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The officers gave one look at Giona, her frightened face, and peeked in at the men in the stairwell. They snickered.
    “You did this?” one of the officers asked.
    Atticus nodded as he wrote his contact information on the back of a business card he’d had in his wallet.
    The officer had trouble hiding his smile. “You know that was probably a bad idea.”
    Atticus nodded again and handed the officer the business card. “They had it coming.”
    It was the officer’s turn to nod. “Of course, now we’re going to have to charge them with indecent exposure.” He smiled then straightened his face. “We’re going to need a statement. Down at the station.”
    “Absolutely,” Atticus said, then thumbed toward Giona. “Mind if I take care of her first?”
    “Do what you need to do. Come down today or tomorrow,” the officer replied.
    Atticus walked to Giona’s side, her face still a mask of fear.
    “What did you do to them?” Giona asked.
    “Poetic justice,” was Atticus’s reply. “Watch.”
    The police exited the parking garage, moving the men in front of them. Both men had their hands cuffed behind their backs, but what was most striking about the image was that their clothes had been cut to ribbons. A group of teens burst out laughing. Others snapped pictures with their cell phones. A few older women covered their mouths and shook their heads in disgust, but watched the spectacle just the same. While Atticus had left their front sides covered, he had totally exposed their rear ends and shredded the rest of their clothing along with whatever small amount of dignity they might have had.
    “I doubt they’ll even set foot in Portsmouth again,” Atticus said. “Not without being laughed at, anyway.” He looked down at Giona. A bright smile was on her face—a rarity these days. That it had taken such a violent act to put it there disturbed him. Who had his daughter become? Would they ever be close again?
    After the news he would soon deliver, he doubted it.
    ***
    Sitting in the Ford Explorer, an uncomfortable silence fell between Atticus and Giona. She had her arms crossed over her chest, where just an hour earlier a man had held a knife. He looked at her throat and saw some light bruising.
    “Are you sure you’re all right?”
    “Fine.”
    “You’ve got some bruises forming on your neck. How hard was he squeezing?”
    Giona pulled down the visor and popped on the mirror. She inspected her neck, then slumped back in her seat. Tears welled up in her eyes despite her best effort to hide them. A sob escaped her lips, followed by another and another. Atticus pulled over, slammed the car into park, and, their relationship be damned, he was going to hold his baby.
    He thought he’d have to undo her seat belt and yank her over, but as soon as they were stopped, she crawled across the seat and into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed. “I love you, baby. I love you.”
    Giona’s sobs grew louder, and Atticus felt that she wasn’t just crying because of what had just happened. She was letting out two years of pent-up grief. When he had told her about Maria, about her death, she hadn’t shed a tear. A month later her hair was bright red, and a wall had been erected between them. That wall, it seemed, had just crumbled. At least Atticus hoped it had.
    Ten minutes passed before either said another word. Giona’s crying had subsided; she wiped her face clean, shifting back to the passenger seat. Atticus feared the wall was coming back up, but then she spoke.
    “I love you too, Daddy.”
    Atticus’s heart broke. He paused before speaking less his voice crack. “Daddy, huh?”
    Giona gave him the smile he’d waited two years to see. “Thanks for saving me.”
    Atticus shrugged nonchalantly. “I was in the area.”
    She slapped his shoulder. “I mean it.”
    Silence filled the parked Explorer again. He desired to break the silence so badly, to continue the healing process, but what could he