Muntz finally looked up. He’d left a pool of sweat on the stainless-steel surface and Hudson could see that the back of his shirt was soaked through.

“One,” counted Kasper.

Muntz shook his head. “I’m fucked.”

“Two.”

Suddenly, Muntz stood. A screeching metal sound tore through both rooms as he ripped the table out of the floor. Bolts bulleted in different directions, one nicking the two-way mirror. Riley yelled and covered her ears with her hands before darting after Kole, who had run into the interview room to assist Kasper. By the time Hudson made it in, Kole already had a Taser trained on the man.

“You pull a stunt like that again, Muntz, you’re going to prison,” said Kole. “I don’t care whose grave I have to swear on.”

“How about your friend’s? Garrison, was it?” Muntz’s breathing was heavy and labored. Flipping the table was obviously more exertion than he’d had in the past year or more. Riley and Kasper held him back.

The Taser in Kole’s hand buzzed. The prods made an electrifying clack clack! Hudson felt his blood doing the same thing, electrifying. He wanted to punch Muntz square in the mouth.

“Hudson.” Kole’s voice snapped him out of his fantasy. “Call the jail. Tell ’em we got a new booking coming through.”

“No!” shouted Muntz. He started to lunge at Hudson but Kole commanded him to his knees, the Taser still trained on him. “Tell us who shot Brix Garrison, Muntz. Now!”

Muntz let out a sob, and just as Hudson took his cell phone out of his pocket to dial the jail, he uttered a name that blackened the edges of Hudson’s vision, like a page thrown into a puddle of ink. “Hades.”

23 MORGAN

Morgan wandered out of the downstairs bathroom, towel-drying her hair and leaving wet prints that evaporated in her wake. In an oversized shirt worn thin by time, and a pair of boxer briefs, she plopped down on her mattress. Then, she reached for the bottle of Absolut wedged in the couch cushion and slugged it back.

The vodka swam between her teeth, scorched her throat on the way down. Upstairs, muted by the floor between them, she could hear the sounds of A Christmas Story as her mom curled up next to her dad on the couch, and Grandpa Teddy slept with his mouth open in the recliner. That was how they spent most Christmas nights, but this year, Morgan had excused herself as being sick—not a lie—and hoofed it downstairs, toting her two new gifts: one from a handsome and wealthy admirer and the other from a sadistic anonymous fuck who wanted to see her squirm.

The same sadistic anonymous fuck who’d left her the key.