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cocky, amusing companion he’d had several elevator rides with. Not now. She looked totally without hope.
    He saw them out the door and went back into his office without a word to his secretary.
    â€œWe’ll go over to juvenile hall,” Bob Malcolm was telling Becky as he put her into the elevator and pressed the sixth floor button. “Everything will be all right. If Kilpatrick can’t prove his case, he won’t pursue it. Clay can leave with us.”
    â€œHe wouldn’t even listen to me,” she said huskily.
    â€œHe’s a hard man. Probably the best D.A. this county’s had in a long time, but sometimes he can be inflexible. Not an easy man to face across a courtroom, either.”
    â€œI can understand that.”
    Â 
    B ECKY WENT TO JUVENILE HALL to see her brother after work. She was ushered into a tiny meeting room to wait for him. Clay walked in fifteen minutes later, looking frightened and belligerent all at once.
    â€œHi, Becky,” he said with a cocky grin. “They didn’t beat me, so you don’t need to worry. They won’t send me to jail. I’ve talked with two other kids who know the ropes. They say juvenile hall is just a slap on the wrist because we’re underage. I’ll beat this rap sitting down.”
    â€œThank you,” she told him, stiff-lipped and cold-eyed. “Thank you for your generous consideration of your grandfather’s feelings and mine. It’s nice to know that you love us enough to become notorious on our behalf.”
    Clay was wild, but he had a heart. He toned down instantly and dropped his eyes.
    â€œNow, tell me what happened,” she said shortly, sitting down across from him after Mr. Brady, the juvenile officer on Clay’s case, joined them.
    â€œDidn’t they tell you?” Clay asked.
    â€œYou tell me,” she countered.
    He gave her a long look and shrugged. “I was drunk,” he muttered, twisting his hands over his jeans-clad legs. “They said let’s do some crack, and I just nodded. I flaked out in the back seat and didn’t come to until the police stopped us. My pockets were full of the stuff. I don’t know how it got there. Honest, Becky,” he added. His sister and brother and grandfather were the only people on earth he loved. He hated what he’d done, but he was too proud to admit it. “I sobered up real good after Kilpatrick talked to me.”
    â€œPossession of illegal drugs alone could get you a prison term of up to ten years, if the D.A. decided to try you as an adult,” Mr. Brady interjected with a level glance. “And you may not be out of the woods yet. Mr. Kilpatrick, the district attorney, would very much like to nail you to the wall.”
    â€œHe can’t. I’m a juvenile.”
    â€œOnly for another year. And reform school wouldn’t appeal to you, young man. I can promise you that.”
    Clay looked subdued, and a little less belligerent. He twisted his hands in his lap. “I won’t go to jail, will I?”
    â€œNot this time,” the juvenile officer said. “But don’t underestimate Kilpatrick. Your father was pretty arrogant when he beat the robbery charge, and that didn’t endear your family to the D.A. He’s a very moral man. He doesn’t like lawbreakers. It would do you good to remember that. He still thinks your father threatened that victim to keep him from talking.”
    â€œDad was arrested?” Clay began.
    â€œNever mind,” Becky said, stiffening her features.
    He glanced at her, noticing reluctantly the strain in her face, the sadness. He felt a twinge of conscience.
    â€œI’ll say this once,” Mr. Brady told Clay. “You’ve got a chance to keep your nose clean. If you throw it away, no one is going to be able to help you—not your sister or me. You may beat the rap for a while, as long as you’re a juvenile. But you’re