I grabbed it, tucked it under my arm, and opened the van door.

The night air in the alley was colder than it had been in the woods.

“Inside, Kiera,” Miller said, shining his light toward the back door.

“The Sheriff is waiting.”

“Where is Marcus?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“He’s not here yet,” Miller said.

“But we’re ready for him.”

I walked toward the heavy steel door.

Miller held it open for me.

The warmth of the building hit me, along with the smell of floor wax and old coffee.

We walked down a narrow hallway with green tiled walls.

The only sound was the squeak of my rubber-soled shoes on the tile.

Miller led me past the booking desk.

It was empty.

The computer screens were dark.

“In here,” Miller said, opening the door to the Sheriff’s private office.

The office was small and cluttered.

A large wooden desk sat in the center, covered in folders and paperweights.

Sheriff Vance was sitting behind the desk.

He looked tired, his uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

His silver badge caught the light from the fluorescent ceiling bulb.