
She giggled.
“B-but M-Mom says I c-c-can't m-make de-de-decisions f-for m-myself.”
“Penny, you're twenty-one.”
“I-I k-know.”
“Then why is she making them for you?”
Penny's smile faded. She glanced toward the diner window, watching people pass on the sidewalk outside.
“M-Mom h-has g-g-guardianship o-over m-me,” she explained quietly. “S-she s-says it's be-because I n-need h-her t-to t-take c-c-care of m-me.”
Rafael's expression grew more serious. Guardianship was a legal matter, and he knew better than to make assumptions without understanding the circumstances. Still, something about the way Penny spoke made him uneasy.
“Does she help you make decisions,” he asked carefully, “or does she make every decision for you?”
Penny didn't answer right away.
“S-she m-makes them,” she whispered.
Rafael studied her for a moment, then nodded toward the sketch pad.
“Well, I can't tell you what to do about college,” he said. “But I can tell you that your mother's opinion isn't the final word on your talent.”
Penny looked down at her drawings again.
“E-even if s-she s-says I'm st-stupid?”
“Especially then.”
She blinked at him, surprised. She rarely heard such kind, respectful, and encouraging words.
“Intelligence isn't measured by how well someone speaks, Penny. And it certainly isn't measured by how well someone fits another person's expectations.”
For a moment, she simply stared at him. Then her lips curved into a shy smile. She felt seen and understood.
“Th-thank you, Rafael.”
He lifted his coffee cup.
“Don't thank me yet. I haven't seen your tuition bill.”
Penny laughed, and Rafael smiled faintly as he returned to his breakfast.
But his thoughts lingered on what she'd told him. Penny was twenty-one, yet her mother had convinced her she wasn't capable of making her own choices. Between that, the bruise on her wrist, and the disturbing drawing, Rafael was beginning to wonder just how much of Penny's life was controlled by cruel people who claimed to care for her.
After their first meeting at the diner, Rafael began inviting Penny to join him every Friday morning. He told himself it was a small thing, a chance to get out of the office for a couple of hours and enjoy a decent breakfast with someone who appreciated his company.
It had become something they both looked forward to. They went to the same diner, where Rafael ordered his coffee and eggs while Penny usually chose pancakes.
She always arrived at his door with her sketchbook tucked beneath her arm, and she gradually grew more comfortable talking to him. She told him about the Gothic novels she liked, the drawings she worked on in her spare time, and her dream of attending the New York Academy of Art someday.
Rafael listened. He teased her occasionally, and she discovered that beneath his polished suits and sharp tongue was a man with a surprisingly dry sense of humor and a kind heart.
But there was something else Rafael began to notice.
The first Friday, she'd had a small bruise on her wrist.
The next week, there was a faint mark across her cheek.
The Friday after that, her bottom lip was swollen and busted, and her ear was bruised, as if someone yanked it.
Each time, he'd noticed. Each time, he'd kept his observations to himself.
He didn't question her. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable, and he certainly didn't want her to feel as though she had to account for every mark on her body.
Still, he noticed.
He noticed the way she sometimes flinched when someone dropped a plate nearby. He noticed how quickly her smile disappeared whenever his phone rang. He noticed how she'd glance at the diner entrance before answering a question about her home life.
He continued their breakfasts, listened to her stories, and admired her drawings.
But he remembered these unsettling details and filed them away in the back of his mind.
During the week, while riding in his Uber to work, Rafael often caught sight of a newer, smaller building in his peripheral vision. The building had bold, golden lettering that read: ADAM ZEAL'S PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS.
He didn't give it much thought. He was usually too busy talking on the phone or writing notes. After all, he didn't think he needed a private investigator.
…Until that Friday morning in October.
Rafael was seated at a table near the window when Penny's mother dropped her off. Apparently, Penny had overslept.
Penny maneuvered her wheelchair into position across from him, her bag resting in her lap.
“Good morning, Penny.”
“G-g-good m-morning, R-R-Rafael.”
He looked up from his newspaper.
And paused.
She was wearing sunglasses.
