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it was
another physician, but she didn’t verbalize that thought.
    “She needs to be emotionally stabilized and prepared for
what is going to happen.”
    Hope was determined to relax and sound diplomatic; she made
a conscious effort not to allow her personal attitude toward the man to seep
into her argument.
    He started to verbalize his protest. “Look, I don’t have all
day. She may never be ready, so you can do your job and take care of her after
I finish doing what I have to do.”
    She was no longer paying attention to what her colleague was
saying. There was some sort of commotion going on several feet away and she
lost her focus.
    Out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed Jean animatedly
talking to another uniformed officer. They were looking down at what appeared
to be some sort of flyer. Hope watched as Jean grabbed the paper from the
officer’s hands and briskly walked back in Hope’s direction.
    Turning back to her associate, Hope took two steps closer to
the muscularly-constructed Dr. Lewis and decided she didn’t have time for this.
She was now deep in his personal space and was not about to back off or let him
think that his size intimidated her. The big man just shook his head, and
didn’t move.
    “Look, Dr. Rubin, I need to be somewhere in . . .”
he glanced down at the gold Rolex that accented his thick wrist. Hope
immediately knew there was no way she was going to let this particular man,
physician or not, with his large, unfriendly hands and his cartoon-like Popeye
muscles, come within one inch of that child’s body. She wasn’t going to admit
it or show it, but even she was intimidated by the size of him. She couldn’t
imagine how the fragile little girl would feel. He continued, “. . . in
forty five minutes. I promised my kid I wouldn’t miss his soccer game.”
    She knew he was trying to sound sympathetic and was making a
feeble attempt to put her on a guilt trip, playing the ‘good daddy’ card, but
she wasn’t going to bend.
    “Paul, go to your game. I will get Doctor Lercher to come in
and examine her. I need more time to prepare this child for such an invasive
exam and we’re wasting time, so excuse me.” She pushed past him intentionally,
allowing her arm to brush against his arm, in a display of aggression. She let
out a sigh of relief when she didn’t hear his footsteps following behind her,
which meant he wasn’t going to argue with her. She reached the child’s cubicle at
precisely the same time as Detective Whitley.
    Lifting the flyer, and waving it in the air, Jean handed it
to Hope. Taking a good look at the paper, Hope nodded her head and then both
women walked into the cubicle where the little girl waited.
    Sophie was holding the little girl’s hand, and another nurse
was wiping the child’s face with a sterile gauze pad. She carefully maneuvered
around the little girl, who was now feverishly sucking on her thumb. The black
makeup that had previously made its way down her cheeks was practically gone.
The red lipstick was now a pale shade of pink. The nurse, under the watchful
eye of a police officer, took the pad and placed it in an evidence bag.
    Jean turned to Sophie. “Has she said anything?”
    The social worker shook her head no.
    Hope pulled over the rolling stool and sat down in front of
the tiny child. She took another cloth from the nurse and continued to gently
wipe the child’s face.
    “Can you tell me your name, honey?” The little girl sat
there staring, sucking softly on her thumb.
    Hope glanced over at the flyer she held in her hand from THE
CENTER OF MISSING AND EXPLOITED CHILDREN.
    Missing from Astoria, Queens, New York.
    Age 5, Michaelah Sandberg.
    Last seen on Dec 21, 2013 playing in front of her home.
    “Michaelah?” Is your name Michaelah?” Hope asked.
    Immediately, recognizing her own name, the little girl’s big
brown eyes opened wide, and she removed the thumb from her mouth. “I want my
mommy.”
    Hope gave the child a