Karen walked around to her side of the desk and sat.

"I'm seeing Agent Pea."

Karen was his court clerk, briefing attorney, friend, moral compass, and surrogate mother to the girls. He punted most sex questions to her; she never complained. He would not be a good father without her. Or a good judge.

"By seeing, you mean having sex?"

"Yes."

"That's her butt?"

Scott nodded.

"I bet she can't even spell cellulite," Karen said.

"Is this how relationships work these days? Sexting?"

Karen blushed.

"Wait ... no ... not you and Bobby?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes, you know, to spice things up after a long week."

"I feel like the world left me behind," Scott said.

The phone pinged again. Another photo from Cat. Of Cat. He blew out a breath. He looked up to Karen grinning.

"You're catching up fast. But no face and body parts in the same photo."

Scott nodded. "The girls told me. I need to tell Cat." He held the phone out to Karen. "See?"

Karen threw her hands up as if he had thrown the phone at her.

"No! Please, I don't want to see that."

Scott put the phone face down on the desk.

"You like her?" Karen asked.

"I do. But there are issues."

"She's got a great butt and carries a gun. What could be an issue?"

"Her parents are residing here illegally."

"You've already met her parents?"

"We went to her house yesterday, for lunch."

"The girls, too?"

Scott nodded. "They love her."

"Is she going to take my job?"

"She's not a lawyer."

"As their mother?"

"Too early to tell. But the thought has crossed my mind. Maybe God's giving me a second chance at love."

"I hope so, Scott. I really do. But now you're conflicted?"

He nodded. "Her parents are good people."

"I'm sure they are. But they're irrelevant to the case."

"The case will affect them. My decision will affect real people."

"It's called being a federal judge."

Scott pondered her words a moment. "Do you get tired of always being right?"

"No. Bobby gets tired of my always being right, but I don't."

Karen stood and walked to the door. She turned back.

"The parties are pestering me for your ruling. You want me to write a first draft?"

"Yeah."

"Which way?"

"Both ways."

Carlos entered at a fast clip. Scott had asked Karen to send him in.

"You need me, boss?"

Scott opened his desk drawer and removed an envelope. He tossed it to Carlos.

"For you and Louis."

Carlos opened the envelope. He removed the contents and stared as if he were looking at Willy Wonka's Golden Ticket (the girls loved that movie as well). For a moment, Scott thought Carlos might cry on his leather jacket.

"Super Bowl tickets," Carlos said. "On the fifty-yard line."

"The NFL gave me two tickets."

"Thanks, boss. I gotta find the big man."

He ran out. Scott had run with Cat, dropped the girls off at school, and driven to the courthouse. He had no morning hearings, so he had reread the briefs in the immigration case. He thought of Diego and Sofia Pea. If he ruled in favor of the president, he would give them amnesty. Once the president's order was implemented, there would be no putting the genie back in the bottle. A decision in favor of the president would give the Peas what they had waited thirty-two years for. How many others like them were out there? Good people seeking safety or a future. His decision would affect real people's lives all across America. A state judge's decisions affected only the parties to the lawsuit and sometimes the citizens of that state. A federal judge's decisions affected every person in America. A federal judge didn't rule only on the law of Texas or California; he ruled on the law of the land. Such was the power of a federal judge. And the responsibility. A. Scott Fenney was feeling the weight of that responsibility when his secretary's voice came over the intercom. It was almost noon.

"Judge, the attorney general is on line one."

Scott picked up the receiver. "Hello, Mac."

"Scott, how are you? No one tried to snatch you off the streets lately, have they?"

"Not so far."

"Don't worry. I hear Pea's a shooter. And pretty."

There was a pause in the conversation, as if Mac expected a manly reply from Scott; he resisted.

"So what can I do for you, Mac?"

"Dismiss the lawsuit."

"Which one?"

"The immigration case."

"We've had one round of oral arguments, another next week. I've read the briefs, including an amicus by Bookman at UT."

"He rides a Harley."

"He knows con law."

"And he said the president exceeded his authority?"

"He did."

Mac laughed. "It's not the first time in history a president has done that."

"How does the president have that authority under the Constitution?"

"He doesn't."

"Then why did he exercise that authority?"

"Off the record?"

"Sure."

"Because he can. Unless a federal judge stops him. Not many judges do. Him or any prior president. Only two executive orders in history have been overturned by the courts-Truman's seizure of the steel mills and Clinton's one about strike-breakers working for federal contractors. That's out of thousands of executive orders."

"Why only two?"

"Because federal judges are lawyers first, and lawyers are ambitious by nature. District court judges want to be appeals court judges. Appeals court judges want to be Supreme Court justices. So not many will stand in the president's way, not when the president must nominate them to a higher bench. You're young, Scott. You've got a long judicial career in front of you. Do you really want to fuck it up so soon?"

"My duty is to the Constitution, not the president."

"Please don't make me mad, Scott."

"You said I'm a federal judge, so someone will always be mad at me."

"I didn't mean me."

"Mac, I can live with your being mad at me."

"I'm sure you can. But can Agent Pea's folks? They're good people, Scott. I'd hate to see them deported."

It took Scott a moment to gather himself.

"Is there anything about me you don't know?"

"If there is, I don't know it." Mac chuckled. "Scott, dismiss the lawsuit. I've got enough problems dealing with Muslims, I've got no time for Mexicans."

Boo waved at the brown-skinned workers tending the gardens in Highland Park-even in February-and skipped along the sidewalk being very careful not to step on a crack and break her back. Pajamae jogged alongside; the girl never walked or skipped or hopped. She ran.

"It's so nice living here," Pajamae said. "Down in the projects, you can't walk home from school. Men say nasty things to you and try to seduct you."

"Do you mean seduce or abduct?"

"Both."

It was nice to live in Highland Park, Boo had to admit. She had never felt scared or nervous without Scott. She always worried about him when he wasn't with them, but never about herself. She was safe in Highland Park. She ... knew something wasn't right the moment she walked in the back door.

First, the door was open.

Second, Maria had dirtied herself; the stink hit Boo like a fist to her stomach.

And third, Consuelo was gagged and bound to a chair.

"Consuelo!" Boo screamed.

"Oh, sweet Jesus!" Pajamae said. "A home invasion! Did they rob us?"

"We don't have home invasions in Highland Park."

Consuelo tried to scream through the gag, but all that came out was a muffle. Her eyes were wide like she was scared, and she shook her head violently. Boo and Pajamae ran to her. But she looked past them.