Pitcher? Nothing else?” “Nothing else,” Shannon said with a sigh. “Look, I’m tired, and we’ve been through this already. If there isn’t anything else I would like to get some rest.” She endured the lingering, come-hither-scumbag look that Sergeant Winter gave her until she could stand it no longer. Then she endured it some more. She wasn’t under arrest—he had made that fact clear early into their interview. He had also made it clear he didn’t believe she was telling him everything, and that her tentative freedom could easily disappear. They were in his office, not the interrogation room; Sharon figured she rated that much at least, being the sister of an ex-cop. She knew he didn’t like her, mostly because she was her brother’s sister and Winter had hated Jared. The office was small and had no windows except for the single large pane that faced the Bullpen. Its shades were drawn. The hard fluorescent lighting and white walls made the room uncomfortably bright; every speck of dust seemed magnified as they moved about on subtle currents.
