"If you had inquired of your subordinate here, Candace, you'd know I am not present in the capacity of counsel for Ms. Stark. I am here to support her and to offer my household as a temporary placement for the child. I do believe the Department is required to offer a parent the chance to make a voluntary placement before exerting its shelter care powers?"

"You?" Her jaw dropped, clearly taken aback by the quality of Hannah's reinforcements.

"Certainly. I know the Department can't vouch for the safety of the child in the home of a family law pract.i.tioner and officer of the court, but I think Ms. Stark is willing to take the risk, and we checked, Candace: you haven't filed any paperwork yet, you haven't actually sheltered the child as we speak. If the plan is acceptable to the Department, we'll gather up Grace and see you at nine thirty tomorrow."

"She does go by Grace?" The worker was frowning at her notes.

"Lucy Grace Stark," Hannah enunciated. "She prefers Grace. I am willing to place her with Mr. Knightley. His daughter is Grace's cla.s.smate and her friend."

Candace was frowning mightily, but the worker at least retained some professionalism.

"Why don't I have Ms. Stark execute a safety plan agreeing to leave the child with Mr. Knightley, and to not be alone with her between now and the hearing tomorrow?"

Candace nodded, but her glare was fixed on Hannah as the worker left the room.

"Look, Hannah. Parents who were abused as children often set up their own kids to be abused. I'm not saying you were the one who hurt Lucy, but somehow, you have failed to keep her safe, or that's the way it appears. We are not trying to hurt you. We're trying to keep your daughter safe. Don't fight us."

Hannah's voice was calm, the way a landscape appears calm before some fool sets off a land mine. "You know so little, Candace, and your ignorance is a greater threat to my child and every other kid out there than I could ever be on my worst day as a parent."

To Trent's relief, Hannah stopped there, but he could feel the emotions roiling in her.

"We're only trying to help you," Candace hissed. "And, Julie, I can do the math. I know when you got pregnant, and that you lied to us by omission about that. Don't lie to us anymore, or we can't help you."

She left before Trent could strangle her. When the door was closed, Hannah put her head in her hands.

"They want to help me get on a national registry of child abusers," she said. "My picture on the Internet, my license to practice law taken from me, my daughter taken from me. This is my worst nightmare. I had thought protecting Grace from her father was the most important priority. I lived in dread he'd find out about her, even a.s.sert a right to visitation or-G.o.d help me-custody. I don't even know where he is, but he has haunted me for seven years, when all along, the threat was from a different quarter."

In her posture, in her words, in her tone, she conveyed despair, and the insight that hit Trent nearly had him in tears too.

"You were raped in a foster home."

Hannah nodded, but Trent saw what her admission cost her in her brittle composure and tense silence. Was this the rest of what she hadn't told him? Good G.o.d, how much more could there be? He slipped an arm around her shoulders.

"They don't have Grace yet, but that worker will be back in here in a few minutes, so put on your competent-mom face, and I'll soon have you out of here."

She nodded against his shoulder and sat up, expression composed.

The paperwork took only a few minutes after that, but the worker had to warn Hannah to bring Grace to the hearing and to pack a few days' worth of Grace's clothes to bring along as well.

Through it all, Hannah remained composed, until the worker stood to leave.

"May I see my daughter now?" Hannah asked.

Trent heard the tremor in her voice, and it nearly broke his heart.

"You may. She's right down the hall."

The worker led Hannah from the room, but Trent lingered, making a little production out of putting on his coat and organizing his briefcase. When he was alone in the room, he closed the door and opened the thick file Candace had neglected to take with her.

Names of foster homes jumped out at him. He'd clerked in Douglas County, and the names weren't entirely unfamiliar. He committed the names of the last family Hannah had lived with to memory, flipped the file closed, then got the h.e.l.l out of the interview room.

The interrogation room.

"If the Department thinks Grace is safe here for one night, why don't they just give Trent temporary custody of her and leave Hannah in peace? Why go forward with the hearing tomorrow at all?"

The question came from James, who was sitting on the floor beside the sofa in Trent's living room. Trent and Hannah had the sofa, and Mac was in a wing chair facing the sofa, while Merle and Grace had disappeared into Merle's room.

Mac fielded the question, which was fortunate, because Hannah had left her ability to form coherent sentences in the disinfectant-scented DSS playroom.

