The downtown precinct was a grid of desks and cubicles, not unlike the city outside. Officers, interns, and plainclothes detectives navigated the station without incident, between criminals in handcuffs and officers scribbling their reports.

At the front desk Danny used his status for leverage, and he had been dealt with before the general public. They brought him into the department of narcotics, and he was told that he would be attended to as soon as humanly possible.

However, despite the efficiency shown to him, when it was all said and done, Danny was an FBI agent on NYPD turf. He was a reminder of past grievances, and service was given begrudgingly.

Standing at that back of the room, Danny glanced down at his watch impatiently. It was 10:30. Jordan had already been in custody for three hours. He imagined her being booked…her fingerprints on record…the flash of the camera against her…the handcuffs secured around her wrists should she get any ideas.

He tried to shake the thought away, but it persisted. Where others might see a first offense, Danny saw a once clean slate now forever marked by a criminal history that would follow her name and photograph for the rest of her life.

The image turned his stomach.

Next to him, Sr. Rachel stood her ground with the grace of a queen. But Danny saw through the act. He knew that if he had snapped his fingers in front of her face, she’d be a new fixture on the ceiling.

She was what they called a ‘loaded pistol’ in the field. She was skittish, and in stressful situations that was no way to be. If there had been a choice in the matter, Danny would have regretted allowing her to come. But with Rachel, there never was. Arguments were about as lost on her as reason.

They felt every second of the thirty-five minutes that passed as if each were an hour. Danny held back his impatience until he finally gained the attention of one of the officers.

He stopped him in his stride. “Excuse me, I’m Agent Danny Taylor. I’m an FBI agent.” He flashed his badge. “I’m looking for Jordan Coliandri. I’ve been here waiting patiently, and I think it’s about time you let me in to see her.”

A wiry officer with horned-rims scrunched his lips together in a grimace. “What business brings you here?”

“I’m an interested party.”

The man squinted sourly. “Yeah? What relation are you?”

Danny felt his eyes roll as he pointed to his open wallet. “I already told you. I am an FBI agent-”

“Yeah, I got that the first time-”

“No, I don’t think you did,” Danny shot back. “Because had you gotten it the first time, you would have cooperated and brought me to wherever you’re keeping Jordan Coliandri. Not given me the runaround in hopes I’d disappear back into my office.”

“Look, Agent Taylor.” The officer pointed dismissively to his badge “Take your wares and tote them someplace else. I don’t care if you’re FBI. I don’t care if you’re CIA. Nobody interrupts interrogation on my watch. This is a local case. You want to make it a federal matter, come back with some signed paperwork. Unless you’re a parent or guardian-”

Sr. Rachel spoke up. “I’m her guardian.”

The man looked to her, like he might a piece of dung. “Are you? Where’s your identification?”

Sr. Rachel dug into her purse and pulled out a driver’s license.

The officer held it up to his eyes.

“My name is Sr. Rachel Corrione. I’m in charge of the orphanage that has kept Jordan thus far. If you’ll check her records, you’ll see me listed.”

“I see,” the man said. He adopted a new demeaning tone. “And just what does…” He checked back into the records. “The orphanage at St. Luke’s have to say about children disappearing to collect drug money.”

Rachel stood there, mouth gaping.

“Because last I heard an orphanage like yours was made to keep minors off the streets, not send them off with a blessing.”

As Sr. Rachel’s eyes fell to slits, Danny could have sworn the room grew a degree colder. “Have you ever tried feeding, clothing, and keeping an eye on fourteen children, officer?”

“No. I’m sure I couldn’t,” he chided. “Which is why I have a mind enough never to try. What kind of orphanage are you running over there?”

Before Danny could verbally attack the man before him, a detective with short white hair broke into the group. “Gibbons.”

The officer straightened his shoulders as his superior entered the room. “Sir,” he answered.

The detective calmly put a hand against the young man’s back and turned him to face the opposite direction. “They’re finishing up in your room,” he told him. “Why don’t you go document what testimony they have so far.” He pointed behind to Danny and Sr. Rachel. “I’ll take care of this.”

The officer became the very picture of stability. “Gladly, sir.” With his new orders, he took off through the station, on a mission to reach the interrogation room in record time.

