Gillian glared at the detective seated across the bolted-down metal table. The cuffs were way too tight, and he did it on purpose.

"Tell me again," he insisted, and she almost sighed. Her mouth was dry as dust, and thirst made her overly aware of the scent of his blood and the beat of his heart.

They offered her neither water nor food since dawn, not even allowing her to use the bathroom, and no matter how many times she told them the facts, they just kept badgering her.

"We've already had this conversation," her measured tones had him turning on his heel, glaring at her.

They had offered her no common courtesy or consideration, and even though she was one of them, they treated her like the enemy.

"Who do you fucking think you are? Do you think that shiny detective's badge gives you a free pass?" he bit the words out with bulging jaws and the veins in his neck popping.

These people were the reason why cops had a bad name. None of them bothered to wait for forensics to verify anything, assigning guilt on circumstantial evidence.

"No, but I would think it would buy me a little common courtesy and a measure of respect."

Snatches of conversation she overheard when the door opened and closed revealed that they were all over the news. Marked as killers and vigilantes, they were judged and found guilty by public perception based on the police's statements.

"You murdered a house full of people!" He hissed, nearly spitting in her face before taking a long loop of the room as if trying to calm himself.

"Allegedly," she calmly corrected him.

Her attention wandered for a split second, and his fist connected with her face, nearly toppling her chair.

Anger exploded in her brain, and she struggled to control her inner animal, barely keeping herself from breaking the cuffs and ripping his head off as she tasted her blood.

"You found you right there, guns in hand!" he yelled so near her face that he sprayed spit on her, and the scent of fried egg and onion on his breath almost made her gag.

She opened her eyes slowly and pinned him with her gaze. Her direct, unblinking attention caught him and held him still as she leaned forward, never taking her eyes from him, and although her voice barely carried, he did not need to strain to hear her.

"You should not have done that," she said menacingly and blatantly relaxed back into her chair, the intensity of her manner not easing. "You really shouldn't have." She grinned, and he backed away from her despite himself, but whatever he intended to say next, she would never know.

The door burst open, colliding with the wall and all people, Gillian didn't expect detective Boss to be the one barging in on an interrogation.

He took in everything, missing nothing. Not her bleeding lip, the detective's aggressive stance, or her controlled defiance.

His anger seemed like a living presence, and his voice was icy as he spoke to the man who followed him into the room.

"Is this how you treat suspects, Inspector Clarke?" he demanded without facing Clarke.

A man who, for all his formidable exterior, was as pale as death. Splotches of stress appeared on his cheeks, and his lips were tight with anger and a touch of fear.

The way detective Boss stared at him said it all.

A stranger entered behind Clarke, forcing his way past the detective to her side. He took a recorder from his pocket and auspiciously set it to record before putting the device close to his mouth.

"Suspect alone in the interrogation room with detective Dole with no Union Rep present, no lawyer, and no surveillance equipment active. Suspect has cut lip and bruised cheek."

He took a photo of her face without asking permission, and his actions started sinking in with Dole, who kept glancing at Clarke like a cornered animal.

The man noticed the cuffs and photographed that, too, then nodded at the detectives. He was with Internal Investigations as far as she could tell and never even bothered to introduce himself.

"Will be seeing you all real soon," he promised Doyle and Clarke.

***

Boss held out his hand, and detective Dole hesitated only a second too long to give up the keys. She was glad he hadn't used cable ties, or he would have inflicted more damage.

Boss got right into his face and stepped so close their noses almost touched.

"You don't quite get it yet, do you, Dole? You... are... fucked," Boss was beefier and much more intimidating than Dole. "A little advice? Next time, not that there will be a next time, find out the facts before you ruin the lives of people who are worth ten of you on their worst day," Gavin Boss leaned back a little, allowing himself a good look at the man before him and a tiny sneer touched his handsome lips.

"You didn't just destroy yourself today; you wrecked the credibility of the entire police force, and for what? Sensation? Getting your name in the papers? Your father was a great cop, but you should never have been one," Boss grabbed the keys off the key ring on Dole's pants, ripping the leather loop right off before he walked over to her.

He met her eyes, and his concern warmed her soul as he removed her restraints. Without saying a word, he helped her to her feet and propelled her out the door with his hand on the small of her back.