Both men nodded, and she blew out a sigh. “All right, then.” She signed as she spoke. “Michael came to me for medical attention. Now that I’m his emergency foster parent, I can authorize this. I’ve already sutured the cut on his head and documented the injury. His shoulder is also hurt, and he may need to wear a sling to protect it. I’ll examine him now, before you take him downtown.” She met Adam’s gaze, then Deacon’s, daring them to cross her. Neither man did, for which she was grateful. “Nurse Jenny will assist me. I assume we’ll need police presence during the exam?”

Both men nodded again. “We need to do this cleanly,” Deacon said, also signing. He’d been rusty when he’d returned to Cincinnati two and a half years ago, but daily interaction with their younger brother, Greg, had quickly honed his ASL skills. “It’s also to protect you, Michael. Hopefully we can clear this up easily. If not, and if the prosecutor ends up pressing charges, we’ll want everything done according to procedure. That way no one can accuse you of having your story fed to you by your doctor.”

Michael’s eyes shot to Dani’s, filled with a mix of shock and . . . anger. “He thinks you’d do that? Your own brother?”

“No.” Dani offered him a smile. “But he thinks an overzealous lawyer might try to make a jury think so. He’s protecting you. Would you be all right with him staying in the room with us?”

Michael’s eyes shifted again, but not before she saw the flash of panic. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, they were expressionless. “Can Officer Cullen do it instead?” he asked.

God. Dani kept her own smile gentle even as his panic and his words made a terrible kind of sense. She’d seen that reaction before. Too many times.

Someone had hurt him. Someone male.

“It’s fine,” Deacon said softly. He’d caught the nuance, too.

So had Adam, even though her cousin said nothing. Only because she’d known him her whole life did she know that the twitch of his eye signaled guilt. He’d been Michael’s coach, she recalled. He would feel guilty that he hadn’t known—and hadn’t helped this boy. The guilt was unwarranted, but Adam felt things so much more deeply than most people knew.

“Should I call Meredith?” he asked quietly when Dani walked past him on her way back to the examination room. His wife was a child psychologist who specialized in treating traumatized kids. “I can ask her to meet us at the precinct.”

“That’s a good idea,” Dani murmured. “Thanks.”

Cincinnati, Ohio
Saturday, March 16, 3:45 p.m.

“That’s fu—”