Inside the diner.
Rafael slowly lowered his newspaper.
“Expecting particularly aggressive sunshine today?”
Penny gave a nervous little laugh.
“S-s-something l-l-like that.”
She reached into her bag and pulled out her sketchbook, keeping her face angled away from him.
Rafael watched her for a moment. Something felt wrong, although he couldn't yet put his finger on it.
“Have you been working on anything new?”
“Y-yes.” She opened the sketchbook. “I d-d-drew a h-haunted h-house.”
“Another one?”
She smiled faintly. “Y-you l-l-like them.”
“I do. I'm beginning to suspect you're planning to murder me in one.”
Penny giggled.
“M-maybe.”
“There it is. I knew I shouldn't have encouraged your artistic ambitions.”
She laughed again, and Rafael tried to relax.
Then the waitress arrived with their menus.
Penny startled at the sudden approach, nearly jumping out of her skin, and her hand tightened around the edge of her sketchbook.
Rafael's amusement faded.
He'd seen her nervous before. He'd seen the bruises, too, and the way she'd quietly changed the subject whenever he asked about her week.
But something about her behavior that morning unsettled him more than usual.
“Penny, are you feeling all right?”
“I'm f-f-f-fine.”
The answer came too quickly, and her stutter was more prominent this morning.
Rafael studied her face, his gaze lingering on the sunglasses.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded and began examining the menu.
He let the matter drop, at least outwardly. He ordered his breakfast, and Penny asked for pancakes. They tried to carry on as usual, discussing a drawing she'd been working on and whether the haunted house ought to have a graveyard.
But Rafael found himself paying less attention to the conversation, and more attention to the way Penny kept her head lowered.
Finally, when the waitress had walked away, he spoke again.
“Penny?”
She stopped tracing the edge of her sketchbook.
“Y-y-yes?”
“Why are you still wearing sunglasses?”
Her shoulders stiffened.
“O-o-oh. I-I-I, u-u-um…”
“Can you take them off for me, please?” he asked calmly.
She hesitated, then slowly removed them.
Horrified, Rafael's breath caught.
A black eye.
Her right eye was almost swollen shut, surrounded by the darkest shade of purple he'd ever seen on a bruise. It looked like blood had pooled beneath the eye earlier, leaving the skin discolored and angry-looking.
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
He'd noticed the little bruises over the past several weeks. He'd quietly wondered about them. Trying not to jump to conclusions.
But this—
This was different.
Rafael felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach as he looked at Penny's injured face.
Suddenly, all those little marks he'd seen on previous Fridays came rushing back to him.
“What happened, Penny?” he asked, willing himself to remain calm.
“M-m-my w-w-w-wheelc-chair t-t-tipped o-over, a-and I-I-I f-f-fell out.”
Rafael went very still.
“Your wheelchair tipped over?”
She nodded.
“I-I-I f-f-fell. It's n-n-nothing.”
He wanted to ask how it had happened. He wanted to know whether she'd been hurt, whether anyone had been with her, and whether she'd received medical attention.
Most of all, he wanted her to look at him.
But he kept his voice steady.
“I'm sorry that happened. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“N-no.”
She answered without looking up.
He knew accidents could happen with wheelchairs, and he wasn't going to dismiss her explanation simply because it frightened him.
But he couldn't ignore the growing unease in his chest, either.
Besides, she always wore her seatbelt.
Over the past several Fridays, he'd noticed a new bruise or mark almost every time she'd arrived.
Now she had shown up wearing sunglasses and telling him she'd fallen from her wheelchair.
For the first time, Rafael was genuinely afraid.
Not because he knew what had happened, but because he was beginning to fear what might have happened, and he had no idea how to ask without frightening her further.
He reached for his coffee, buying himself a moment.
Her lip quivered, and her gaze lowered. She looked terrified and ashamed.
“All right,” he said quietly. “I'm glad you came to breakfast.”
Penny lifted her head a little.
“Y-y-you a-a-are?”
“Of course. Friday mornings wouldn't be nearly as interesting without your homicidal architectural designs.”
