I stared at the phone.

My daughter leaned over.

"Who is it?"

"I don't know." I picked it up and answered.

Silence on the other end.

Then a man's voice, low and careful.

"Is he with you?"

"Who is this?"

"I think you already know I'm not going to answer that." A pause.

"I just want to know if he's safe."

"He's been living on the street for three days.

Does that sound safe to you?"

Another pause.

Longer this time.

"That wasn't supposed to happen."

"None of this was supposed to happen." I stood up and moved away from the table so Noah couldn't hear me.

"You took my son.

You kept him from me for five years.

And now you're calling to ask if he's safe?"

"I didn't take him." The voice was careful but something underneath it was starting to fray.

"I was asked to keep him.

There's a difference."

"There is no difference."

"His father came to me.

He said you were dangerous.

He said the courts wouldn't help him.

He said he just needed time to get things sorted and then he'd come back for the boy." The man stopped.

"He never came back."

My hand tightened on the phone.

"Where is his father now?"

Silence.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know.

He stopped contact fourteen months ago.

That's when things got difficult.

I'm not — I was never supposed to be doing this long-term.

I'm not a bad person."

"You kept my child from me for five years.

You told him I didn't want him." My voice dropped to almost nothing.

"You let him believe that."

"I was told—"

"I don't care what you were told." I turned back toward the table.

Noah was watching me.

I made myself breathe.

"I'm going to ask you one question and I need the truth.

Is there anyone else involved in this?

Anyone who might try to take him again?"

A long silence.

"The woman," he said finally.

"She's the one who set it up.

Not me.

She came to his father first.

She's the one who told him you were unfit.

She found me.

She arranged everything."

"What's her name?"

"You know her name," he said quietly.

"That's why you're not calling the police yet."

The line went d*ad.

I stood there for a moment with the phone against my ear even after he'd gone.

Claire arrived twelve minutes later.

She came through the bakery door in her coat, her briefcase in one hand, her phone in the other.

She stopped when she saw Noah.

Her face did something complicated.

"Hi," she said to him carefully.

He looked at her.

"Are you the lawyer?"

"I am."

"Are you going to help my mom keep me?"

Claire set her briefcase down on the nearest chair.

She crouched to his level, which I had never seen her do in twelve years of knowing her.

"That's exactly what I'm going to do," she said.

Noah nodded slowly.

Then he looked at me.

"She seems okay."

"She's the best," I said.

Claire straightened up and pulled me two steps aside.

Her voice dropped.

"Tell me everything.

Start with the letter."

I took it from my pocket and handed it to her.

She read it once.

Her expression didn't change, but her jaw tightened on the second line and didn't release.

"Is this who I think it is?"

"Yes."

"Have you contacted her?"

"Not yet."

Claire folded the letter and held it.

"Don't.

Not until we know what she knows and what she can claim.

If she lawyers up before we have a full picture, this gets complicated." She looked at Noah again.

"He needs to be medically assessed.

Today.

And we need a DNA confirmation on record even though it's obvious.

That protects him legally."

"I know."

"And the man on the phone — Ray Calloway — he just confessed to five years of unlawful custody in a recorded call."

I looked at her.

"I didn't record it."

"Your phone carrier did." She almost smiled.

"We'll get the records subpoenaed." She picked up her briefcase.

"I'm calling Judge Harmon's clerk right now.

We'll have an emergency custody order by end of day."

For the first time since the alley, something in my chest loosened slightly.

Then my daughter tugged my sleeve.

"Mom." She was looking at the bakery window.

"That man outside.

He's been standing there since we came in."

I turned.

A man in a grey jacket was standing on the pavement across the street.

He wasn't looking at the bakery.

He was looking at his phone.

But his phone screen was dark.