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day.
    When we entered, the lobby was empty. We walked up to the sliding door and he pressed the buzzer. No response. He shook his head and pressed the buzzer again, this time letting his finger linger on the button. 
    "Press that button again!" Ms. Claybrooks yelled over the speaker. "Press it again! I'll come atch'you with razor blades and lemon juice!" 
    His wide eyes spun around to meet mine. I covered my mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. He pointed at the door. "Is she always like this?" 
    I nodded. "Every time I've ever been here."
    "Razor blades and lemon juice?" He chuckled. "What the hell?"
    "Who's callin'?" she finally barked over the intercom.
    "Detective McNamara," he answered.
    "Do I know you?"
    He rested his hand on his hip and sighed. "Ms. Claybrooks, I've been here for a few weeks now." 
    "Ohhhhh," she purred. "You're one of the new boys, huh? Are you the red head or the cute little blonde boy?"
    He laughed and dropped his head. "I guess I'm the cute little blonde boy." 
    "You come on in, cutie pie." The door slid open.
    Laughing, I squeezed his arm. "I love her so much."
    My heart was pounding as I followed him through a maze of concrete walls and metal doors. Just when I was certain I would never find my way back out, we entered a small office, and he dropped his keys on the desk. "You OK?" he asked.
    I imagined that my face was white, and I could feel sweat beading across my forehead. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's get this over with."
    He picked up the phone and pressed a few buttons. "This is Detective McNamara. I need Rebecca Neeland in CID." He hung up the phone and pulled his shirt up over his waistband. I darted my eyes away as he unholstered his handgun. 
    I caught my reflection in the glass of a framed certificate on his wall. I smoothed my hair down and swiped some smudged mascara out from under my eyes. "What's CID?" 
    "Criminal Investigations Division." He pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk. "Do you have anything in your pockets I should lock up? Pens, knives, scissors, fingernail file?"
    I ran my hands over the smooth fabric of my black, slim-line skirt. "Nope, I think I left all of my knives and nail files in my other skirt."
    He smiled and shook his head. 
    We left the office and walked down to another room. I recognized it as an interrogation room from television, except the mirrored glass was a disappointingly small window instead of the whole wall. I guessed the Buncombe County jail didn't have the budget Hollywood did. I looked around at the bleak gray walls and shuddered.
    "How do you want to do this?" he asked.
    "Can I talk to her alone?"
    He shook his head. "Absolutely not." 
    I scrunched up my nose. "Well, can you at least try to not be so intimidating? Maybe smile a little bit?"
    "I smile," he argued. 
    "Not when you're in interrogator mode. I saw that guy this morning, remember?" I gestured toward him and tried hard not to roll my eyes. 
    He smiled and nodded his head.
    I took a step in his direction and lowered my voice so no one else could hear. "Nathan, please keep in mind that I really don't know exactly what I'm doing here, so please don't put too much hope in this."
    He squeezed my shoulder. "We have over two dozen officers knocking down doors as we speak. We are doing everything we can on our end. This woman was really uncooperative when we brought her in, and she was tweaked out of her mind on crystal meth. I appreciate you just trying to help."
    "Have you told anyone about our conversations today?" I asked.
    He shook his head. "Not a soul."
    I relaxed a little.
    There was a knock on the doorframe, and we both turned around. A bedraggled woman, about my age, was being led into the room by a female deputy. It was obvious Rebecca Neeland was, at one time, a stunning girl. She had thick, naturally highlighted blonde hair and striking green eyes. But her hair was weighed down with straggly dead ends, and her eyes were cloaked in dark circles. Her full lips were dry