It takes all of two hours for the police to come looking for me. Two hours, where I numbly treat patients and go through the motions, just waiting and holding my breath. My first instinct was to contact Zeth, to let him know what’s happened, but without my cell that’s physically impossible. I really should have memorized his number. That way I could have snuck into one of the quieter areas of the hospital and used one of the landlines at a nurses’ station, but it never occurred to me that I might need to do something like that. And now all of that is irrelevant, because my name is being called over the PA system and I’m being summoned to the Chief’s office on level three.

 

“Here, Dr. Romera, I can finish this for you,” Grace offers, holding out her hand to take the suture needle from me. I’ve been stitching a nasty gash on an elderly woman’s arm; Grace takes my seat and continues with the job, giving me a warm smile. Despite the unique turn of events today has taken, she’s been totally normal with me; I’m beginning to think she wasn’t instantly suspicious when she discovered me coming out of the blood bank with those units for Zeth.

 

“Thanks, Gracie.” I take my time finding the way to the elevators. I’m in no rush to be questioned by the cops, especially because I haven’t been able to figure out what the hell I’m going to tell them. Basically, I can’t tell them anything. Or certainly not the truth, anyway.

 

When I reach her office, the Chief is sitting on the edge of her desk, talking to a woman in her early thirties. The woman’s clearly law enforcement; she’s wearing a dark navy pantsuit and a crisp white shirt instead of a uniform, but she holds herself in that same way all authority figures do.

 

“Ah, Dr. Romera.” Chief Allison smiles when she sees me. She’s been the Chief since I started at the hospital, but she worked alongside my dad for years before that. Highly respected, an authority in her field—pediatrics—Dr. Allison is an excellent doctor, but also a hard woman. She never smiles. Never. Something is quite wrong here. “This is Agent Lowell from the Drug Enforcement Agency. She’s requested a moment of your time.”

 

DEA? Really? I would have thought they’d send the FBI instead, but then again, maybe this toxin is something the DEA have seen before. Maybe this has more to do with the drug than the actual risk of contagion. The agent looks like a bit of a blank slate—the generic pantsuit; the generic ponytail haircut; the generic flat shoes, made for running. Since she’s not a member of the Bureau, she doesn’t necessarily need to wear such formal clothing—I’ve seen DEA agents wearing Hawaiian shirts walking around this hospital—which means that she’s chosen to wear the suit. That tells me a lot about her already. I give the woman a curt smile, offering out my hand. “Of course. Anything I can do to be of help.” Except tell you the truth. Or generally disclose anything that might actually assist you in your investigation.

 

It’s like this Agent Lowell woman can literally hear me thinking this as she reaches out and shakes my hand. Her business-like expression falters and I quickly see what lies beneath—out-and-out disapproval. She doesn’t know me. She’s never met me before, and yet I can tell she already suspects something. Perhaps I’m just being incredibly paranoid. It’s comforting to believe this, until…

 

“If you would give us a moment please, Chief Allison. Ms. Romera and I need to have a little talk.”

 

The Chief, despite her passive attitude since I walked in, still has balls of steel. “Oh, I’d say that’s entirely up to Dr. Romera, wouldn’t you, Ms. Lowell? It seems to me that your request to talk with one of my employees comes without any official mandate that might force the matter.” Dr. Allison didn’t like the cop’s flagrant put-down when she chose not to use my title, so now Allison’s deigned not to give Agent Lowell her title, either. Agent Lowell’s facial features go blank.

 

“Oh, I assure you, there will be an official mandate if I think that justice is being obstructed here. I can get a warrant for this woman’s arrest at any moment of my choosing.”

 

“Then perhaps you should—” Chief Allison starts to say, but I quickly jump in; I don’t like where this conversation is heading. I really don’t want this Lowell woman heading right out to get a warrant for my arrest.

 

“No! No, it’s fine, Chief. I can talk to her. It’s not a problem. I have nothing to hide.” No greater a lie has ever been told, but much better that I spend half an hour being grilled by this woman here than be grilled for much longer at a police station. The truth of the matter is that I don’t know anything about Nannette Richards, or why she ended up with my name scrawled across her skin before being poisoned and sent to this hospital for me to treat. I won’t have to lie about that.