A small smile touched her lips.
Rafael returned to his newspaper, pretending to read while Penny opened her sketchbook again.
She put her sunglasses back on, but he didn't ask her to remove them again.
He didn't challenge her explanation.
As he watched her begin to draw, however, his thoughts returned to the marks he'd noticed week after week.
He'd told himself there might be innocent explanations. He'd told himself not to jump to conclusions.
Now, watching Penny hide behind those dark lenses, he could no longer quiet the fear that something was terribly wrong.
Right then, he knew he needed to help her.
But how?
He could go to Liv and the Special Victims Unit.
The problem was that he and Liv hadn't spoken since the Wheatley-Stabler argument. Their disagreement had left things strained between them, and Rafael wasn't sure he was ready to reopen that particular wound.
More importantly, he had no concrete evidence of abuse. If he approached the police without Penny's knowledge, her parents might suspect she'd told him something. If they confronted her about it, she could end up in even greater danger.
And Penny wasn't ready to admit that she was being abused.
Rafael remembered something Liv had always emphasized: victims shouldn't feel pressured into reporting their abuse before they're ready.
He understood. He respected it.
But respecting Penny's choices didn't mean he could simply sit back and do nothing while she kept showing up with new injuries.
He glanced at her again. She was carefully shading the windows of her haunted house, seemingly absorbed in her work.
Rafael picked up his coffee, his mind already turning over the possibilities.
He needed someone who could help him figure out what was happening without putting Penny at greater risk.
Someone discreet.
Someone who knew how to investigate without drawing unwanted attention.
His gaze drifted toward the window.
And he remembered the gold lettering on the little building he'd passed so many times on his way to work.
ADAM ZEAL'S PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS.
After breakfast, Rafael got an Uber to PI’s office. He stopped outside the building and glanced up at the gold lettering on the window, wondering if this was the best option. He then pushed open the door with determination and entered, Penny on his mind.
The building had been freshly painted a rich chestnut brown, the scent of new paint still faintly lingering in the air. Inside, the lighting was dim, casting soft shadows across the walls and giving the place an atmosphere somewhere between a private detective's office and an old-fashioned library.
There was no receptionist.
Rafael paused just inside the entrance, taking in his surroundings.
Framed newspaper clippings covered much of the wall. He stepped closer to examine them. Some celebrated the resolution of missing-person cases. Others featured child abductions that had ended with children safely reunited with their families. One particularly prominent headline announced the solving of a pop star's murder.
The clippings weren't displayed modestly. They were framed and arranged with obvious pride, each one a testament to a case that had been brought to a conclusion.
Rafael studied the headlines for another moment.
Whoever Adam Zeal was, he clearly wanted visitors to know he got results.
"Hello?" Rafael called.
His voice carried into the quiet office.
No answer.
He glanced down a short hallway, then back toward the reception area that apparently didn't exist.
"Mr. Zeal?"
A sound came from somewhere deeper inside the building.
Rafael straightened his jacket and waited, wondering what sort of man he was about to meet—and whether he could help Rafael find the answers he needed.
“Gimme a sec!” a deep, booming voice called out. “I’ll be right with you!”
“Should I make an appointment?” Rafael replied.
“I love walk-ins! The most interesting!”
Then Adam Zeal suddenly appeared in the hallway, nonchalantly leaning against the wall with a confident grin.
Adam was in his early thirties. He was tall and lean, his frame willowy but extremely muscular. A long black leather trench coat flowed around him, worn open over a plain white T-shirt, blue jeans, and scuffed black combat boots. Leather fingerless gloves covered his hands, adding to his eccentric look. Dark sunglasses hid his gray eyes, and Gothic tattoos covered his neck and arms. He had a brown beard with patches of gray in it. His dark brown hair was slicked back with ungodly amounts of hair gel.
Rafael wasn't entirely sure what to make of the man's appearance, but questionable fashion choices weren't his concern.
Adam pushed away from the wall and extended a gloved hand.
