“How would I know?” I ask. My eyes search for her face, but all I see is truth.
She slams her hands on the table.
“Cut the crap, Mercer,” she shouts. “A neighbor saw someone identical to you coming and leaving her house.”
Fuck.
I laugh, forcing it, trying to smother the anger boiling inside me.
“How the fuck would I be able to leave this place, huh?” I ask, serious now, locking my eyes with hers.
Her jaw clenches. “You had someone to help you out.”
She moves her blazer aside and reaches into the inner pocket. An envelope slides out, and she pulls the photographs free, spreading them across the table.
“Her.” She taps a finger on top of the photograph. “She worked with your father, didn’t she?”
I say nothing. I lean back in the chair and watch her.
“She was seen entering her house yesterday, and suddenly she turns up dead?” Her voice sharpens. “And don’t fucking pretend you don’t know her.”
This is the part where I am supposed to ask for a lawyer. That would require being smart enough to pull it off.
Instead, I lean forward and slam my head against the metal table.
And as the sound rings, I laugh.
She steps back as I lift my head. Our eyes lock. Blood spills from my teeth and runs down my chin. I slam my head again, harder, and keep laughing.
“I don’t know,” I repeat. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
She stands near the wall now, staring at me. For the first time, fear breaks through her expression.
“She’s in the pictures with you when you were a boy,” she says. “That boy isyou.It has to be.”
I keep laughing.
She moves back to the table and stops in front of me.
“I got the file last night,” she says. “All the information on Dr. Alistair Cermer Morrell.” She pauses. “Your father.”
I left that file with Zeke.
Everything clicks into place.
This was never about setting up Rourke so I can walk free. This is about setting me up. All this so he can keep wearing Rourke’s face. He would keep killing, searching for a cure, while I would rot in this place until I die. The thought settles heavily in my chest when I realize he took Emily, too.
She slams her fists against the table.
“You think you’re so smart,” she snaps. “Taking a name that was never registered so that we couldn’t find you. Zayne Mercer.”
She chuckles.
“You really thought twisting a couple of letters fromCermerwould hide the truth.”
Then she shouts, “I know who you are.Zeke Cermer.I know everything about you, and you’re going to rot in jail.”
I crack my thumbs. The sound makes her step back from the table.
