No, he told himself. Deacon and Adam were far more than cops. They’d become his friends over the last year and a half. He let out a shaky breath and forced himself to open his eyes, not exactly sure what he’d see in their expressions. He knew it wouldn’t be scorn. Pity, maybe? Embarrassment on his behalf?

But that wasn’t what he saw. Not at all. Deacon’s jaw was clenched as he stared at the door, and Adam was swiping his hand across his own eyes.

Adam gave Diesel a sad glance. “It’s hard when it’s kids,” he whispered. He squeezed Deacon’s arm. “You okay?”

Deacon nodded, finally tearing his eyes from the door. “That might account for the gun under his pillow,” he murmured. He drew a breath and straightened his spine. “Regardless of what happens, we need to get that kid into therapy.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Diesel set his jaw. “Please say you’re not going to drag him downtown now.”

“We have to,” Deacon said quietly. “I don’t want to, but we need to do this by the book. When we do catch the person who did this, we need to show that we didn’t play fast and loose with the investigation. Michael is, for now, my sister’s foster child.”

“And my cousin’s,” Adam added. “We’ll be lucky if we aren’t asked to recuse ourselves. We can’t let any defense attorney say we looked the other way with Michael because of his age, his disability, or his foster home.”

“We’re just going to question him about his stepfather,” Deacon said. “At this point we don’t have any evidence linking him to Brewer’s murder other than his mother’s claim that he’s responsible.”

Diesel swallowed back new rage. “She blamed Michael?”

Deacon shrugged. “But she’s in custody for possession. Michael’s story is more believable than hers. We’ll likely release him into Dani’s care.”

And mine. But something still nagged at him. “What did his stepfather look like?”

Deacon frowned at him. “Why?” he asked suspiciously.

Diesel’s temper flared, but he held his tongue. “I’m curious,” he said mildly.

Deacon’s expression said that he wasn’t fooled. “Brewer was about five-ten, a hundred eighty pounds, dark hair.”

So . . . nothing like me.

“Why?” Adam repeated, equally suspicious.

Diesel shrugged. “I told you that Michael nearly fainted when he saw me. I got the impression that he thought I was someone else.”

“Ah.” Adam’s eyes sharpened with understanding. “Someone who wasn’t five-ten with dark hair.”

Diesel nodded. “Exactly.”

“We’ll keep our eyes open for someone big and bald, then,” Deacon promised. He frowned again, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “Dani’s taking an awful long time with that exam.”