“No one calls me that. Everyone calls me ‘Boris.’” Borisky had a gruff Eastern European twist to his Bronx accent so that wasn’t surprising.

“So, Boris”—Griffin’s lips twitched at Shane’s exaggerated pronunciation so at least his new partner had a similar sense of humor—“Can you tell me where you were on Tuesday night?”

“Sure I can, but I want a deal first before I tell you anything.”

“A deal?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to go back to prison. I tell you what you want to know and I go on probation.”

“You’re already on probation.”

Boris shrugged and pulled a face. Shane watched him in the rearview. He caught sight of the other vehicle three cars back. His brows rose. Meghan was driving.

“How about you tell us what you know and we’ll tell the judge to go easy on you.”

Boris shook his head and wiped his nose on his shoulder. “Nah. I want a lawyer.”

“What happens if someone else dies in the time it takes for you to cut a deal? Maybe shot with a gun you sold? How lenient do you think the judge is going to feel then?”

Boris’s mouth downturned.

“Or maybe we discover you’re the one who offed the kid at the motel.”

Boris’s eyes closed in what looked like genuine remorse. “I didn’t touch that kid. But when I heard someone had turned up dead, I wasn’t surprised.”

Will Griffin gave a short laugh. “Then I guess the other attacks won’t come as a shock either.”

“Tell us what happened,” Shane urged.

“I want a lawyer.”

Shit.

They sat in silence and let the miles build.

When Boris looked as if he’d relaxed, Shane tried again. “What did the guy look like?”

Boris sniffed. “Like an ordinary guy. I mean it wasn’t until after…” He cut himself off.

“How’d he contact you?”

Boris gave him an are you kidding me look.

“Boris, let me tell you something. We already know you were at the motel. We have you on surveillance camera and your fingerprints in the room.”

The man’s eyes shifted.

“The other guy though? He wiped his picture right off the system and we can’t match prints or DNA because he used so much bleach in the room, I almost went blind walking in there. All we can prove right now is that a weapon you’ve had in your possession was used to shoot a nightwatchman at a motel the same night you were there.”

Boris pulled a face.

The nightwatchman had been suffocated not shot, but Boris seemed to accept the latter. Nothing in the handbook said an FBI agent couldn’t lie to someone’s face if it would get a suspect to open up about a case.

“I want to know what other weapons, suppressors and scopes you sold him.”