 

Chief Allison gives me a slight nod before turning cold eyes on Lowell and leaving the room. A moment of awkward silence follows where Agent Lowell slowly paces around the Chief’s desk and shoves her paperwork out of the way, making room so she can perch on the edge, directly across from me.

 

And then she starts talking, and everything spins on its head. “Where is your sister, Dr. Romera?”

 

The speech about not knowing my dead patient dies on my lips. My sister? What the hell? What can this possibly have to do with my sister? “Uh…Alexis?” I ask, stalling for a moment. A moment to think. To get my head around this change in direction.

 

“Do you have any other sisters?” Agent Lowell asks, her voice clipped.

 

“I’m assuming you already know that I don’t.”

 

The woman nods, her neat and tidy ponytail bobbing up and down. She’s only six or seven years older than me, but her pulled-back hair and severe expression make her seem an awful lot older. “In the interests of saving time, it’s probably safe to assume that I already know an awful lot more than you think I might, Sloane. I know that your sister was taken by a biker gang, and I know she’s resurfaced. Now you need to tell me where she is. Right now.”

 

The burning intensity in the agent’s eyes flashes like tempered steel—on a regular day she’s not the kind of person I’d be screwing with, but today I don’t have any other choice. “I don’t know anything about my sister, Agent, but if you do, I would be glad to hear about it. She’s alive? Lexi’s disappearance happened so long ago; my parents and I, we’ve believed for a while now that she’s dead.” It’s not an Academy Award-winning performance by any stretch of the imagination, but my voice doesn’t shake. Agent Lowell clenches her jaw, eyes narrowing a little at the corners.

 

“Okay. I’ll tell you what I know. Your sister was shot in the back eight days ago. She was admitted into a private hospital in San Jacinto, where she was treated and discharged two days later. A nurse at the hospital claims a woman matching your description was fighting with a member of a biker gang in the hallways, and she nearly had the woman removed from the premises. We’re waiting on their surveillance footage to arrive at our office, but I’m ninety-nine percent positive that when that surveillance footage does arrive, it’s going to clearly show you and your friends waiting for news on your sister’s well being. Now why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what I want to know?”

 

My cheeks are burning; it surely must be halfway to an admission of guilt when the person you’re interviewing starts blushing furiously. Except my temperature isn’t rising because I’m feeling trapped or caught out. It’s rising because she thinks I’m stupid. There were no cameras at San Jacinto. Of course there were no cameras. It’s a private hospital, where clients appreciate their privacy and don’t want any evidence of them being wheeled into their third face-lift. Both Zeth and Michael made sure that they weren’t being recorded, and I’m betting Rebel did, too. If they had discovered that they were being filmed, that video footage would have been ‘accidentally’ wiped before the day was out. So, this bitch is lying to me and hoping I’m stupid enough to fall for it, which makes me exceptionally mad.

 

“I’m afraid you’re just going to have to wait on your evidence, Agent Lowell,” I say as sweetly as I can. “This nurse seems to have described someone that sounds like me, but surely there are lots of women out there who are my height and build with brown hair, right?”

 

I’ve called her bluff, and by the looks of her Agent Lowell couldn’t be less impressed. I don’t think very many people decline giving her what she wants, when she wants it. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing,” she says. “Your involvement with Zeth Mayfair has been of particular interest to us. Would you care to tell us where he is right now?”

 

So she knows about Zeth. But I’m getting the feeling she’s trying to play me again right now. If she did know anything, she wouldn’t need me to tell her where he was; she would know that. She would know his exact location at all times. More importantly, they suspect Zeth had something to do with Archie Monterello’s murder, so they would have arrested his ass.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name,” I say politely. Lowell looks away, clenching her hands together in her lap. The polished leather toe of her right shoe starts tapping quickly against the carpet.

 

“What do you think you’re gaining from keeping this information from me, Dr. Romera? Do you think you’re protecting your sister? That you’re protecting this Mayfair character? Let me ask you this: have you considered that the DEA are trying to protect you and the rest of this country? Zeth isn’t what he may seem to be. He may have tricked you into believing he’s harmless; you may be drawn to that rough exterior, but let me assure you, he is a killer, Sloane. A killer. Are you aware that he did time in Chino for murder?”

