They turned and knew what she was trying to say.

The voice of Scott's secretary again came over the intercom. It was almost one.

"Judge, the school is on line one."

He punched line one and put the receiver to his ear.

"This is Judge Fenney."

"Hello, Judge. This is Ruth Williams, the principal."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ms. Williams, you're calling about the speaking invitation. I apologize, I was-"

"Abducted."

"Yes. A bit tied up." She chuckled. "So what's the date?"

"Judge, I wasn't calling about that."

"No? Then what about?"

"Your girls."

Scott sighed. He knew what was coming. Another kid had taunted Pajamae, so Boo had jumped in to defend her sister, which usually involved her fists. She had a good right cross for a kid. Her standard response upon being sent to Ms. Williams' office was, "Call my lawyer." Ms. Williams had.

"Was anyone hurt?" he asked.

"Hurt? Who?"

"The kid that Boo punched."

"Boo punched someone? Again?"

"Isn't that why you're calling?"

"Oh. Well, usually, but not this time. I was just inquiring about your girls."

"What about my girls?"

"Their family emergency. Why they had to go home in the middle of the day."

The back door to the house was ajar.

After throwing down the phone and calling for Louis, Scott had sat still for a few moments to gather himself. He wasn't given to panic, and he couldn't give in to panic; but panic threatened to overwhelm his thoughts. He took several deep breaths until his breathing calmed. He knew the girls would either be at home or gone, taken by the same men who had taken him. If they were at home, he would kiss them and hold them and never forget the fear of losing them that he now felt. If they were not at home, if they were gone, if they had been taken by the men who had taken him, he would search for them, he would find them, and he would kill the men who took them. He knew it was within him to do such a thing and that knowledge scared him. On the elevator down to the garage, he had said a simple prayer.

Please God, let them be at home.

He also decided that he didn't want to bring the FBI into the matter or his house. He wasn't sure why. But if God answered his prayer, the FBI would not be needed. If God did not answer his prayer, he would need to assess the situation himself first. And he did not need their protection; he had Louis. So Louis had driven them in his black Dodge Charger; Scott had ducked his head when they exited the garage past the SWAT team.

Scott and Louis stood just outside the house. No sounds came from inside. Scott gave the door a slight push. The door swung open slowly to reveal the kitchen sink and counter, the stove and oven, the refrigerator, the table, Maria sleeping in her high chair, and Consuelo bound and gagged in a chair. Her eyes got wide when she saw Scott.

"Is there anyone in the house?" Scott asked her.

She shook her head. They stepped inside.

"Louis, check the house."

Scott removed the gag from Consuelo first.

"Seor Judge, dos hombres, they took the girls!"

Scott dropped to his knees. No. Fear clamped down on his mind like a vice. Fear for his girls. Fear of what he would do when he found them. And find them he would. God had not answered his prayer. Instead, He had set Scott on a path that would lead him to kill. And kill he would.

"Did they hurt them?"

"No, Seor Judge. They put the rag over their mouths, and the girls, they went limp. They carried them out like sacks of potatoes."

Louis returned to the kitchen. "The house is clear, Judge."

"Consuelo, what did the men look like?"

"El presidente."

"What?"

"They wore the masks like Bush and the dead president, and they wore the gloves."

"Same two men. They're smart. No ID and no fingerprints."

"They left the note."

On the table sat the girls' cell phone on top of a single piece of paper laid flat. Scott patted his pockets for his glasses; he had left them in his chambers. He handed the note to Louis. He read it aloud.

"Judge, we have your girls. If you go to the FBI, we will cut their heads off and send them back in boxes. Tell the FBI nothing, except that your girls are sick with the flu. Do nothing different. Run each morning with your FBI girlfriend. Go to court. Hear your cases. Do your job. But release the Imam. This is the 'or else,' Judge. Release him or you will never see your girls alive again."

"I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared, oh, dear Lord Jesus, help me I'm so scared."

"Shh," Boo said to her sister. "Calm down."

"I can't."

Boo whispered. "Pajamae, we'll be okay. A. Scott will save us."

"I know."

"Then why are you freaking out?"

"Because being tied up freaks me out."

"Why?"

"When I was little, my mama tied me up when she got sick so I didn't wander off. When the sickness passed, she untied me."

Their hands were tied and blindfolds covered their eyes, but they were not gagged. The men had said they would not gag them because they might throw up from the chloroform, whatever that is; her tummy did feel yukky. But only if they were quiet. Thankfully, the men had the TV on loud; it was in a foreign language, but not Spanish.

"Hey," Boo called out. "We need a little help over here."

She heard footsteps on the wood floor.

"What?"

It was the good brother. The other boy-she could tell from their voices and the words they used that they weren't grownups-was mean. He was the bad brother.

"Can you untie my sister? She's freaking out."

Boo recounted Pajamae's childhood story for him.

"That is so sad. Her mother was a heroin addict?"

"She died of an overdose."

"I will my ask my brother." He did not walk away. Instead he shouted. "Abdul, can I untie the little black girl? She is scared to be tied up. When she was a small child-"

"No names!"

"My bad."

"And tell her to shut up before I cut her fucking head off and send it to the judge in a box!"

The good brother whispered to Boo. "I think that is a hard no."

"Why are y'all doing this?"

"So your father will release the Imam."

"But he wants to bomb the Super Bowl."

"Exactly."

Pajamae cried, "I'm so scared."

"She's having a panic attack."

"Maybe cat will help."

"Cat's here?" Pajamae said.

"What?" Boo said. "No, Cat's not here. I think he has a cat."

Boo heard the purr of a cat.

"Here," he said, "I'm putting the cat in your lap, little black girl. Maybe the cat will calm you down."

The phone pinged, but Scott did not open the message. Bobby read the abductors' note; he shook his head then handed the note to Karen. She sobbed. She passed the note to Carlos, who read it and gave it to Louis. He had driven Scott back to the courthouse.

"Since I became a Muslim," Louis said, "I haven't wanted to kill another man. But I want to kill those two men." He turned wet eyes up to Scott. "I want to kill them bad."

"Badly," Karen said softly through tears.

"No, Ms. Herrin. Bad. I want to hurt them bad, taking our girls."

Everything Scott had in the world had been ripped from him. He was a federal judge. He wielded great power in his courtroom. But he felt powerless. How would he get them back?

"What if they hurt the girls," Karen said. "I read about what those ISIS men do to ..."

So had Scott.

"They didn't hurt me," he said. "They won't hurt the girls."

Or so he wanted to believe. But what if they did? What if they hurt his daughters? A. Scott Fenney was not a violent man, but he could be. He would be. If they hurt his daughters, he would be very violent.

"Let's search for them," Carlos said.

"Where?" Bobby said. "They could be anywhere."

"We can GPS their cell phone."

Scott pulled the girls' cell phone from his pocket.

"They don't have their phone."

"Shit."

"Scotty, we've got to go to the FBI," Bobby said. "We're amateurs. We need professionals."

"FBI's been looking for these two guys for two weeks," Carlos said, "since they kidnapped the judge. They can't find their butts with both hands."

"Scotty, what are we going to do?"

"Beg."