EIGHTEEN.

Sunday, 31 January 7 days before the Super Bowl Scott's phone pinged at 6:45 A.M. It had never pinged before. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the phone and his glasses. A red circle with a white "1" inside hovered over the "Messages" icon. He tapped it. A "Messages" page came up. There was only one message, from a number he didn't recognize. He tapped it, and the message came up.

Scott, last night was amazing. Both times.

Cat had texted him. He had never before received a text from a woman. Or a man. Or anyone. He was a federal judge. He didn't text.

But she had texted him.

Last night was amazing.

The president wasn't happy when he called the director at 8:00 A.M. at home.

"And?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Nothing at all?"

"No, sir. Mr. President, if you allowed enhanced interrogation-"

"No."

He hung up on the director.

"Sooooo ... how'd it go last night?"

Boo looked innocently at Scott from across the table. Pajamae stared at her breakfast; she stifled a giggle.

"Fine."

"Fine?" Boo said. "That's all we get? We went to bed an hour early for fine?"

Women needed strong adjectives, Scott decided.

"Cat and I had a wonderful evening."

That brought a big grin to both girls' faces just as his phone pinged.

"What's that?" Boo asked. "Is that your phone? Is she texting you?"

Scott checked his phone. She was. He read the text: I have a surprise for you today. He could not restrain a smile.

"She is!"

The girls high-fived.

"Now, A. Scott, whatever you do, don't sent photos with both your face and your private parts?"

"What?"

"We had an assembly about sexting-you know what that is?"

Scott nodded.

"Well, it seems very yukky to us"-Pajamae nodded emphatically-"but kids send each other pics of their private parts all the time. So the speaker, she said don't put your face in any photo with your private parts."

"Keep your face and your privates separate," Pajamae said.

"Good rule if I've ever heard one," Scott said.

"That way," Boo said, "if the photo gets out on the Internet, no one can put your face with your privates, which would be embarrassing."

"Very."

They stared at him.

"Well?" Boo said.

"Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to text her back?"

"Uh ... no."

"You've got to."

"Why?"

"That's how it's done."

"Eat your breakfast."

"Why didn't you text me back?"

"Uh ..."

Cat frowned but shook him off. This was new territory for Scott: a relationship. What he had had with Rebecca had been more of a financial arrangement: he got a trophy; she got a mansion, a Mercedes, designer clothes, and social standing.

"So this is the family room," Cat said. "And yes, that is a near-life-sized nativity scene in the corner."

Cat had come over and gone to church with Scott and the girls-in her professional capacity-and then had taken them to her house in East Dallas for lunch-in her personal capacity. She lived with her parents in a Tudor-style house in the M streets not far from Bobby and Karen, a gentrified area of town north of downtown and east of the expressway. It was about the size of Scott's house-federal employees don't live in McMansions-and had been renovated to perfection by her father. His name was Diego. He lived and died the Dallas Cowboys. A big-screen television hung on the wall opposite the nativity scene and below a massive crucifix. He sat in a leather recliner watching the Super Bowl pregame show, which began a week before the game.

"Look, the Patriots, they arrived in town this morning," Diego said.

On the television, the players entered their hotel in downtown Dallas to a crowd of their fans who had made the two thousand mile trip from Boston. Scott and Cat walked over to the nativity scene.

"I found the statues in Nuevo Laredo," Diego said. "The burros, they are lifelike, are they not?"

"They are," Scott said. He regarded the scene a moment. "Well, you don't see that every day."

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet," Cat said.

She led him down the hall to the master suite, which her parents occupied. It was a large room with a modern bathroom at one end and an alcove at the other. She hit the lights and took him into the alcove.

"A shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe complete with a working fountain made to look like a grotto."

A life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary stood above the fountain. A rack of prayer candles stood beside the fountain.

"My mother lights every candle every day."

"Do you have fire insurance?"

"Of course."

"It's quite a house."

"It's not a house. It's a shrine. You want to see my car?"

"Is Jesus driving?"

"Funny."

He followed her back down the hall and through the kitchen-Cat's mother was teaching the girls how to make churros, long deep-fried fritters sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon; they had powdered sugar all over their hands and faces-and out the back door. The patio and backyard had been made into a hacienda style walled courtyard featuring more religious statues. A door in the wall led into a detached garage. Cat turned the lights on; in the middle of the garage sat a bright yellow two-door coupe.

"It's yellow," Scott said.

"Dodge Challenger. Six-point-four liter HEMI V-eight with a six-speed stick."

"It's yellow."

"Four hundred eighty-five horses under the hood."

"It's yellow."

"I know it's yellow. I told you, yellow is my favorite color."

"That's a lot of yellow."

She opened the driver's door.

"And red leather upholstery," Scott said.

"I'm Mexican. Get in."

Scott glanced from the red seats to her brown eyes. "In the car?"

"The back seat."

"Why?"

"It's your surprise. I always wanted to have sex in the back seat of a car, but I never did. Today's the day. Get in."

"I'm a federal judge."

"You're a man. I'm a woman. Get in the fucking car."

He hesitated.

"Do I have to pull my weapon?"

He got in. She pulled her jeans off and followed him in. She unzipped him and straddled him; the car smelled of leather and Cat Pea. And for a little while on red leather seats in a yellow muscle car parked in a garage in an East Dallas Catholic shrine, they were teenagers at the drive-in movie.

"My son, he was only thirteen. The cartel in Nuevo Laredo, they abducted him because he would not run the drugs for them. They use boys because they cannot be tried as adults. They shot Raul in the head."

Sofia stood. "I must light a candle."

She walked out. They were sitting in the nativity room. The girls were sitting in the nativity, astride the burros.

"Sofia, she still suffers. As do I. The policia, they did nothing because they were all on the cartel payroll. I realized that I could no longer protect my family in Mexico. A man must protect his family. Sofia, she was pregnant with Catalina. I wanted to protect my family. So we came to America. We knew it would take years to do so legally, but the cartels would not allow us that much time. They took over Mexico with money and guns from America, so they drive Mexicans north to America. Thirty-two years ago, we crossed the river outside Nuevo Laredo."

An awkward silence filled the room.

"Scott, my parents, they're here illegally."

"I'm a judge, not ICE."

Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

"Thank you."

"Odd, is it not?" her father said. "Americans don't want us here, but Americans fund and arm the cartels that drive us here. What they call, unintended consequences."