Except maybe that one. The one in the woods. But if he admitted he’d lied about that, it would make everything else sound like a lie. Gabriel looked away.

After a moment of silence, the marshal leaned forward in his chair. “Would you like me to remove the handcuffs?”

Gabriel’s eyes flicked up. “Yes.”

When he unlocked them, Gabriel rolled his shoulders to get the stiffness out, then wiped his palms on his jeans.

He hated that he felt like he owed this guy a thank-you or something.

Especially when Marshal Faulkner hesitated before sitting down and said, “How about some food?”

Gabriel would kill for some food, but he shook his head.

“You sure? If you’re stuck here overnight, we have to feed you. Might as well be in here, where no one’s going to take it away from you.”

There were too many shocks in that sentence to process them all. Overnight. Gabriel thought of that pale freak in the holding cell and completely lost any appetite he might have had.

He shook his head again. “What time is it?”

“Just after six.”

Six! Somehow it felt both earlier and later than he’d thought. Gabriel heard his breath hitch before he could stop it. His brothers would definitely know he was missing.

Marshal Faulkner reached into his back pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. He held them out. “Smoke? No offense, kid, but you look like you need it.”

“I don’t smoke.”

The marshal dropped the pack on the table and picked up his pen again. “Then why’d you have two lighters at school?”

Oh.

Gabriel scowled.

“And,” said the marshal, “I understand there are a lot more at your house. Want to tell me about that?”

Gabriel froze. “At my house?”

“Officers are executing a search warrant right now.”

At least it answered the question about whether Michael knew what was going on.

Thank god Hunter had the fireman’s coat and helmet.

“I didn’t start those fires,” he said again.

“Is someone else in on it?”

A new note had entered the marshal’s voice. Did they know about Hunter? Gabriel was wary after getting trapped by the lighter question.

He looked at the table, running his finger along the plastic stripping on the edge. “I don’t know anything about it.” His voice was nonchalant, but he felt in danger of choking on his heartbeat.

“You sure?”

Gabriel looked up, meeting the marshal’s gaze evenly. “Pretty sure.”

“Let me explain something.” Marshal Faulkner dropped the pen on his folder and leaned forward. His voice gained an edge. “You can jerk me around all night, but you’re not doing yourself any favors. One count of first-degree arson carries a penalty of thirty years. That’s one. We’ve got at least four. No matter what you tell me, we’ve got enough to keep you in the county detention center for a while.”