Quinlan’s lips curled up in a cruel smile. “We can get your friend here on a half dozen charges. Aiding and abetting, obstructing justice, concealment of a crime. Hell, if the judge is feeling creative I might be able to get her as an accomplice to murder one.” He made a tsking sound. “We got a search warrant for her phone, and it turns out she’s been in contact with her dear friend Emma Paxton for the past three months. And Emma had all kinds of interesting stories about life in Tucson. How close she was with Sutton, how great life was with the Mercers. The most recent one was . . .”—he made a show of looking at a pile of papers in his hands—“. . . one day ago! Look at that!”

Emma shot to her feet again, anger bubbling up from beneath her fear. “Alex had nothing to do with this. That should be obvious, if you read the texts.”

Quinlan shrugged. “Maybe it’s obvious. Or maybe you two are talking in code. How can I know, if you haven’t told me the truth?”

Emma stared at him, suddenly hot with anger. She clenched her fists, digging her fingernails into the soft skin of her palms. “I tried to tell you the truth, the day I got here.” She didn’t even have to channel Sutton for the attitude; cold fury squeezed her chest. “Maybe if you’re going to charge Alex with anything, you should charge yourself too—with negligence, for not even bothering to look into my story way back in September.”

The room went silent. Somewhere down the hall a phone rang over and over. The female officer glanced at Quinlan uncertainly. His smirk died away, but as he spoke he didn’t break eye contact with Emma.

“Get her out of here,” he muttered, jerking his head at Alex. The officer hesitated, but when Quinlan didn’t move, she took Alex by the arm and guided her back to the door. Emma wanted more than anything to call after her friend, to ask her forgiveness, but she knew she couldn’t show weakness in front of Quinlan now.

“So what’s your story, then?” Quinlan asked finally, crossing his arms over his chest.