Head of Tacoma Police Department’s Special Assaults Unit, Sergeant Ryan Stidham sat at his desk, which overflowed with folders and reports. His detectives investigated cases with a sexual motivation, child molestation, elder abuse, and computer crimes. With an abundance of frustration, he ranhis hand through his close-cropped black hair. The urge to throw everything on the floor bubbled up inside him, along with the craving to only handle the pages that landed face front. The thought dissipated as the phone on his desk rang. “Stidham.” “Sarge, it’s Bob Dennis. I’m at Harmony High School. Uh, we have an expanded issue on that sexting case.” Ryan rolled his green eyes. “Expanded issue?” “We’ve traced the original text to a computer in the principal’s office.” A weight sagged his shoulders. Eight o’clock, and the day was going to hell. “Don’t touch a thing. Keep the principal out of his office. Safeguard any security tape. And DO NOT talk to the press. Who’s there with you?” “Gunnerson.” “Good, I’ll call patrol, crime scene and send two bodies your way. I should be there in fifteen minutes. “Sexting,” he mumbled, walking to the parking field. “Whatever happened to girlie magazines? I’m thirty-nine; I can’t be that ancient.” Shifting the unmarked car into drive, he headed to the school. The six-foot, four-inch-tall former SEAL was an intimidating wall of a man. The secretary startled when he cleared the office door. Spotting his detectives, he moved past her. “What do we have?” “Boss, two days ago, Eric Nolan’s mom dragged her fifteen-year-old choir boy in by the ear.” His expression oozed sarcasm. Within a calculator program, the savvy lady found a series of naked photographs-individual shots of a group of the school’s cheerleaders, leading a whole new cheer. We are still trying to identify all the girls, but we are not getting much cooperation. A more graphic photo of Macey Horvath was disseminated from the IP address associated with the computer in Principal Marvin Lacey’s office. Here’s the kicker: he’s Macey Horvath’s uncle,” Bob Dennis said. “Bob, bring him in for questioning. Where is Macey?” Ryan’s lips pressed into a white slash. “The attendance office reported her absent today,” Victor Gunnerson said. “Address? Call me on the phone if more comes up. Victor, you’re in charge here.” The path to the front door of Macey’s North Tacoma home was steep and clogged with vines. Weeds overgrew terraced flower beds. The thought of body-snatching plants popped in his brain, and a deep bark followed his knock. “Police Department,” he announced himself. After his third try, a woman in her thirties with a Botoxed brow greeted him. “Sergeant Stidham from Tacoma PD. Are you Macey Horvath’s mom?” Despite her frozen brow, she frowned at him. “I am. What can I do for you?” “Ma’am, may I come inside?” As he stepped out of the sun’s glare, Priscilla Horvath leered at him. “Mmm, Sergeant, come sit. Can I get you something to drink?” She wrapped a manicured hand around his elbow to lead him into a living room with twelve-foot ceilings bordered by carved moldings and fine art-covered walls. He chose an armchair a distance from any other furniture. “Mrs. Horvath, is Macey home?” “Yes, she’s in bed. She wasn’t feeling well this morning.” “Detective Dennis spoke with your husband yesterday. Did he discuss the issue with you after the detective left?” “You mean the photograph of my daughter cheering?” she asked, devoid of emotion. A chill ran down his spine. “Did he explain to you that Macey was naked?” Ryan opened the file and removed the print of the shot. “I would like to speak with her.” Priscilla Horvath examined her fingernails. “Macey, get downstairs!” she yelled. Instead of Macey, a huge Labrador bounded into the room, hopping up on Ryan’s lap. “She’s gentle. She knows prime when she sees it.” She licked her lips. Ryan resisted rolling his eyes at the woman’s flirting. “Sit, girl.” The massive animal lay at his feet, coating his black slacks in white fur. At his insistence, Priscilla left in pursuit of her daughter. Five minutes later, Macey walked into the room with her mother. “Hi, Macey, I’m Sergeant Stidham. Your mom gave me permission to speak with you. How are you today?” “I have a headache,” she said. “Macey, a detective spoke with your dad yesterday. Did your dad speak with you?” “He took my phone and grounded me,” she huffed. “Did he mention why?” Ryan’s hands sat in a relaxed, open posture. “He said a photograph of me was being texted around school.