I jerked awake and looked up into the scowling faces of Detectives Pena, Mickerson, and Weber. I stared at them, and they stared back. No one spoke for a time. I searched my memory bank, trying to place where the hell I was. Fire at the chop shop, I remembered, then the mad dash down the ladder. I took a tumble, and lost the rope and note, tangible evidence Nick Spada was a craven killer. Then Whip went Rambo and stretched out the back of my shirt. I remembered fighting off the paramedics, who tried taking me to the hospital, and recalled identifying the Williams brothers in a lineup. I straightened in the chair. Police district. I was at the police district. I looked around, frowned. I was in an interview room . . . again, and I’d somehow fallen asleep. How long had it been since I’d slept in my own bed? I sniffed, grimaced. I smelled like burned rubber and spoiled cabbage.

I blinked up at the cops, my eyes feeling like someone had poured a gallon of sand in them. “How long have I been in here?”

Ben smirked, but didn’t answer. Weber just stood there, half smiling. I couldn’t quite peg what the other half was. Maybe he was rethinking his desire to date me. I stood to even things up. “Look, I almost died today, tonight, yesterday . . . what the hell time is it?”

Marta glanced at her watch. “It’s seven AM. Friday. And you’ve been in here forty-two, no, forty-three minutes.”

I glanced over at Weber, and felt just a pang of self-consciousness. I wasn’t exactly looking my best. I’d come close to being eaten by fire and I was smoky, tousled, and singed at the edges. “Where’s Whip?”

“He’s in the other room,” Weber said. “We just talked to him, now we’re here to talk to you.”

Ben glared at me. He wasn’t happy. “So sit.”

“I’m good standing.”

“You look like you’re about to keel over, and you smell like you’ve been working the pit at the Indy. You call that good?”

My eyes narrowed. What is his deal? “I’m fine. Okay?”

“Dammit, Cass.” Ben’s face turned a splotchy red.

I picked up the chair I’d been sitting in, walked it to the door, and set it outside in the hall. When I got back to the table, it looked as though Ben might explode. I dusted my hands off, then plunged them deep into smoky pockets. “No chair. No sit. Can we move this along now?”

Marta shook her head. “Unbelievable.” She leaned back against the table. “I take that back. Since I know you, it’s all too believable.”