“Hey, the name’s Adam Zeal. Private investigator, occasional miracle worker, and apparently the only person in this building who appreciates a good walk-in.”
Rafael glanced at the offered hand before shaking it.
“Hello. Rafael Barba, defense attorney.”
“An attorney!” Adam's grin widened. “Well, this just got interesting. Should I be worried? Am I being sued? Am I about to be served with papers?”
“Neither, as far as I'm aware.”
“Shame. I was prepared to be outraged.”
Rafael gave him a measured look. “I'm looking to hire you for a private investigation.”
Adam's grin remained, but his attention sharpened.
“Now we're talking.” He gestured toward the office behind him. “Come on in, Counselor. Let's see what kind of trouble you've brought me.”
He turned and strolled into the room as though he owned every inch of it—which, Rafael presumed, he probably did.
Rafael followed him past the framed newspaper clippings and into a small office. A broad desk sat beneath a low-hanging light, its surface cluttered with folders, notepads, and a coffee mug that had seen better days.
Adam dropped into his chair and propped his boots on the edge of the desk.
“Have a seat.”
Rafael remained standing for a moment.
“Mr. Zeal, before we begin, I'd like to establish that this matter requires discretion. I expect any information I provide you to be handled professionally and confidentially.”
Adam tilted his head.
“Mr. Zeal?” He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Ouch. Adam's fine. Unless you're about to tell me I'm in trouble after all.
Rafael raised an unamused eyebrow.
Adam chuckled.
“Oh, I like you, Counselor.”
Rafael finally took the chair opposite him.
“That makes one of us.”
“Give it time.”
Adam lowered his boots to the floor. For the first time since appearing in the hallway, he seemed content to let the joking subside. He reached up and removed his sunglasses, revealing a pair of gray eyes that studied Rafael with surprising intensity. He picked up a purple ink pen and a yellow notepad.
“All right,” he said, his voice business-like. “Let's get serious. You didn't come all the way here to critique my interior decorating. What's going on?”
Rafael folded his hands in his lap, carefully choosing his words.
“There's a young disabled woman I'm concerned about. She’s my neighbor. She's twenty-one years old, and I have reason to believe she may be in an unsafe situation at home.”
Adam's expression changed almost imperceptibly.
Maybe?”
“I have observations, not proof.” Rafael paused, choosing his words carefully. “Over the past several weeks, I've noticed bruises on her. Small ones, at first. She always had an explanation or changed the subject when I asked about them.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“Today, she arrived wearing sunglasses indoors. When I asked her to remove them, I discovered a severe black eye. Her right eye was nearly swollen shut. It concerns me.”
Adam's easygoing expression faded.
“She told you what happened?”
“She claimed her wheelchair tipped over and she fell out.” Rafael's mouth tightened. “I have no way of verifying that account.”
Adam’is gray eyes fixed on Rafael. “Have you spoken to her about it?”
“Carefully. She denies that anything is wrong.”
“And you think she's afraid to tell you the truth.”
“I think it's a possibility that warrants investigation.”
“Okay, Counselor.” His voice was quieter now, his usual grin gone. “Tell me what you know about her and her home life.”
Rafael settled back in his chair.
“Her name is Petra Spear, although she goes by Penny. She's twenty-one, has cerebral palsy, and uses a wheelchair. She has a stutter. The stutter is only bad when she’s nervous. I've been meeting her for breakfast every Friday morning at Lena’s Diner.”
“Every Friday?” Adam asked. “You two have a standing date, Counselor?”
“It's breakfast, Mr. Zeal.”
“Adam. And I didn't say it was a romantic date.”
Rafael gave him a pointed look.
Adam grinned. “Go on. I'm listening.”
“Penny is an artist. She brings a sketchbook to breakfast. She can draw anything, but she loves drawing Gothic things like haunted houses, ghosts, and graveyards. She's quite talented! She's told me she dreams of attending the New York Academy of Art.”
“She has taste, and it sounds like she knows what she wants.”
“She does know what she wants. Unfortunately, her mother doesn't seem to agree.”
Adam's grin faded slightly. “Tell me about her mother.”
