Marcus sat in the FBI interrogation room for three hours. The walls were gray, the table cold metal, the fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving. Agent Morrison had left him alone with his thoughts—something he both appreciated and hated.
Victoria's face kept appearing in his mind. The way she'd laughed when he'd believed her tears. The cold satisfaction in her eyes when she'd called him pathetic. The casual cruelty of every word she'd spoken.
*"You were always just a means to an end."*
The door opened. Agent Michael Torres—the man Marcus had known as Ray Hayes—walked in carrying two cups of coffee. He set one in front of Marcus and sat down across from him.
"You're angry," Michael said. It wasn't a question.
"Angry doesn't begin to cover it," Marcus replied, his voice flat and contr
