I looked back to Declan. He was a double agent, which meant he had to pretend he didn’t know or care about me in any way if he didn’t want to blow his cover. Declan’s uniform and posture made a whole hell of a lot more sense. This wasn’t going to be fun.

A dark-skinned brick of a Native American with a tribal-patterned tattoo across his face strode into the room, slamming the door behind him. His head was perfectly shaved, and from the look of him, he was older than Declan—mid-forties maybe.

“Sit down, Miss Martinez,” Declan said. His tone was brisk and cold and nothing at all like the warm tone with a smile that I was used to.

I swallowed down the dread. Declan had been my last hope. He was the one miracle that I thought was going to come through for me, but I wasn’t so sure that was possible anymore.

I lowered myself into the chair—sitting as straight as Declan now was—and looked from the guy in the button-up across from me to Declan to the tattooed man and back again.

“Shall we begin?” the tattooed man asked.

The guy in the button-up cleared his throat. “We can. I’m Jim Waterson, your lawyer,” he said to me. “You’ve gotten yourself into a lot of trouble.”

I glanced down at my orange jumpsuit. “Yeah. I figured that much out already.”

I blew out a long breath. That’d come out testier than I wanted, but I didn’t like being backed into a corner, and that’s exactly what I felt like now. Declan and the new stranger shared a look that said they were about to deal me a shitty hand, and I honestly wasn’t sure how much worse it could get at this point.

“Court-appointed?” I asked Jim. Because if he was, then I was going to have to be extra careful with what I said around him.

“No. Jorge sent me.”

A little part of me relaxed. That was good. At least that meant that two out of the other three people in the room were friendly. The tattooed guy was staring at me as if he’d take pleasure in gutting me, frying me up, and having me for breakfast.

I kept my gaze on him. He was the wildcard.

“I’m IAF Specialist Ahiga. I’m here to find out more about the attack.”

If this was a fair room, I’d wonder what attack he meant—mine or Jason Murtagh’s? But I was the one in jail.

“Did you know who you were attacking?” The tattooed man’s voice held no emotion.

“No. I was only aware of his hand inside my underwear.”