Chapter 2
"We’re ready for you." Sam's use of the word 'we' curdled my blood.
Sam returned to my room to fetch me for the interview, smiling faintly upon seeing the room tidied and the witness showered and dressed in something other than week-worn athletic gear. Now I wore fresh-washed athletic gear: sports bra, running pants, running jacket. Standard issue crap was all they allowed me.
Sam's FBI uniform, meanwhile, consisted of a pressed dark wool suit and gray tie. He held his car coat folded over his arm, looking like he was entering a court room and exuding his preparedness for battle. "You gonna be able to handle this?"
Standing rigid, I managed to say, "I’m not crazy, Sam."
"Hey, Agent Mallory throws knives as a hobby, so I don’t think she’s the pillar of sanity. But I trust her with my life." He held out his hand. "Let's go."
Reaching for him, I heard Mallory clear her throat in the hall. Of course. They'd allow him to move me, but only with a witness to avoid any issues of impropriety.
I dropped my hand. Sam took my elbow instead and led me through the hall and down a flight of stairs to the conference room without incident, a first in weeks. Mallory must have been having a coronary. I could only hope.
The conference room, which regularly served as my interrogation room, was notoriously hot, designed to make a witness sweat harder physically and psychologically. Upon arriving we'd found the room hosting the usual faces: Agent Vilet and Agent Roy, the bull-faced heavy who typically escorted me to and from interviews. Forcefully.
Sam gestured toward my chair at the end of the table without a word. Even he seemed to know this was a lynching. Tears welled inside me, but I held them at bay. As long as I still cried, I knew there was some humanity left in me. But Sam needed to believe I had control of myself. His Rock of Gibraltar, not a house of cards that Vilet could blow into a million pieces.
We sat, and Sam fiddled with the camera for a better angle. The unit's red light was on when we'd entered the room, which meant Vilet had expected an early show. I was still deciding whether to oblige him or disappoint.
"Before we get started," said Vilet, "let me remind you of the ground rules, Agent Fields."
Agent Roy chose that moment to step toward me. I jumped off my seat, scooting the chair sideways. I darted a look toward Vilet, realizing he'd chosen that moment for Roy to crowd me.
The weight of Sam's eyes cowered me. I stared at the table, scraped my thumbnail at a food fragment stuck to the wood veneer, refusing to look up and see Sam's dismay on top of his disgust with me.
"Like I was saying," Vilet continued, "this interview will be conducted by Agent Fields, but supervised by myself, Special Agent Vilet, and Special Agent Roy."
Turning, I scoffed at Roy. Supervised. This guy had a knack for euphemisms.
"Please step into view of the camera, Agent Roy." Vilet gestured his goon closer to my chair and I bounced out of it. "Sit down, please, Miss Larson."
Now they all stared at me.
"You call off your dog," I said, "or I'll fetch mine. He'll take a bit out of your boy's ass he won't soon forget." I stared Roy, but I was backing up against the wall, wishing I knew which room Max was sleeping soundly in instead of defending his owner.
"Jules." Sam shook his head at me.
Roy turned his back to the camera, returning to his post a few feet away from my chair, the usual scowl on his face. I pulled the rolling chair toward me, sitting as far from him as possible.