“Her name is Sue Spear. Penny lives with Sue and her father, Bobby Spear.”
“Both parents?”
“Yes. Bobby drinks heavily. I only met him briefly, but he’s a poor excuse for a human.”
“An alcoholic father and a mother who thinks her adult daughter can't make decisions for herself.” Adam leaned back. “That's not exactly a promising home environment.”
“No, it isn't. Sue has legal guardianship over Penny despite her being twenty-one. She's told Penny that she's not smart enough for college and doesn't seem to believe she can manage her own life.”
“Definitely not a candidate for Mother of the Year.”
“I'm not particularly impressed with her parenting skills myself.”
Adam studied his notes for a moment.
“Does Penny have anyone else? Friends, relatives, anyone she can stay with if things go south?”
“I don't know yet. She hasn't volunteered much about her personal life, and I've been reluctant to press her. I don't want her to feel that our breakfasts come with an interrogation.”
“Fair enough. But you think she's afraid of them?”
“Yes, she seems to be.”
Rafael's voice had grown quieter.
“I don't believe I can dismiss what I've seen over the several weeks.”
Adam's expression became troubled.
“Rafael, if she's being hurt at home, how long do you think before it happens again?”
“That's precisely what concerns me.” Rafael leaned forward. “I don't know whether the injuries came from an accident, her father, her mother, or someone else. But the bruises have appeared repeatedly, and this latest injury is considerably worse than the others.”
He paused.
“She depends on others for assistance, and her mother has legal authority over her affairs. If someone in that house is hurting her, Penny may have very little freedom to get away from them.”
Adam didn't interrupt.
“I'm also concerned about what happens if her parents discover she's been talking to me. She hasn't accused either of them of anything. If they suspect she's confided in me, they might retaliate, or they might prevent her from seeing me again.”
“Which means we don't go knocking on their door,” Adam said.
“Exactly. I won't risk making her situation more dangerous just because I want answers.”
Adam popped his jaw angrily. For once, there was no teasing smile to soften his expression. Penny’s story bothered him—more than Rafael realized.
“Okay. We need to find out what's happening in that house before somebody gets seriously hurt.”
“Or worse,” Rafael whispered.
He wouldn’t let his mind go there. He had seen the most depraved things people could do to each other when he was a D.A. He wouldn’t let those things happen to Penny.
But the words hung between them.
Adam glanced down at his notepad, then back at Rafael.
“Tell me what you need from me.”
“I want you to investigate the Spear household discreetly. Find out what you can about Sue and Bobby, their backgrounds, and any previous reports or incidents that might be relevant. I'd also like you to examine the circumstances of Sue's guardianship over Penny.”
“Anything else?”
“Find out whether Penny has any independent support. Friends, relatives, anyone who might be able to help her safely if necessary.”
Adam started writing faster.
“Got it. I'll start with the background checks and work from there. I won't approach the family or contact Penny without discussing it with you first.”
“Thank you.”
Rafael reached inside his jacket and took out his wallet.
“Now, what is your hourly fee? I'll cover your expenses, of course.”
Adam stared at the wallet, then at Rafael.
“Put that away.”
“Mr. Zeal, I'm quite serious.”
“So am I. I'm not taking your money.”
Rafael paused. “You do realize this is a business?”
“Last time I checked.” Adam leaned back in his chair, the familiar cocky grin returning. “And I get paid plenty for my work. This one's different.”
“Different how?”
Adam stared fiercely for a moment, as if remembering something—or someone from his past.
“Let's just say I don't like the idea of someone getting hurt while everybody else stands around waiting for enough paperwork to pile up before helping.”
Rafael slipped his wallet back into his jacket.
“I'm not suggesting we ignore the procedure.”
“Good, because I like having a job.”
“Then why refuse payment?”
Adam pointed at him.
“Because I want something else from you.”
Rafael's eyebrows rose.
“Which is?”
“You be my attorney.”
There was a brief silence.
Rafael blinked. “I'm sorry?”
