I climbed out of my truck and made my way up the crumbling walk to the patio and rang the bell. I could hear a tv blaring through the door. I waited. Nothing. I was just about to ring the bell a second time when the door opened, and Mrs. Calhoun appeared, baby on her hip and looking harried. “Mr. McCoy, what are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry to intrude, but I have some paperwork to go over with Zoe, and a few things I need your take on. Do you have a few minutes?”

Mrs. Calhoun glanced behind her towards the sound of the television. “Now’s not really a good time—”

“Who the fuck’s at the door, Meg?” A man stumbled towards the house’s small foyer. His clothes were rumpled, and the scent of alcohol hit me from four feet away.

“This is Mr. McCoy. He’s Zoe’s advocate from the Alliance. He needs to talk to her.”

Mr. Calhoun sneered at me. “The fancy lawyer. The one who bought her all that shit. You know, now our blood kids want to know why they don’t get that stuff.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Calhoun. But I really do need to speak with Zoe.” My hands tightened at my sides, the papers in my left hand crumpling.

“She can’t come to the door right now. It’s study time.”

The girl was nine. I highly doubted she had hours of homework. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.”

Red crept up Calhoun’s neck and into his face. “This is my house. You can’t demand shit.”

“Brian,” Mrs. Calhoun pleaded.

“Shut up, Meg.”

I pulled out my phone. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to call the sheriff. You’re inebriated, and I have reason to be concerned for Zoe’s welfare.”

“For fuck’s sake, she’s in the closet. She’s fine. And I just had a few beers after work. It’s a man’s right.”

“Did you say she’s in the closet?” My blood began to heat, and I let the papers I was holding fall to the ground. I needed both hands free in case this escalated.

Brian charged down a hall and pulled open a door. I followed without considering whether or not it was a smart to do so. All I could think about was sweet Zoe, scared and alone. The sight that met me had me struggling to keep my composure. Zoe was huddled in a corner with a flashlight and the backpack I’d given her. On the opposite wall of the small closet was one of those potty-training toilets. How long did they keep her in here that they needed a toilet?

“Crosby?” Zoe’s voice trembled, and I saw red.

“Come on, Zo.” I reached out a hand and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go.”