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. Ryan swallowed hard. “Here’s the picture, Macey.” Macey shook. Her hand covered her mouth, and she ran to the hall bathroom. The sound of her retching drifted toward them. Macey’s mom sat, unaffected by her daughter’s reaction. On her heels, Ryan crouched beside her. He dampened ahand towel and passed it to the teen. “Macey, tell me about the picture.” The sixteen-year-old girl vomited again. Ryan radioed for a female detective and an ambulance. He triggered his phone to record. “May I record our conversation? I don’t want to push you to repeat what you mention to me.” Ryan sat beside her in the small space, visible from the hallway. “Yes.” She pressed her head against the porcelain. A few tears became a deluge. “They made me. Said the picture would bring in a lot of money.” Rinsing the cloth, Ryan handed it to her again. “Who, Macey?” “My mom, dad, and Uncle Marvin.” “Marvin Lacey?” “Uh huh.” Ryan’s toes coiled in his shoes. “Macey, did anyone pressure you to do something else?” “Uh huh,” she sniffed. Detective Diane Barnett arrived at the bathroom. “Ryan, I walked in. No one answered my knock. The woman inside didn’t acknowledge me.” He pulled Diane into the hallway. “That’s Macey’s mom. Macey, this is Diane.” He leaned into his detective and said in a low tone, “I need Macey to go to Harborview for an exam. Parents and uncle are involved.” “Tacoma Fire,” a male voice said. “Hey, Detective, what do you have?” “Hey, guys. This is Macey. She’s not feeling well. She needs to go to the Center at Harborview. But before you go, could you check out her mom? She’s in the front room.” The medic returned. “She denies anything is wrong. Denies she is taking anything. She even signed the refusal. Something is off. We’ll take care of Macey, Detective. Who’s riding with us?” “Diane, I’ll see you at the hospital.” The assistant district attorney in the Special Victims Unit placed him on hold. He was not leaving the home until he had a search warrant and arrest warrants for sexual exploitation and abuse of a child. Warrants en route, he requested a unit to help him arrest Priscilla Horvath. Silver handcuffs clashed with Mrs. Horvath’s gold bracelets. It was noon before Ryan could head to the hospital. On the way, he made a call. “Dean, it’s Ryan. Do you have time for me?” A special investigations detective, Dean Fonseca was the Tacoma PD’s liaison to the FBI’s missing and exploited children’s taskforce. Harborview’s emergency department bustled like an after-Christmas sale. Ryan walked the too-familiar corridors to a pair of rooms in a private alcove. The hospital built the unit as a safe place for victims of sexual assault-one room for the physical examination of victims and a second room for interviews. The tweed couch and two chairs attempted to form a soothing space. But it wasn’t. Ryan grabbed his usual seat and waited. This case raised the level of depravity. Diane held the door open for Macey and a sexual assault advocate. “Macey, Sergeant Stidham and Detective Barnett will ask you what happened. If you need a break, ask,” the advocate said. Ryan and Diane started with simple identifying questions about her full name, address, and date of birth. Alternating the questions between them gave the detectives an idea of who Macey gravitated to. Given permission to call them Ryan and Diane, Macey remained wary of Diane. Ryan offered a soothing smile and began, “Macey, I need to ask these questions because I have to write a report on this, and I want to get every detail correct. Let’s start with the picture. Please tell me when it was taken?” Ryan had a knack for making victims feel comfortable and at ease. Macey stared at her feet. “After the third football game of the season, my mom said the booster club needed to buy new scoreboards and goal posts. Selling a calendar would bring in a ton of money. I thought the idea was cool.” “A calendar? Were you with other girls?” Twelve girls? “Yeah.” “You’re safe now, Macey. I’d like you to look at some photographs. Please tell me their names. I want them to be safe too,” Ryan encouraged her. The photographs were cropped, showing only their faces. “Where