Author's Note

Welcome to what was my first Blue Bloods fan fiction. Set in Season Three, because most of this story was written after that season. It's been sitting on my computer waiting to be completed, and also because I wasn't sure how the non-linear structure would work on this site. (The structure was roughly inspired by Kate Morton's The Forgotten Garden, which is a very good book I'd recommend reading!)

I hope to post a chapter a day, but not on Fridays, because you should be watching Blue Bloods on TV that night. :D

PROLOGUE

FEBRUARY 3, 1998, TUESDAY AFTERNOON – BAY RIDGE

"There he is. Andrew Parker Reagan," John DiMarco, former Rochester cop, now a private investigator, pointed out the front window of the minivan he had purchased for this job. He handed the photo his client has supplied to his partner, Carl Fields. "You agree?"

"About five-eight, slender, reddish hair. Looks like this photo. I'd say that's our target," Carl agreed after looking at the teenage boy who had just stepped out the front door of a two-story brick colonial house.

"Mindy, start driving forward," he instructed his girlfriend. Mindy wasn't an employee of DiMarco & Fields Investigations, but they needed a driver who looked non-threatening for this case. "You have the map ready?"

"Right here, ready to go." Mindy turned to face him. "Hon, I still don't have a good vibe about this. I know you got a problem with these messed up custody cases, but why do we have to grab this kid, anyway?"

"Mindy, this isn't the time. But remember the papers I showed you? This is the only way to get him back where the court says he belongs, with his mother. Just get moving." DiMarco tucked himself next to his partner, out of sight behind the passenger seat.

Mindy drove the minivan forward, drifting to a stop in front of the house at the same time their target reached the street. She lowered the window on the passenger side. "Young man, can you help me? I'm lost."

DiMarco listened as the teen responded, then motioned for his partner to throw open the sliding door on the side of the vehicle. He was out of the vehicle seconds later, but the boy had already noticed something was wrong and was turning to run. DiMarco grabbed onto the boy's backpack, causing him to stumble and giving Carl time to catch up with him and grab him from behind in a tight bear hug. The boy was a fighter, DiMarco had to give him that. Carl was a big, muscular guy, and this skinny kid was giving him a run for the money, trying to twist free, kicking and yelling. And slowing them down. They didn't have time for this.

"Jamie! Hey, you, let him go!"

DiMarco turned toward the voice and saw a cop running across the yard from the garage. A cop! What the hell is a cop doing here? He reached for the Taser he'd packed in his back pocket, just in case something had gone wrong. Like the kid being a fighter and a goddamned cop showing up… Carl had wrestled the boy to the door of the van, but he was still resisting. DiMarco pressed the Taser into the boy's lower leg and pulled the trigger, just for a second; just long enough to temporarily disable the boy and let them get control of the situation. Carl quickly pushed him into the van, and DiMarco grabbed the boy's body and lowered him to the floor. DiMarco winced in sympathy as he knelt down beside their captive. The residual electric jolt from the Taser was causing the boy's muscles to spasm and he was moaning between short breaths. "Sorry 'bout that, Drew. But you'll be okay. We'll get you back to your mother, and you'll be okay," DiMarco tried to reassure the boy, even as he began binding his hands together. "Mindy, get moving," he called to his girlfriend as Carl hopped into the van beside him.

"Cop, let go!" Carl yelled.

DiMarco looked up to see the cop gripping the door with one hand, trying to get in even as Mindy began driving forward. Carl yanked the door shut and the cop yelped in pain and lost his grip, allowing Carl to get the door latched. "Mindy, get out of here fast," DiMarco ordered.

Carl stepped over their captive to peer out the back window. "Nobody told us there was a flippin' cop in the family," he grumbled. "But I think he's okay. Looks like he's trying to get up."

"Good," DiMarco responded. "Let's get to the delivery point and get this boy back to his mother."

-BB-BB-BB-

A few hours later, in a cemetery on the other side of the city, Marjorie Thornsberg glanced down at her watch. It showed a time of five minutes after five o'clock. That gullible private detective she'd hired in Rochester had told her he would be arriving at ten after five. She reached down to touch her son's tombstone. "Just a little longer, Drew. Then I'll have my answers and you can rest peacefully."

She looked at her watch again. Seven minutes after five. She hoped that Rochester hick hadn't become lost in the big city. But an out-of-town detective had been her only option; the Reagan name was too well known in New York City. DiMarco & Fields Investigations advertised themselves as specialists in "difficult custody cases" and it hadn't taken much research to discover why. The sad story about DiMarco's Brazilian ex-wife taking his daughter back to her home country in the midst of their custody fight played right into her hands. She's traveled out to Rochester, told DiMarco a sob story about her ex-husband taking her son, Andrew Parker Reagan, from her, and he'd been more than eager to help. "The court gave me full custody," she'd wept to the detective. "I begged them not to give his father visitation rights. But they wouldn't listen, and his father refused to let Andrew return after their first visit. He's a powerful man in New York City, and the courts and police there won't help me. It's been almost a year, and I miss my Drew so much," she'd sobbed. "You're my last hope to get him back," she'd concluded, raising her teary eyes to beg him to help her. She was sure the generous fee she offered didn't hurt either.

The only true parts of the story she'd told John DiMarco were her son's first and middle names, and that she missed him every minute of every day. And because he'd believed the rest, in just a few more minutes, she would be on the way to finding the answers to the questions that had haunted her this past year.

Her precious son was dead, and the New York Police Department had failed to determine why it had to happen. The detectives had come to their conclusions, and refused her generous offer of money to investigate further. Since money hadn't been able to buy her resolution to the questions, she'd been forced to find another way. The Chief of Detectives, Frank Reagan, was going to get her the answers she needed or he would pay for his failure with his youngest son's life.