“No, we didn’t, because Minerva’s on her usual mission to keep families together whatever the cost. Family Services doesn’t focus on what the child actually needs. It’s like there are sharks in the water and we go, hey, Let’s see if the kid can swim to shore! He might make it! But Sully, we know the truth.” I swallow. “A lot don’t make it.” Dizziness sweeps through my head, and I pitch forward for a second. Sully doesn’t notice.

“So your team’s still big on the bloodline thing?”

I met Sully in a liaison meeting a year ago, where unexpectedly I ranted to a roomful of social workers and police officers about the failings of the current protection system. Sully sipped calmly through that speech, too, but after the meeting he asked me out for a fresh coffee. You’re just what we need, he said. But be careful you don’t burn out too quickly. Text me whenever you need to talk. And then it kind of became a weekly thing. A couple of times a week, maybe, at the most. But it’s not like we’ve set it in stone. And he knows about Chase. This is purely a professional relationship. But I find I do look forward to seeing him. More and more. I need him. I really do.

“Morris leans toward advocating for family, yes.” I stare down at the table. “But this baby doesn’t stand a chance if we don’t remove him.” The image of a tanned boy with a toy truck in his hand pops into my mind again, but it’s morphed a bit. It’s not Buster anymore. He’s not holding the blue car but something else: a clothespin. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the image, of the memory.

“Minerva’s a soft touch,” Sully says. “She doesn’t always make the right call, in my opinion. Then I have to deal with the consequences on the job. And they aren’t always pretty.”

“Exactly! So we have to do something. Better sooner than later.” I feel relief to hear him talk like this. He understands. He knows I’m not overreacting. “God, Sully, it’s good to see you.”

“You too.” He looks down at the table, picks at a gnarl in the wood.

“You know who else would like to see you?” I say. “Minerva. She wants your number.”

His eyes and mouth widen like I’m suggesting he eat chalk. “Oh my God. Are you serious?”

“I haven’t given it to her.”

He shakes his head. “Good.” He leans forward an inch farther, puts an elbow on the table. “I’m very selective about who can reach me, Alex. You’d be breaking protocol if you passed it on.”

“Understood,” I say, blushing, because there’s a compliment in there for me, and we both know it.

“And about that kid …”