“You heard me, Counselor. I do private investigations. Sometimes that means I find things people would rather keep buried. Sometimes those people have lawyers of their own, and sometimes they get creative when they don't like what I've uncovered.”
“And you want me to represent you if that happens?”
“Exactly. If this case gets messy and I find myself in a bind, I want someone who knows the law and won't panic when things get complicated.”
“You're asking me to act as your attorney in exchange for your investigative services?”
“Look at that. He understands contracts.”
Rafael gave him a dry look.
“I understand that you're proposing an arrangement with potential complications.”
“Then we'll make sure we handle it properly. You check for conflicts, we agree on the terms, and we keep the legal work separate from the investigation. If you can't represent me for some reason, we'll figure something else out.”
Rafael thought about it.
Adam was unconventional, irritatingly confident, and dressed as if he had wandered out of a Gothic rock concert. Yet beneath the theatrics, he seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation.
And he hadn't hesitated when Rafael described Penny's injuries.
“I'll consider it,” Rafael said at last. “But I make no promises until I've reviewed the arrangement.”
“Wouldn't expect anything less.”
Adam set his pen down.
“Let me ask you something, Rafael. Why you?”
The question caught Rafael off guard.
“What do you mean?”
“You're an attorney. You could've gone straight to the police, or asked someone you know to look into it. Instead, you walked into my office.” Adam studied him. “You've got a personal stake in this, don't you?”
Rafael considered denying it. There was little point.
“I've come to deeply care about her,” he admitted, his voice filled with compassion. “She's a young woman with ambitions and incredible talent, and she seems to have been made to feel that she's incapable of building a life of her own!”
His expression narrowed.
“I can't ignore the possibility that she's being hurt! But I also can't make decisions for her simply because I'm concerned. She deserves to have some control over what happens next!”
For a moment, Adam said nothing. He seemed to consider Rafael's answer, his expression now more thoughtful.
“A person with their humanity still intact. It’s a beautiful thing.”
Rafael ignored his random, heartfelt comment and said, “If I decide to be your attorney, you can’t take unnecessary risks.”
Adam placed a hand over his heart.
“Counselor, I'm wounded. You barely know me, and already you're questioning my professional judgment.”
“Your fashion choices have given me cause for concern.”
Adam burst out laughing.
“Now that's just cruel.”
Rafael almost smiled.
Almost.
Then his expression sobered again.
“Adam, I'm not exaggerating about Penny's situation. I saw her face this morning. She was frightened, and she was trying desperately to pretend that everything was normal. I can't shake the feeling that sending her home without doing anything might mean sending her back into danger.”
Adam's laughter stopped.
He picked up his sunglasses but didn't put them on.
“Then we don't waste time.”
He opened his notepad to a fresh page.
“Give me everything you've got on the Spears. Names, addresses, anything you've noticed. I'll start looking into the family today.”
Rafael supplied the information he had.
Adam wrote it all down.
When Rafael finished, Adam looked up.
“I can't promise you what I'll find. But I can promise you I'll take it seriously.”
“That's all I'm asking.”
Adam extended his hand across the desk.
“Then we've got a deal, Counselor.”
Rafael shook it.
“And Adam?”
“Yeah?”
“If you discover evidence that Penny is in immediate danger, you contact me. We will need to act quickly and appropriately.”
Adam's gray eyes held his.
“You'll be the first person I call.”
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Then Adam's grin returned, a little less cocky this time.
“Welcome to the team, Rafael.”
Rafael stood and straightened his jacket.
“I haven't agreed to be on your team.”
“Sure you have. You just haven't finished negotiating your contract.”
Rafael shook his head and headed for the door.
Behind him, Adam called out, “And next time, make an appointment!”
Rafael didn't turn around.
“I thought you loved walk-ins.”
“I do! They're the most interesting!”
Rafael left the office with the uneasy feeling that he'd just hired the strangest private investigator in New York.
He could only hope Adam was as good at his job as he was at making an entrance.
Because somewhere across the city, Penny Spear was going home to a house where Rafael feared she might not be safe.
And neither man intended to ignore that possibility any longer.
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