"They hadn't filed any paperwork yet," Mac said. "So Trent had them on the technicalities and had the clout to make a stink if they tried to dodge the rules for a single night. But they don't want the liability the next time somebody calls them and tells them Grace has unexplained bruising, so they're trying to get their hands on the kid through the hearing process."

"We keep me as a backup plan," Trent said. He gave Hannah's hand a squeeze, but to Hannah, he was admitting the possibility the Department's case would carry the day.

"If the judge gives them custody of Grace, they'd need to come look your house over," Hannah said, "do fingerprints, a background check. All that would take weeks while Grace is with strangers, and you'd have to complete foster parent training, too."

James stretched out his long legs. His thick gray socks were starting to unravel near the left little toe.

"What if you signed another one of those agreements?" he asked. "Said you'd do the counseling and the drug testing and the parenting cla.s.ses and all that other bulls.h.i.t. Would they give Grace back then?"

"It depends," Hannah said. "My guess is no, they'd wait to make sure I had at least three clean urines, to make sure the counseling was bearing some fruit, maybe even until I had completed parenting cla.s.ses. They talk a good game about visitation increasing as you comply with their demands, but it all depends on the worker you get, and the supervisor he or she has. I'd really rather not trust Grace's well-being to the luck of the draw."

"It's enough to make you think twice about having kids," James said.

"We need to win tomorrow," Mac interjected, studying Hannah. "First, we need to win because Hannah did not abuse or neglect Grace. Second, we need to win because Hannah cannot be victimized again, not even by well-meaning social workers who honestly think they've spotted a protective services issue."

Hannah was grateful to Mac for the simplicity and power of his reasoning, but grat.i.tude wouldn't keep Grace home.

"I just wish I could recall that kid's name," Hannah said, not for the first time.

"If I'm to represent you tomorrow, you need to let me talk to Grace," Mac said. "I promise I'll be careful, Hannah."

"She doesn't know you," Hannah replied, staring at her hands and feeling again how a plan to protect a child had backfired, so Grace had few friends and fewer allies. "She won't rat out her cla.s.smates, no matter how careful you are."

They'd already tried talking to Merle, but every time Grace had been pushed, b.u.mped into, or shoved off the equipment, she'd been alone, no witnesses available to incriminate the child responsible.

"What about having me talk to Grace?" Trent asked. "She knows me, and you can be there when I talk to her."

Hannah wanted to say no, to tell them to leave Grace alone, not to drag her into it, but it was Grace who faced foster care.

"He's good with kids," James said, patting Hannah's knee. "Merle vouches for him, and she's a tough critic."

Silence, while all three brothers waited for Hannah to give her consent.

"Be subtle," she said. "Don't put her on the spot."

"C'mon." Trent tugged her to her feet. "We'll tuck them in, and she won't even know I was in the room."

He was as good as his word, sitting on the edge of Merle's bed while Hannah leaned against the doorjamb.

"Good night, Daddy, sweet dreams, I love you." Merle reached up to hug him.

"Good night, Merle. Sweet dreams, and I love you." He gently hugged his daughter, then shifted to sit on the edge of Grace's bed.

"Got any extra hugs to give away?"

Grace held out her arms, wordlessly accepting his embrace, hugging him just as hard as Merle had.

"Good night, Grace, sweet dreams, and don't worry about tomorrow. Merle's Uncle Judge will be there, and her uncles too, and they are all in your corner."

"I'm not worried. Bronco will be there," Grace said, but her voice sounded small and uncertain.

"Speaking of certain guardian unicorns." Trent sat up and put a puzzled expression on his face. "I have a question I would like to ask Bronco, if you don't mind."

"What?"

"Where was he when you were having all these accidents at school? Let's see... You got pushed off the s.p.a.ce station, knocked down on the blacktop, grabbed by the arm, and pushed into a tree. Maybe Bronco wasn't paying enough attention."

"Bronco isn't in charge of anybody but me," Grace said. "He can't help it if Larry isn't careful. Larry's guardian angel has to be in charge of him. 'Sides, I'm OK. It was no big deal."

"What's Larry's last name?"

"Smithson. He's in the other cla.s.s."

"Do you think Larry's guardian angel was goofing off?"

"I don't know. Larry's usually OK, for a boy. When I had to leave cla.s.s today to talk to Miss Kelly, he tried to smile at me like he knew it wasn't my fault I had to go to the office. Everyone else kind of looked away."

