“Mrs. Moody,” Dani said with a nod, then leaned down, not needing a fake smile for the little boy. He was a darling. “And who are you?”

“Joshua,” he said, showing her his name sign. “My brother’s head is hurt. It’s bleeding. His shoulder, too.”

“We’ll get him all fixed up,” Dani promised, still signing so that Michael could follow the conversation. “Just give me a few minutes to talk to your coach, okay?”

Joshua’s expression was sober. “He said you’d take care of everything.”

Dani’s eyes shot up to Diesel’s in question. “Well, I’ll do my best. Why don’t you sit over there with Mrs. Moody and your brother? I’ll be back in a sec.”

Diesel leaned in to Scarlett and murmured something that Dani didn’t catch. She reached behind her ear to hike the volume on her processor, wincing when the sounds flooded in. She’d been born deaf in her right ear and wore a hearing device that diverted all the sound into her left ear. Usually having it at a low setting was fine for one-on-one, but if someone was whispering, she needed to turn it up.

“—need CPS,” Diesel was saying and Dani’s heart sank while Scarlett nodded her understanding.

“I’ll call Adam to come in,” Scarlett said. “He signs, too. We’ll get a statement.”

“I’ll call him,” Dani said, her smile tight because she was annoyed, actually. Had I known parental abuse was an issue, I would have called Adam myself.

Scarlett gave her a nod. “Thanks, Dani.”

Joshua’s curious stare had locked on Tommy in the wheelchair. “What happened to you?” he asked the old man, his small hands unmoving at his sides.

Michael nudged his brother and gave his head a hard shake. “Not polite,” he signed. “Apologize.”

So Michael can speech-read, Dani thought. Just a little, perhaps, but that’s enough for me to be on guard. Good to know.

Joshua obediently apologized and Tommy patted his head, telling him it was good that he was willing to admit when he was wrong. Tommy glanced ruefully at Dani as he said the words, and she knew that was all the apology she’d get from the old charmer.

“See you soon, Tommy, Edna. Coach Diesel? Let’s talk.”

Cleveland, Ohio
Saturday, March 16, 12:55 p.m.

Grant Masterson cursed under his breath as he searched the stack of paperwork for a copy of his client’s 1099. He’d just had it in his hands. Dammit.

He paused to close his eyes and take a deep breath to calm his racing heart. He was exhausted. The last time he’d slept? He opened his eyes to glance over at the cot he brought into his office every year at the beginning of tax season. Whenever it was, it was too long ago.

Maybe he’d take a quick—

“Grant?”