What do you want?” I ask, giving an experimental tug on the cuffs. They’re double-lock and plenty tight. “You want me to tell you whether that’s really Cloe Zacharov? It is. I used to play marbles with her down in Carney. She’s got nothing to do with this.”
“So what’s she been doing all this time? If you know her so well, how about you tell me that.”
“I don’t know,” I lie. I have no idea where this line of questioning is going, but I don’t like it.
“You could have a life outside of all this,” Agent Jones says. “You could be on the right side of the law. You don’t have to protect these people, Callum.”
I am these people, I think, but his words make me fantasize for a moment about what it would be like to be a good guy, with a badge and a stainless reputation.
“We talked to your brother
