"I'll hire you as my private bodyguard," Pajamae said, "like Cat guards Judge Fenney."

"That'll be cool."

Scott was tucking the girls into bed.

"A. Scott, we love Cat."

"You do?"

"Do you?"

"Little early for that, Boo."

"You do. Good. Because she's the one. You've got to marry her."

"Boo ..."

"We need a mother."

"She's too young to be your mother."

"A big sister then. We're coming into our YA years."

"YA?".

"Young adult."

"Am I not doing a good job?"

"You're a great father. But you're not a mother. Or a big sister."

"I try."

"Try with Cat. Please."

"She likes to run," Pajamae said.

"She does."

"And she's beautiful."

"She is."

"So what's not to love?"

"Is she paying you two?"

"Pro bono," Boo said.

"Whereas, Judge Fenney."

Boo gave him a devious look. "She can sleep over."

"Stop saying that."

"The judge, he will decide the case? The president's executive order?"

"Yes, father, he will."

Her father smiled. "Then surely he will save us."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he loves our daughter."

That night, lying in bed, Scott thought about Catalina Pea. Out of his abduction came Cat. For the first time since Rebecca, he had a woman in his life, and it felt good. She seemed to have bonded with the girls, and they with her. Did she want to be their mother or at least their big sister? And more important, could he rule against the president-against her parents-and still have her?

He wanted her.

His phone pinged. He put on his glasses and opened the message. A photo was attached. He opened the photo and inhaled sharply. The photo was of Cat lying on her bed with a long churro in her mouth. He made a mental note to tell Cat the girls' sexting rule: no face and private parts in the same photo.

A black sedan occupied by two FBI agents sat outside the Fenney home. They drank coffee to stay warm and awake.

"You really think Pea's screwing the judge?"

"Word is, she was in the house late last night, and the judge and his girls went to her house for lunch today."

"Her mom makes the best breakfast tacos."

"That's not the point."

"What's the point?"

"We're not supposed to fuck on the job."

"Just fuck up on the job."

The two agents laughed.

"Like Waco."

"That was a big fuckup."

"And Hanssen."

"Also a big fuckup."

"And that hair analysis fiasco, two hundred convictions bounced because agents enhanced their testimony, said they were positive matches when they were maybes at best."

"Stop, you're depressing me."

"I'm so bored."

"You sound like my five-year-old boy."

"Two crack agents like ourselves, we should be searching for those Arabs that snatched the judge, not sitting out here in the cold all night so he doesn't get snatched again."

"Those guys are ghosts. Gone back to Syria. They're not within a thousand miles of the judge. Guaranteed."

Two cars behind the FBI car, Abdul jabbar and his little brother sat in a Kia.

"The judge is not going to release the Imam," Abdul said.

"As you predicted," his little brother said.

"Yes. It is time for 'or else.' "

"No, Abdul, I really do not want to do that. It is very wrong."

"There is no right or wrong in our fight for freedom."

"Freedom? We are free. We live in America. I love America!"

Abdul slapped his brother's face.

His face stung from his brother's hand but more from his disapproval. He had not pleased his father; he wanted to please his brother. He had yearned for his father's love, but it had never been forthcoming; he desperately needed his brother's love. So he had followed him to Dallas. How far would he follow him?

"America killed our father. To love America is to dishonor our father. We must avenge our father's death."

"Brother, I don't want to live in the Islamic caliphate in Syria. I want to live here in Dallas. I want to be a lawyer."

"You will not be a lawyer, and you will not live in Syria or in Dallas."

"What will I do?"

"You will die in Dallas."

NINETEEN.

Monday, 1 February 6 days before the Super Bowl "Are you fucking the judge?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

Cat Pea glared at Beckeman. She wanted to punch him. She had just walked into the FBI headquarters after running with Scott and escorting him to the courthouse; Beckeman hadn't allowed her a cup of coffee before attacking her.

"Yes. As often as I can."

The two special agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation locked eyes like kids seeing who would blink first. Neither did.

"Sex on the job?" he said. "This ain't the Secret Service."

"A, I'm not having sex on the job. And B, what I do off the job is none of your fucking business."

"Your fucking is my business when you're fucking a federal judge under FBI protection."

"Then put me on the fucking manhunt."

Cat could tell his military mind was working through the implications of having her on the hunt for the Arabs-and her mouth in the twice-daily meetings.

"I don't think so."

"So I can keep fucking the judge?"

Her boss glared at her a moment then turned and marched away. She gave his back the finger.

"I'm sexting him, too!"

Karen entered the judge's chambers but did not find Scott. She heard noises from his private restroom-how could men make such noises?-so she walked around to his side of the big desk and placed the various case orders on the desk pad for his signature. Routine court matters. Discovery. Trial settings. Denials of motions for summary judgment. His cell phone sat on the desk; it pinged. She often answered his personal phone, in case the girls or the school were calling. She was as close to a wife as Scott had now. She picked up the phone; it was open to the message page. There was a message ... and a photo ... of a woman's bare bottom. The restroom door opened; Scott emerged and came over to the desk. Karen held the phone out to him.

"It's for you."

He took the phone and looked at the photo. His blond face turned red.

"Uh ..."

"I don't want to know."