"How is she?" Gideon asked quietly as he grabbed a mug.
"Stubborn. Brave. Traumatized but hiding it well." I leaned against the counter. "She wanted to go to work today."
Maddox snorted. "Of course she did."
"Talked her down to one day off," I continued. "And full disclosure about what she knows."
Gideon nodded approvingly. "Good. We need everything she can give us if we're going to get ahead of these people."
"She's protective of her cases," I warned. "Professional ethics are important to her."
"Understandable," Gideon replied. "But we'll need to convince her that the usual rules don't apply when children's lives are at stake."
Emily chose that moment to appear in the kitchen doorway. She'd changed into her clothes from yesterday— a blouse and jeans— and had pulled her hair back into a neat ponytail with a simple, plain elastic. All traces of the woman I'd held through the night were gone, replaced by a professional façade. “I left yousome new hair ties in the bathroom.” I’d loved the pink ribbons she’d worn yesterday.
She blinked at me in surprise but then turned to the guys. "Good morning," she said, her voice steady despite the way her eyes darted nervously between the three unfamiliar men.
"Emily," I moved to her side, placing a reassuring hand at the small of her back. "These are my friends. Gideon, Maddox, and Eric, our tech specialist."
Each man nodded in greeting. Gideon and Maddox were especially gentle, and then we all got a notification on our phones of another car. Gideon checked his first and his eyebrows went up. "Walker." Emily glanced at me.
"Didn't you just say he'd lost his gran?"
I nodded. I was surprised to see him myself. I went to the door, even though we all had our own entry codes. Walker looked awful. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and he'd lost weight. He still had the huge, muscular body I was familiar with but not a spare ounce of fat on him. I didn't say anything, just pulled him into a quick hug, which he returned with a brief, one-armed embrace.
"Heard we had a situation," he said, his voice rough. "Thought you might need all hands."
"Thanks for coming," I said quietly. "But if you need more time—"
"I don't," he cut me off. "Work helps."
I nodded, understanding completely. When you'd seen the things we had, staying busy was often the only way to keep the darkness at bay.
"Come meet Emily," I said, leading him to the kitchen.
Emily's eyes widened slightly when Walker entered. Despite his haggard appearance, there was no denying his presence—tall, muscular, with the watchful eyes of a man who'd seencombat. He nodded politely to her but kept his distance, leaning against the wall rather than taking a seat at the table.
"Now that everyone's here," Gideon said, taking charge as always, "let's get started. Emily, first I want to thank you for agreeing to speak with us. I know this isn't easy."
Emily straightened in her chair. "I just want to help the children in my care. If you can do that, I'll tell you whatever you need to know."
Gideon nodded, his expression serious. "That's our goal too. Eric, you want to start?"
Eric set up his laptop, fingers flying over the keyboard. "I've been looking into the foster system records in this county," he began. "There are some definite anomalies, especially in placement patterns for certain demographics of children."
"Teenagers," Emily said immediately. "Specifically, girls between thirteen and sixteen, and boys between eleven and fourteen."
Eric nodded. "Exactly. And these placements tend to cluster around specific foster families."
"The Wilsons, the Derksens, and the Grants," Emily supplied. "Plus two others who recently moved into the county—the Bennetts and the Levines."
I watched her as she spoke, noting her professional demeanor was a shield, allowing her to discuss horrific things with clinical detachment. It was a coping mechanism I recognized from my own time in the service.
"These families all have something in common," Emily continued. "They're relatively new to fostering, all approved within the last three years. They all requested older children specifically, which is unusual—most foster parents want younger kids. And they all have connections to my supervisor, Susan Martin."
Maddox leaned forward. "Connections how?"
"Social connections, mostly. Susan's husband plays golf with Mr. Wilson and Mr. Grant. The Derksens attend the same church as Susan. The Bennetts are her neighbors. And the Levines—Mrs. Levine is Susan's cousin."
