"What?"

"Send him a text with a sexy photo. Like the kids do."

"Mother ..."

She gave Cat the human polygraph look.

"I tried. It didn't work."

"Shame."

"You could try naked," her dad said.

Cat regarded her parents with an open mouthful of Oreos.

"What are y'all watching on TV?"

"I will make churros for the girls," her mother said.

"So, Catalina," her father said, "when will the judge rule on our case?"

Boo woke to that same chanting in that same language.

"Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar ..."

But it wasn't in the distance or on the other side of the house. It was very close.

And then it stopped.

She heard footsteps on the wood floor ... coming closer now ... all around her ... next to her. She swung her legs around in a circle until they hit something.

Someone.

"Who is that?"

"You are my sabaya."

Abdul. The bad brother.

"I have prayed to Allah, and Allah approves. He gave me you as booty."

"Booty?"

"You are my sex-slave."

"What? Don't you even think about it, Abdul."

She felt hands on her feet, pulling her socks off then rubbing her feet. She yanked her feet away.

"Get away from me!"

His hands touched her legs below her knees. They slid up and down her calves. Then they surrounded her knees. His breathing became deeper and faster. He panted like a dog.

"Get your hands off me! Help! Help!"

Hands grabbed at her waist, at her jeans, at the button and zipper. Boo kicked and screamed.

"Help! Pajamae! Wake up!"

"What is it, Boo?"

"Abdul, he's trying to pull my pants off!"

"Why?"

"He's trying to sex me! Kick him!"

She kicked, and Boo could feel the air move as Pajamae's legs swung wildly around. The hands still grabbed at her pants. Then she heard a grunt and the hands left her.

"Shit, you kicked me in the mouth, you little bitch! I think I'm bleeding."

"Abdul!" It was the good brother. "What are you doing?"

"He tried to sex me!" Boo screamed. "He tried to pull my pants off! He said I was his booty!"

"Abdul," the good brother said in a strong voice, "I told you no!"

"The Koran says yes. She is my booty. I own her."

She heard footsteps and their voices grow dim. She calmed. She cried.

"A. Scott, please hurry."

TWENTY-ONE.

Wednesday, 3 February 4 days before the Super Bowl Denny Macklin woke to the pinging of the cell phone. He checked the messages.

My mother made churros last night. Want some? Make you feel better.

Denny typed a response.

Yes!! Love churros!! Thanks!!

He had worked all night. He closed his eyes and thought, The judge is such a nice guy. Much nicer than when he sentenced me to two years in this stinking prison.

"Mr. President," the director said, "if you would just consider-"

"No."

Scott stepped into the girls' empty bedroom. He sat on their empty bed. He looked at the same framed photograph and then at their stuff. Their clothes-Pajamae's neatly hung and folded; Boo's strewn about-and their DVDs and their boom box and their books and their new Dallas Cowboys jerseys. The stuff of their lives.

It was the third day they were gone.

He kept up appearances. He went outside and ran with Cat. They ran the five miles in silence; not a word was spoken. He tried to gauge her, but her brown eyes were hidden behind Oakley M Frames. When they returned to the house, she got a small paper bag out of her car and held it out to Scott like a peace offering.

"Churros. For the girls. They said they wanted some."

"They did?"

"We text."

She followed him around back. At the door, he turned to her; she could not come inside; inside she would learn the truth. She embraced him and kissed him, but he did not kiss her back. She pulled away.

"Hey, you're not playing fair. If you're pissed at me, say so."

"I'm not mad at you."

"But you don't want to kiss me or touch me or ..."

"Cat ... I can't."

"Is it a physical thing? They have drugs for that."

She smiled; he did not. He could no longer force a smile.

"No."

"Mental? Are you feeling guilty about your ex?"

"No."

"Then what is it?"

"Cat ... I just can't."

"Tell me, Scott. Please."

He took her face with both hands. He felt the wet in his eyes.

"I can't! They'll-"

"They? Who? The girls?"

He wanted to tell her. But he released her, walked inside, and shut the door.

Beckeman's intercom buzzed. He hit the button.

"What?"

"Chief, the warden at the Seagoville prison is on line one."

Beckeman picked up the receiver and pushed line one.

"Beckeman," he said.

"Agent Beckeman, this is Warden Pitt down in Seagoville. Thought you should know, the judge paid a visit to one of my inmates yesterday."

"Judge? Judge Fenney?"

"Yes, sir."

"Were two of my agents with him?"

"No, sir. He was alone."

"What inmate?"

"Denny Macklin."

"Never heard of him."

"Geek. Almost brought down that public company 'cause they fired his daddy."

"Oh, yeah. I remember. What did the judge want with him?"

"I don't know. All he said was to give the geek whatever he wanted. Well, he didn't call him a geek. What do you want me to do?"

"Give the geek whatever he wants but keep me in the loop."

"Yes, sir."

Warden Pitt had more to say.