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sixteen. Too stupid to know the trouble a grown man could get into if he fucked me.”
    Detective Jackson glares at me, his thigh pressing against mine. I’m in a corner and the way he angles his legs blocks my escape. Who is this man? He’s part detective and part thug, with a demeanor vacillating between authoritarian and sinister.
    “You’re not sixteen now. You’re almost eighteen. But you’re pregnant and under-aged, and it has come to our attention the baby’s father is Sloane.”
    He’s not only here to intimidate me but to also put words in my mouth.
    “What the fuck—” The stupid phone call from Kiln rises in my head once again.
    Glancing away, he adjusts his legs, and I seize his inattention to scramble to my feet. Yes, I’m ungraceful, but I’m not trying to impress the dickhead, so fuck him.
    Not moving far away from his reach, I hold out my hands. “Arrest me. Grandma will get me out. She’ll also have your ass for a bunch of bullshit. Yes, I wanted Sloane! He never once returned my calls, despite the many messages I left for him. A shitload. A fuck ton.”
    I inch toward hysterical, pregnant female. Judging by Josh when I’d be PMS’ing, men tend to get far away from girls who are in a snit.
    “Sit down,” he orders in a harsh voice. A dark red hue flushes his skin. As if he’s a breath away from screaming my head off. His nostrils flare.
    Huffing, I return to my seat and fold my arms, resting on the ridge of my stomach, though the gesture isn’t deliberate. A tiny thrill shoots through me that I’m touching my belly and no hell is breaking loose. For a moment, all the drama surrounding me is gone. It’s only Bryn and I. As soon as I get upstairs, I’ll tell her how happy I am to have her.
    I’ve been reading to her every day for months from storybooks centering on math and science. I want her smarter than me, which won’t be too hard to achieve. My daughter will be something great one day.
    Another stare down is going on between Detective Jackson and me, and I slide my hands to my side. Whether I feel up my stomach or not, the asshole isn’t changing his mind. He drums his fingers on his thigh while I chew on my nails. We can sit here all fucking day. Or he can take me down to the station, but the one thing I’m not doing is betraying Sloane. It doesn’t matter how much he’s hurt me. I won’t ruin his life out of petty vengeance. All it’ll do is cause more pain and heartache, and it isn’t worth it.
    “You can be called as a hostile witness if it comes to it,” Detective Jackson finally says.
    In my head, I do a happy dance. Not because of his statement, but because I outlasted him.
    “What do you know about Stefanie Mason’s drowning?”
    It takes a moment to process the change of topic. When I do, my heart slams against my chest. This question is even worse than his determination to prove Sloane and me had a sexual relationship. Frowning, I purse my lips and strive for a blank look. He’s thinking of every possible technique to back me into a corner. Details about Sloane’s sister isn’t widely known, and her death is completely hushed. “Is she Sloane’s wife or something?”
    Anger steams from him. I offer him a small smile though I’m scared enough to go into labor today, just under a week from my due date. The baby moves, and my stomach hurts.
    “Suppose I tell you I have proof Sloane Mason murdered Stefanie, the woman who might be his wife. Or something . Would you be so apt to protect him then?”
    The situation degenerates by the second. I’m nauseated and dizzy. To counteract my panic, I gnaw off the nail on my pinky and spit it out. Despite his proximity to me, the nail doesn’t have enough velocity to land in his eye. Still, it’s close to him. Checkmate. He jumps to his feet, ready to go.
    “Did you know you fucked a murderer?”
    I want him gone!
    Instead, I respond, praying I don’t flinch and ruin my bland façade. Not that I doubt Sloane, but I