Avery gave her shoulder a light pat as the cops in the other room began instructing the men to step forward one at a time. "I know I said this is just a formality, but we still need you to be sure, Tavia - "
"I'm absolutely certain of it," she replied, her tone crisp as the blood in her veins began to buzz with some kind of innate alarm. She glanced back into the other room just as Number 4 took his two steps forward. "There's no need to continue here. That man is the shooter. I would know his face anywhere."
"Okay, then. That's fine, Tavia." He chuckled. "What'd I tell ya? Done in no time. You did great."
She dismissed the praise as unnecessary, giving the officer a mild shake of her head. "Will there be anything else?"
"Ah, nope. It'll just take a few minutes for us to wrap things up here, and we can get you on your way. If you'd like me to see you home - "
"No, thank you. I'm sure I'll be fine." As she spoke, her eyes clashed once more with the man who might have killed someone at Senator Clarence's party. If he truly was the mastermind of the bombing downtown this morning too, then he had the lives of several innocent people on his hands. Tavia held that penetrating stare, hoping that he could see through the glass to the depth of contempt she held for him in her eyes. After a long moment, she pivoted away from the viewing window. "If that will be all, Detective, the senator has a big presentation tomorrow morning, and I have a lot of logistics and other work to catch up on yet tonight."
"Tavia Fairchild."
The deep growl - the unexpected sound of her name on a stranger's lips - made her freeze for a moment where she stood. She didn't have to wonder who spoke. The low rumble of his voice went through her with the same cold certainty of the bullets he'd rained down on the crowd of party attendees the other night.
Still, shocked by what was happening, Tavia swiveled a questioning look on the detective and the other agents and officers. "This room ... I thought you said - "
Avery sputtered an apology and grabbed for a wall-mounted phone next to the viewing window. As he spoke into the receiver, the man standing in the number 4 spot kept talking to her. He kept looking at her, as though there were nothing standing between her and his deadly focus. He took a step forward. "Your boss is in a lot of trouble, Tavia. He's in danger. You could be too."
"Damn it! Get that son of a bitch under control right now," demanded one of the federal agents to the detective on the phone.
The officers in the lineup room snapped into action. "Number 4, shut up and get back in line!" He ignored the order. Took another step forward, even as the second cop moved in from the other side of the room. "I need to find him, Tavia. He needs to know that Dragos will kill him - or worse. It might already be too late."
Mute, she shook her head. What he was saying made no sense. Senator Clarence was alive and well; she'd seen him at the office that morning, before he'd left for a full day of meetings and business engagements downtown.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she murmured, even though he shouldn't be able to hear her. He shouldn't be able to see her either, but he did. "I don't know anyone named Dragos."
Both cops moved in on him now. One on each restrained arm, they tried to haul him back toward the wall. He shook them off like they were nothing, all of his focus zeroed in on Tavia. "Listen to me. He was there that night. He was a guest at the party."
"No," she said, certain he was wrong now. She personally handwrote and addressed each of the 148 invitations. Her memory for things like that was infallible. If pressed, she could recite every name and recount every face on the guest list. There was no one there by that name that night.
"Dragos was there, Tavia." The cops in the lineup room made another grab for him. "He was there. I shot him. I only wish I would have killed the bastard."
She felt her head slowly moving side to side, her brows pinched as the lunacy of what he was saying sank in. There was only one casualty at the party. The only person wounded by the violence that night had been one of Senator Clarence's most generous campaign contributors, a successful local businessman and philanthropist named Drake Masters.
"You're crazy," she whispered. Yet even as she spoke the words, she didn't fully believe them herself. The man holding her gaze so improbably - so impossibly - through the glass didn't seem crazy. He seemed dangerous and intense, utterly certain of what he was saying. He seemed lethal, even with his hands cuffed behind his back.
He kept an unblinking lock on her eyes. Dismissing him as insane would have been easier to accept than the cold knot of dread that was forming in her stomach under the weight of his clear stare. No, whatever his intent the night of the senator's party, she doubted very much that it had been motivated by insanity.
Still, none of what he was saying made sense.
"This guy is deranged," said one of the feds. "Let's wrap this up and get the witness out of here."
Detective Avery nodded. "I apologize for this, Tavia. You don't need to be here any longer." He moved around in front of her. His face was drawn taut with a mix of bewilderment and annoyance as he held his arm out to indicate a path toward the hallway door. The other officers and federal agents slowly regrouped as well and started to fall in behind them.
In the lineup room, Tavia heard the shuffle and grunts of a physical struggle under way. She tried to peer around the detective, but he was already guiding her away from the window.
As they reached the viewing room door, there was a short knock on the other side before it opened ahead of them. Senator Clarence stood in the hallway, snowflakes clinging to his neatly combed hair and navy wool peacoat. "I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner. My meeting with the mayor ran late, as usual." He glanced at Tavia and his friendly expression went a bit dark. "Is something wrong? Tavia, I've never seen you look so pale. What's going on in there?"