"Maybe Bronco can have a talk with Larry's guardian angel," Trent said, rising from the bed. "Tell him to pay more attention to his job."

"Maybe." Grace sighed a tired sigh, and her eyes drifted closed. "Bronco said I wasn't supposed to worry about tomorrow. He said you grown-ups would work it out."

When Trent had finished with the good nights, Hannah closed the door to the bedroom and leaned against the wall of the hallway.

"I need more than the a.s.surances of an imaginary winged unicorn," she said, letting Trent gather her in his arms.

"You have more. James and Mac will stay up all night strategizing, and Brian Patlack won't know what hit him."

Trent tugged her down the hallway by the wrist, while Hannah wanted to open the door and memorize the sight of her daughter sleeping peacefully, dreaming peaceful dreams.

Fifteen minutes later, Hannah was pacing the living room, feeling anything but peaceful.

"You were set up," Mac said. "Your kid comes home knocked from pillar to post, for the first time you can recall, all the injuries the work of this Larry, and then somebody calls protective services. Hannah, who would do this to you?"

"I don't know. Don't you think I'd tell you if I knew?"

"What about Grace's father, would he do this?"

Her gaze flew to Mac's, but she found no judgment there, merely an attorney trying to prepare a client for trial.

"I don't think he knows Grace exists."

"DSS will ask you about him. Family is a less restrictive placement than foster care, and they'll want to know who Grace's relatives are."

"I'll tell them I don't know. I'll tell them I was at a frat party and doing the whole football squad."

"So they'll add promiscuity and perhaps a s.e.xual addiction to the things you need to have treated," Mac said. "Just who is her father?"

"Mac, back off," Trent interjected as Hannah came to a halt. She turned to look not at Trent, but at Mac.

"As he raped me, he wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed. I pa.s.sed out, so I can't recall every moment he was violating me. I had bruises on my throat for weeks, and wore turtlenecks in June to cover them up. I was just the weird foster kid-even for much of college. n.o.body thought anything of it if I dressed a little funny. Social Services can have me involuntarily committed, MacKenzie, and I will not give up his name to them."

Mac's expression went blank, while Trent rose to put his arms around her.

"I'm sorry," Hannah said. "I can't think. I can't reason, not when Grace could be put into foster care."

"I found him," James said, charging into the room from Trent's study. "I used to date a gal who works in the media center at Grace's school, and she had a directory for the entire school, including Larry's cla.s.s. I've got an address and a phone number. I've already left three messages."

"It's nine o'clock on a school night," Hannah said. "If Larry's family was going to answer, they would have picked up by now."

"I can send an off-duty cruiser," Mac said. "Half the guys in the judicial division of the sheriff's office had Trent represent them in support court."

"We are not intimidating a seven-year-old boy with illicit shows of force," Hannah said. "We play by the rules."

"Even if we lose by the rules?" James's voice was gentle, his expression troubled.

"We won't lose." Mac drew Hannah away from Trent by the wrist. "If we rule out Grace's dad, what about this day-care mom, Eliza? She would have seen the bruises, and might have been blamed for them if Grace didn't give us another explanation."

"Not Eliza," Hannah said. "She was in foster care with me, and the last thing she'd do is put another kid in foster care. She might deck me outright or read my beads at the top of her lungs, but she wouldn't sneak around."

"Should we have her at the hearing?" James asked. "She could testify that there's never been unexplained bruising before, that Hannah has a close and loving relationship with Grace, that Grace is very imaginative."

"It can't hurt," Mac said, "but that gets us no closer to a perp, a.s.suming Larry didn't act on his own initiative."

The room filled with the unhappy quiet of a dead end.

"We don't have to prove anything," Trent reminded them all. "The State has to prove there is risk of substantial harm to Grace if she stays with Hannah. b.u.mps and bruises don't come close. Stevens has five kids. He won't be easily swayed."

"But n.o.body likes child abusers," Hannah said. "n.o.body, and it's easier to label me than to get to the bottom of the real mystery. Grace wouldn't tell Kelly who was responsible when she had the chance, and if she gives him up now, it will look suspicious. We're screwed. We're totally, hopelessly screwed."

Mac and James eventually peeled off to their respective guest rooms, leaving Trent in the kitchen with Hannah.

"It's chamomile," he said, putting a steaming mug in front of her. "Drink it, and it might help you sleep."