The lights in the interrogation room are giving me a headache that relentlessly pounds at my forehead.

“Come on,” I groan with my head in my palms. “Let’s go.”

I rub my eyes and raise my head, glaring into the dark glass of the two-way mirror across from me. All I can see is my own reflection, but in my mind’s eye, I’m staring directly at Cliff.

I know that fuck is back there and I know this is his doing.

“Let’s go,” I bellow. “Come on!”

I sink back into my chair, lean my head back and close my eyes, but somehow the fluorescent beams still x-ray right through my eyelids. They’re just as fucking bright with my eyes open or closed.

The walls of the room feel like they’re shrinking by the hour. I’ve never been this restless. I feel like a lab rat being observed under cancer inducing lights by some of Cliff’s favorite minions. I forgot my watch this morning, of course, but it’s been at least two hours since I got here.

Two hours sitting in this fucking chair.

Under these fucking lights.

I rest my forehead on the table. It’s made of cold metal, but it feels drastically better than the stale and stuffy air.

Just then the door flings open and smacks against the wall.

“Shut the hell up,” Cliff barks. He slams it behind him. “Whole damn town can hear you yellin’ in here.”

“Good,” I say flatly. “No priority on efficiency around here I see.”

His abrupt entrance settles into an arrogantly relaxed expression. He drops a manila folder flat on the table, then takes a step back and opens the door. “You’re free to leave if you’d like.”

“Yeah, I’m sure I am.”

“Go ahead.” Cliff tugs his belt up and shrugs. “You ain’t under arrest. Not yet.”

“My understanding is that people don’t get arrested unless they’ve done something.”

He closes the door and lurches into the chair across the table, leaning back and resting his hands on his stomach.

“Before we start I’ll remind you that you’ve got the right to silence. Otherwise, that little guy up there’s gon’ record everything you say.” He thumbs at the camera on the wall behind him.

I bob my head at it.

“Got it?” He winks at me, sending thick wrinkles down his cheek.

“Absolutely. I’m just hoping I can help clear this up.”

Cliff smirks. “You and me both.” He crosses his arms with fake look of confusion. “Cause see, I’m having trouble understandin’ how a guy like you could go and do somethin’ so brutal.”

I shrug. “I can’t help with that.”

Cliff leans forward and slowly brings his crossed arms onto the table. “You know, karma is one of them things that don’t ever go away,” he says. “Sometimes you can outrun her for awhile, but she always catches up. Sure as shit.”

He opens the manila folder. My eyes flick down, then right back up at him. Then to the camera sitting above the two-way mirror. I could upend this whole building right now if I spilled every little secret Cliff has forced on me. I’d end his career in a second, but that would mean I’d also—

“Sometimes you get warnings here and there,” he continues. “But if you go on ignoring them warnings, they tend to catch up real quickly.” Cliff pauses. “Somethin’ tells me a guy like yourself got a few warnings before he found himself sittin’ here.”

I stay silent, fixing my eyes on the tiny dark pupils nestled in his pudgy cheeks. Cliff holds my glare and his face begins twisting into another wide smirk.

He’s enjoying this.

The stiff silence makes the blank walls shrink even closer and the whole room is uncomfortably still until Cliff breaks our stare. All emotion vanishes from his expression and he turns the folder in my direction.

“Such an ugly, ugly scene,” he says, shaking his head.

Facing me is a picture of a woman’s nude body lying face up on the pavement behind a dumpster. There’s a single dark round hole in her forehead, lines of dried blood down her face. I allow my gaze to drop briefly, but I immediately return to Cliff’s face without a word.

Despite how hard it is to swallow the image.

He stabs his fat finger into the picture. “Go ahead. Look at her! This is what you did, son.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I spit.

“That ain’t what it looks like to me.” He spins the folder back around and flips to the page stapled behind the picture. “Elizabeth Anne Barton, twenty-four years old, killed from a single gun shot wound to the head. Bodily fluids found at the scene.” He looks up. “That means semen. I put a priority-rush on it and got the folks in the lab to test it right away. They came back with a match right before I came in here.” His expression flattens into a smile. “Guess who it is.”

