The door into the interrogation room swung open as Taylor stepped inside. The overhead light shone faintly over the steel table at the center. Across from it sat the suspect, a young man in his twenties, tattoos creeping up his neck, arms folded, trying to look relaxed but unable to hide the tension in his jaw.
Roland followed close behind, a clipboard tucked under his arm. He closed the door quietly and leaned against the wall, letting Taylor take the lead.
Outside the interrogation room, Zoey and a few other officers stood near the large glass window, watching.
Roland met Zoey’s gaze. Also the strained look on the faces of the cops beside her. She was risking a lot by allowing him to meddle in the case. But why?
Why would she risk being queried by her superiors? And hell, it wasn't b