were the photos taken?” “On the football field after everyone in the crowd went home.” Ryan cocked his head. “Tell me what happened on the football field. You are being very brave.” “Uncle Marvin gave us a pep talk. He brought a cooler of punch and pizza and let us play our music. My mom and a few other moms were there. They asked us to cheer. After I drank a cup, I felt like I was flying. The other moms got us cheering, and then we were taking our clothes off. I can’t remember more. When you showed me the picture, I…” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I remember taking off my uniform shirt and dancing around in my bra… I woke up the next morning dizzy, and my head hurt.” Ryan clarified details about who gave her the punch, who was there, and any other details leading up to the cheering. “How are you doing? Do you need to take a break?” He handed her the box of tissues. “I’m okay.” She tore the tissue in her hands. Ryan took a bracing breath. “In the bathroom today, you told me someone forced you to do more.” She nodded her head violently. “He made me. He said he’d change my grades to F’s. I didn’t want to. I swear.” “Shh. I believe you, Macey. Take some nice slow breaths with me.” Ryan took exaggerated breaths. Soon, Macey matched his breaths with hers. “There you go. Easy breaths.” He gave her time to get herself together. He hated to push her, but he needed the answers. “Who made you?” “Uncle Marvin. He said he’d change my grades. My mom drove me to his house. My aunt wasn’t home. He told me to get undressed and lie on the bed. I swear, I didn’t want to. He undressed. He’s fat and ugly, and he smells bad. He crawled on top of me. He grabbed my chest and shoved himself inside me. It hurt bad.” Macey shook. Ryan made eye contact with the advocate. Hug her. “Macey, was this the only time?” His gut told him what she would say before she answered. “No,” she whispered. Ryan culled out the details of the serial sexual assaults committed by her uncle. “Macey, I want you to listen to me. You did nothing wrong. None of this was your fault. Diane will stay with you until you are settled with a foster family. I know this is scary, but I want you to be safe. If you need to talk, here’s my card. You can call anytime.” He watched Diane and the advocate gather Macey up and leave the room. Ryan pressed his head back against the chair, composing himself. He learned after his first case, the phrase from his SEAL training applied to his current job: the only easy day was yesterday. The FBI liaison’s office was an upgrade from the standard detective’s space. Ryan carried a bag from Frugals. Waving at the secretary, he opened Dean’s door. “Don’t you knock?” Dean asked. “I came bearing gifts.” He dropped the bag in the center of his former SEAL team brother and his sister’s fiancé’s desk. “Well, I guess I forgive your transgression.” He sniffed the air and pulled out a burger. “I still don’t understand how a parent could do this. The mother drove her to Marvin Lacey’s home to be raped on multiple occasions.” Dean pointed the burger at the two large file cabinets filled with similar stories. “Maybe the answer is in there.” “Macey Horvath identified all the girls in the photos plus the names of four more girls. I’m waiting for a warrant on the family financials and phone records. Time to follow the money.” Dean pulled on his mustache. “I will run it through channels and see if any open cases that fit Macey’s story pop. These predators hide in plain sight.” He sipped from a water bottle. “How are things between you and Maria?” “Nowhere. I broke things off with Fluffy months ago. Do you realize how many colors of nail polish they make? She was well on her way to collecting them all. Made for scintillating dinner conversation.” Dean’s sides shook. “How’d she take it?” “She’s seeing a firefighter. Loves her men in uniform.” Ryan shrugged. “You were always cute in your dress whites,” Dean teased. “So were you. What was your nickname?” Ryan looked at the ceiling. “Hmm, Sugarlips.” Dean blushed. “You remember, though, that was not from kissing anybody.” “Um, yeah.” Ryan waved and sauntered out of the office. The nickname came from a care package Dean received for a Valentine’s Day in Afghanistan: a package of 100 edible red candy lips. The mismarked box gave the squad a lift and him a call name.