She stuck her hand into her big purse and pulled out two baseball caps—one had the Bengals logo, the other the Cincinnati Reds. She handed him one. “Put this on. Keep your head down. Lobby security will make us take our caps off, but let’s not make it easy for these reporters to take pictures of you, okay?” She twisted her long hair into a knot and put her cap on over it, hiding the white streaks in her hair. “I’m recognizable. I don’t want anyone tracking you to my house afterward, because that’s where we’ll be going. Got it?”

He nodded and put his own cap on. He hoped she was right, that they’d be going to her house. Please don’t let them put me in jail. Please.

One of the men in the front must have said something to her, because she nodded. “We’re ready.”

It was just like Dr. Dani had said, from the moment they got out of the car until they were through the metal detector. Reporters and flashing lights. He kept his head down and put one foot in front of the other.

Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

A guy about thirty years old was waiting just inside the door and quickly introduced himself as Andrew, the interpreter. He smoothed the way, going through the metal detector first, then standing where Michael could see him as he interpreted the officer’s instructions.

It was . . . calm. The reporters outside had been yelling. He hadn’t heard them, but he could see their mouths and their faces. He’d seen enough yelling people in his life to know. They had taken video and film, but Dr. Dani never left his side, her hand on his back the whole way. Detective Kimble had walked on Michael’s left, Agent Novak on the doctor’s right. Protecting him. All of them had protected him.

At least no one had gotten in his face. Nothing freaked him out faster than people getting in his face.

Unless it was seeing his stepfather being murdered.

Tell them. The words chanted in his mind with every step he took through the hallways that seemed endless, walking past cops who turned to watch as he was escorted toward what he hoped was the interview room.

No. He looked around him frantically. He needed a restroom. Because he was feeling like he was going to throw up again. But Dr. Dani put her hand on his good shoulder, squeezing until he glanced up at her.

They’d stopped outside a doorway that looked like all the other doorways they’d passed. “Breathe,” she mouthed, her hand on her chest.