 

I don’t let my thoughts manifest themselves on my face, but I feel like launching across the Chief’s desk and wrapping my hands around this woman’s throat. It’s laughable that she believes Zeth has been tricking me into being with him. It’s also laughable that she thinks Zeth’s fooled me into believing he’s harmless. If she’d have spent any time with him whatsoever, if she’d even ever met the man face to face, then she’d know it would be impossible for him to convince anyone of that. Zeth is just about as far from harmless as a man can get. “Like I said…I don’t know anyone by that name. I’m sorry I can’t be of any help to you where he’s concerned. And as for my sister, you say you think she was shot in the back? How do you know that? Is she badly hurt?”

 

Lowell cocks her head to one side, her lips pursed together into a tight line. “I don’t think she was shot in the back; I know she was. I shot her. As for her being badly hurt?” She shrugs. “I doubt very much that she’s dead. San Jacinto said—”

 

I shot her.

 

“—their patient had received professional medical assistance out in the field”—she raises her eyebrows at me, clearly indicating that she knows it was me who provided that care—“so I would assume—”

 

I shot her.

 

“—she’s still receiving appropriate care.”

 

I shot her.

 

The words are ringing inside my head. This woman, the woman standing so casually in front of me, is the agent who shot Alexis? Again, she gives me a knowing look, as though I’m sneaking off every five minutes to change my sister’s dressings. She fucking shot Alexis, and she’s looking at me like I’m a felon for attending to my own sister’s life-threatening injuries.

 

If she knew anything at all, she would know that’s not the case. In my head, I’m reaching for this woman’s gun and smashing it over her head with as much force as I can manage; she can’t tell me something like that and then expect me not to have a major problem with it.

 

“Why the hell would you need to attack my sister? Lexi was kidnapped and taken against her will. As far as I’m aware, that’s not a criminal offense that requires shooting on sight.”

 

A warped smile twists across Agent Lowell’s face. “Kidnapping doesn’t, no. But your sister is no saint. She’s up to her neck in hot water, and the temperature is only gonna rise from here on in. Maybe you should tell her that when you speak with her next.”

 

I’m growing tired of telling her I’m not seeing or speaking to my sister, and I’m growing tired of playing games. I get to my feet, straightening up the chair I was sitting in. “Are you going to ask me about Nannette Richards, Agent Lowell, or are you going to harass me for information that I do not have?”

 

“We don’t need to ask you anything about Nannette Richards,” Agent Lowell says, giving me a cold smile. “We already know everything we need to know about her. She is a victim; an innocent who was killed to make a point. Zeth’s ex-employer is a violent man, with an interesting way of making a point. You fuck with him, and you can bet your ass he’s gonna fuck with you right back. You should get used to having other people’s blood on your hands. Charlie Holsan will keep piling the bodies up on St. Peter’s doorstep so long as you’re connected with Zeth Mayfair. And from this conversation, Dr. Romera, I can see you’re not going to give up that connection easily.”

 

I fold my arms across my chest, giving her a dark look. She’s telling me I’m responsible for Nannette’s death, and I will basically be responsible for many more if I don’t tell her everything I know. I know that to some degree she’s right; I do have Nannette’s blood on my hands, figuratively as well as literally, but I will not succumb to bullying tactics just so this viper can get what she wants. I want Charlie Holsan put away for life, but something tells me Charlie isn’t this woman’s primary focus right now. Cooperating with her won’t get me anywhere. “I have patients to attend to, Agent,” I say. “Are we done here?”

 

Agent Lowell’s grin has a rather wolfish quality to it when she flashes her teeth at me. “Oh, no, I’m afraid not. I’ve re-evaluated the situation. Seems to me, we should take you down to the station after all. You may not wish to assist us in our investigation, Dr. Romera, but I’m thinking perhaps a forty-eight-hour stint in a public jail might persuade you otherwise. So please”—she smiles sweetly, gesturing to the chair—“why don’t you take a seat?”