Heaving an agitated sigh, the hardened detective turned back to Danny and Rachel and gazed to them apologetically. “Sorry about that.”

Danny, who had visibly calmed, extended his hand to the detective before him. “How’ve you been, Frank?”

Detective Frank Sanders strongly returned the handshake and offered up a weary smirk along with his thick New York accent. “Can’t complain.” Motioning them to follow him, he began to lead them through the workplace. “If I’d have known it was you, I wouldn’t have sent over the rook to do my job. Gibbons means well, but he tends to get a little carried away. Watches too much TV, know what I mean?”

Danny frowned. “He’s got one charming personality.”

Frank shrugged. “He’s a pompous ass, but he’s good at his job.” He looked to Danny. “You here on business?”

“I’m here off hours.”

Frank’s gaze widened slightly. “Who you here for?” he wanted to know.

“Young girl. Jordan Coliandri. She came in at about seven-thirty on drug charges.”

Frank’s nod heightened as memory assisted him. “Coliandri.” He stopped in his stride and squinted up at Danny. “How do you know her?”

“I keep in close contact with the orphanage she stays at.” Danny blinked and nodded to Rachel. “I’m sorry. This is Sr. Rachel Corrione. She’s in charge of the establishment at St. Luke’s. Rachel, this is Frank Sanders. He’s one of the detectives I interned under.”

The two nodded their hellos, unable to be particularly warm towards each other given the circumstances.

“Coliandri was the only girl we brought in on the bust,” Frank informed them. “Caught them at the drop. We’d been trailing that crew for quite some time, but we were never able to bring them in on official charges.”

Danny felt his lips dry. “She’s been officially charged then?”

“No,” he said shaking his head. “The two guys that we brought in with her were, but she wasn’t. The evidence against her is mostly circumstantial. Wrong place, wrong time, everyone’s basic sob story. I bet my last dollar she was carrying, but this girl ain’t who we’re after.” He trained his eyes on Danny. “We want the dealer. We want the one who’s behind the kids, ordering the deliveries.” A sigh escaped from between his lips as he turned to face the nearest interrogation room. “They’ve been in there with her for a good two hours now… She’s not talking.”

Again Danny’s imagination spurred forth a picture of Jordan, sitting in a chair, scared stupid from the threats of the men demanding she speak with them.

“I want to go easy on this kid, I do. But unless she gives us something, I can’t make this go away. I’d help you out, but it’s give and take, Danny. You know that.”

Danny nodded sympathetically. He knew Frank. If he could have let her go, he would have. “How much trouble is she in?”

Frank leveled with him. “She’s only been arrested on suspicion. If nobody steps in to say otherwise, she’ll go to court. They’ll give her a lesser charge. She’ll get a warning. A couple days worth of community service, and she’s done. Judges tend to be sympathetic in these cases, especially toward kids, and especially towards females.” He blinked and looked to Sr. Rachel. “No offense.”

Sr. Rachel, though upset, put up her hand. Frank read the signal. None had been taken.

He continued. “She may not do time, but her name’ll be on record. She ever wants a job in law enforcement, the government, some corporate office, she’ll have to think again. This kind thing follows you around. She may not go to jail, but it’s enough to make her employment life a living nightmare.”

Danny let the reality of her situation seep through him. His response was simple. “What can I do?”

Frank’s eyes returned to Danny’s. They studied him for quite some time. “You know this girl?”

“Yes.”

“Does she listen to you?”

Danny thought a moment before answering. “I thought she did,” he said sadly.

Frank let out another sigh. His used a sweaty palm to mat down the white hair atop his head. “Well, do me a favor. Get the girl talking. Let her know what kind of mess she’s got herself into.”

Danny nodded. At the simple instruction, he felt his mind begin to morph. He was no longer Danny the mentor. He was on police territory now. His persona had changed, into a stance that Martin had accurately dubbed as ‘Cujo.’

“You get the names of who’s behind this drug chain,” Frank said. “Things might turn out differently. You get some information out of her, I can guarantee the boys who brought her in will be grateful.”

Danny’s eyes locked onto the door of the interrogation room. He turned back to Frank, steel overlapping the pain in his eyes.

“I’ll see what I can do.”