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not be here for you.”
    We made eye contact.
    “Yeah,” he said. “I don’t buy it either. The closet. Now.”
    Through the walls, Meena’s footsteps sounded, coming ever closer. I yanked open the closet door and fumbled past the clothes for the compartment in the wall. If I squeezed my shoulders together, there was enough space to hide. Vincent locked me in the vertical coffin just as the knock boomed at the door.
    “Yeah—”
    I heard his muffled voice.
    “—I’m coming.”
    “Mr. Pyra.”
    There was a time I’d liked her. Adored her and her daughter. But now? God, I hated her voice, and I despised the thought of her. Smug. Confident. A mass murderer cloaking herself in the skin of a protector.
    “Congratulations,” said Vincent. “You got my name right. You must be so proud.” He paused. “I’d ask who you are and what you want, but you have the smell of bacon all over you.” Another pause. “And powdered sugar. Isn’t sugar bad for pigs?”
    She chuckled.
    “If you’re checking up on me, talk to my parole officer. I’ve been a model citizen.”
    “We’re not here for you, Mr. Pyra.”
    “I’m crushed.”
    I took a shallow breath. With less than an inch between the plywood and my nose, I wasn’t sure how much air I had and how long it would have to last.
    “We have reports of a young man entering your building.”
    I allowed myself a small breath. A boy. Not a girl.
    “So?”
    “He’s wanted in connection with a traffic accident.”
    “He hit somebody?”
    “Someone hit him.”
    “Let me get this right.” Vincent was amused. “You’re going door to door in this building, trying to track down a victim who walked away? You guys run out of murderers to find? I got a plugged sink I need help with, if you’re looking for work.”
    She answered, but I lost the conversation because I was trying to figure out how she’d tracked me.
    Then I realized how she’d done it. The security cameras on the streets. I was always careful around them, but my run-in with Eagle Man had made me rash. Note to self: Don’t be a moron when in danger. And remember that cops can gain access to the cameras faster than you think.
    “—waste your time.”
    Vincent’s voice pulled me back to the conversation.
    The creak of the chair shifting under someone’s weight preceded Meena’s response. “You and I have been in the system too long to play games, so I’m going to level with you.”
    “Wow.” His contempt made the word heavy. “Should I make popcorn and we can paint each other’s nails while you spill your guts?”
    “Two years ago. You remember that woman and her two kids who died?”
    The ice was on my skin, frozen memories of that night, of the flames that burned the heart from me.
    “Lots of women and kids die,” said Vincent, and I gave him credit for keeping his voice steady.
    There was no room for me to move or shift my weight. I wiggled my toes and fingers, trying to keep the blood circulating and prevent myself from passing out. My shoulders ached, and coupled with the pain from the car accident, I was in a world of agony so bad I felt it in my hair. But it was nothing compared to my sharp, pointed rage as I listened to her talk about my family.
    “Her ex-boyfriend shot them, torched the house.” She paused. “We’re still looking for him.”
    The image haunted my dreams; the unanswered questions tormented me. Who had she shot first? Had Danny screamed? Did Emily cry? Mom would’ve thrown her body in front of both of them. I wanted to wail. There had never been a boyfriend—never been an ex-boyfriend. There had only been Meena, lying about a phantom lover to cover her tracks.
    “Unless you want me to partner with a witness and give you a sketch of this guy,” said Vincent, “I can’t help you.”
    “He had an accomplice,” she said. “That woman? She had been my housekeeper for four years. We shared stories about our kids. She helped change my daughter’s diapers.”
    Yeah.