I shake my head, unable to move my lips.

“All this forensic science is gettin’ kind’a crazy,” he says. “Ain’t even seen your hotdog and we know you did it.”

“That’s impossible.”

Cliff’s smile returns. “Well you can thank yourself for us gettin’ a match so quickly. CODIS still has your DNA. You remember that little scrap you got yourself into, don’cha?”

I don’t say a word.

His smirk grows with cruel satisfaction. “Yeah, I think you remember. It was somethin’ about your parents, wasn’t it? A few nasty words and eighteen-year-old Noah just started swinging.” He clicks his tongue. “What a shame. But—I guess that’s why we keep the info of knuckleheads like you in our system. Can’t say I disagree.”

My lungs are too tense to breathe.

There’s a fire in my stomach that’s urging me to speak, urging me to say something to defend myself, but every word stays caught in my throat.

“We collected a bullet that looks a lot like a .38 cal to me. Don’t you own a .38 caliber revolver?” He cocks his head, pausing to allow me to answer. But I don’t. “Thing is, we found a .38 cal revolver at the scene and she was covered in your fingerprints,” he drawls. In a sudden lurch he leans forward again. “Pretty soon, ballistics will pair our bullet with your gun.”

My back is hot with sweat and I ignore the urge to shift in my seat. I don’t even feel my limbs anymore. All I can do is glare.

Eventually Cliff leans back again. He joins his fingers on the bulge of his gut. His expression has become so smug that it takes everything I have not to knock the smirk off his fucking face.

But this time the silence is refreshing instead of stiff. I draw in a breath without showing it.

I’m tempted to request a lawyer, someone that can rip apart every thread of Cliff’s bullshit. And as much as I’ve wanted to, I haven’t taken the bait on any of his attacks. So far.

But involving a lawyer might just be shooting myself in the foot. I didn’t kill anyone, but my slate isn’t completely clean either. At least dealing with Cliff avoids the Feds.

“Gotta say, I’m surprised you’re takin’ that right of silence so seriously,” Cliff says. “So what, you ain’t got nothin’ to say?”

Not right now I don’t. I can’t risk it.

At this point, I only have one chance to play my cards right.

“Nothin’, huh?” He rests his elbows on the table. “Suspected of murder and you ain’t got nothin’ to say about it?”

I stare back at him without moving, ignoring the scent of his breath.

“Well, looks like you’re finally learnin’.” His smirk has become as permanent as the loose skin under his chin. “I’d say it’s just too bad your big bro couldn’t have taught you a little sooner.”

I jerk so furiously that my chair rattles against the floor.

“Ah! There’s Noah Mason,” Cliff exclaims. “Sensitive as a dog. Whatever you thought you was, you’re a murderer now, son. Best get that through your head.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

Cliff slaps the folder shut between his hands. “You’ve got time comin’ your way, Noah. And believe me, you ain’t gettin’ out’a this. It’s too late for that.”

If it weren’t for the camera I’d gladly earn myself a real murder charge and rid the world of the villain in front of me. I’d get revenge on behalf of the poor girl’s family and do the whole world a favor. And that’s exactly what I want to say, but I force myself to bury the words.

Instead I narrow my eyes, glaring deep into his corrupted soul. “I’d bet they give me a deal when they find out how much I know,” I murmur as softly as I can.

There’s a subtle shift in Cliff’s expression, but I catch it. A thin air of concern intrudes just under the surface of his smirk. Thin, but still there.

He coughs a humorless chuckle. Then in one heaving motion, he leans over the table within an inch of my face.

“I warned you,” he snarls in a low whisper. “And if you don’t take your medicine like a good boy then I’ll make sure Sophia Bell is the next cold body on the table downstairs.”

Cliff stands up.

He grabs the folder, rips out a sheet of paper, and slams it on the table before striding out and throwing the door shut behind him. Thick silence fills the room.

I suck in a long breath and rub the torment out of my forehead. After another moment, I force myself to look down for what feels like the first time.

Laying flat on the table is the image of the girl’s lifeless body staring up at me.