Dragonfury 01 - Fury of Fire

would have a confession sewn up in five minutes flat. “For what?”
    Her brows drawn, Myst stepped away from the window. She rubbed her upper arms, and Angela clenched her teeth. Yeah, it was cold in the room. The interrogation tactic was one they used often: better to keep a suspect uncomfortable and on edge than comfortable and well fed. Still, she hated turning the screws on this girl, and as Myst turned to face them, she almost apologized for the cops’ asshole-ish policy.
    “For any trouble I’m about to cause you.” Lifting her chin, Myst met her gaze, then bounced over to Mac’s, only to come right back. “Just thought I’d get the apology out of the way beforehand, you know?”
    About to cause you. Not had already caused. Her cop radar flipped on, completing a revolution on her suspicion grid. Studying their suspect, Angela patted the back of the chair. “Take a seat, Ms. Munroe.”
    With a nod, she stepped toward the table. Three strides later, wearing wariness like a flak jacket, Myst sank into the seat. “What time is it?”
    Still standing just inside the door, Mac’s brows collided. He threw her a silent what-the-hell. When she shrugged, he glanced at his MTM watch. “Seven thirty-one.”
    “You should probably clear out.” Twisting her blonde hair into a makeshift knot at her nape, Myst glanced at the window. “He’ll be here soon.”
    “Who?” Weird. The conversation was right out of a mental patient’s playbook. The problem? Angela didn’t think Myst fell into the nuts category. The woman was tired, sure, but not crazy.
    “Doesn’t matter. You won’t remember anyway.” Planting her elbows on the table, Myst leaned forward and dropped her head into her hands.
    “No harm in telling us who he is, then,” Mac said, his voice coaxing as he approached the table.
    Angela threw her partner a WTF look. She’d never heard that tone from him before. At least, not in an interrogation room. Usually, he hammered suspects with the cold, hard facts; striking fast and with brutal intent. But as he pulled out another chair, she got the feeling his playbook had just expanded to accommodate damsels in distress.
    With a flip, he turned the chair backward, straddled it, then reached out and wrapped his hand around Myst’s wrist. Which freaking floored Angela, and as her brows got busy shooting skyward, she watched her partner pry their prime suspect’s hands away from her face. Okay, he was officially off the grid, four-wheeling it into dangerous territory. But Mac’s instincts were always bang-on, so she backed off and stayed out of it, waiting to see if Myst would respond to the “nice guy” routine.
    Leaning in, he cupped both of his big hands around Myst’s. “Where’s the baby?”
    “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, holding onto Mac like a lifeline. “I tried so hard to save her, but…I couldn’t and…”
    As Myst trailed off, Angela’s throat went tight. Haunted. The woman was haunted by the memory, reliving it frame by frame. She could see it on her face—in her gaze—the force of it so powerful Angela ached for her.
    As the swell rose inside her, she slid into the last chair. “What happened that night, Myst?”
    Squeezing her eyes closed, Myst clung to Mac’s hand, then took a breath and raised her chin to look right at Angela. “Caroline was already on the floor…in a pool of blood…when I got there. God, there was so much and I called for help, but…” Myst shook her head and took a shaky breath. Angela breathed with her, empathy rearing its ugly head again. “She flatlined and I…didn’t have a choice. The ambulance was too far away. He would’ve died if I hadn’t…”
    “He?” Mac murmured.
    Their suspect nodded.
    “Listen to me, Myst.” Folding her forearm on the tabletop, Angela leaned in. God, they were close…so damned close to getting the answers they needed. To getting the baby back safely. “You need to tell us where he is.”
    “He’s safe.”
    She shook her head. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”
    “I wish I could tell you more, Detective Keen, but I can’t. He’s with people who care about him…who will raise him right. That’s all you need to—” She flinched, cutting the words off midstream as she rocked backward. Flinging off Mac’s hand, her head snapped toward the window. “Oh, my God.”
    Mac stood, reacting to the terror in Myst’s voice. His eyes narrowed on the window. “What is it?”
    “We need