“I have some questions,” I said. “If I ask them, will you answer them?”

“I’ll do you one better,” Redding told me. “I’ll tell you the truth.”

We’d see about that. Or, more specifically, Lia would see about that from her position behind the two-way mirror.

“Let’s talk about your partner,” I said.

“Partner isn’t the word I would have chosen.”

I knew that—and I’d used it on purpose. Agent Sterling had suggested that it was to our benefit if Redding thought he was in charge. Let him think me an ordinary girl, not an adversary.

“What word would you use?”

“Let’s go with apprentice.”

“Is your apprentice a college student?” I asked.

Redding didn’t hesitate, not even for a second. “Yes.”

“Is your apprentice someone who’s never been to college?”

If Redding thought it odd that I was asking two versions of the same question, he gave no indication of it. “Yes.”

“Is your apprentice under the age of twenty-one?”

“Yes.”

“Is your apprentice over the age of twenty-one?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Is your apprentice someone you met through the mail?”

“Yes.”

“Is your apprentice someone you met in person?”

“Yes.”

There were more questions. I asked them. He answered in similar fashion. When I reached the end of Sterling’s questions, I spent a second hoping that Lia would be able to tell us which answer in each pair had been true and which had been the lie.

“Any other questions?” Redding asked.

I swallowed. I was supposed to say no. I was supposed to get up and walk out of this room, but I couldn’t. “Are you trying to replace Dean?” I asked. It was hard to look at him and not see Locke and the way she’d fixated on me.

“No. A man does not simply replace his finest work.” Redding smiled. “My turn: do you care for my son?”

“Yes.” I kept my answer short. “Why did you want me to come here?”

“Because if you’re a part of Dean’s life, you’re a part of mine.” There was something about the look in Redding’s eyes that was chilling. “Do you know what he’s done? What he is?”

I could feel Dean stiffening behind me, but I didn’t give in to the urge to turn around. “I know about Veronica Sterling. I know about Gloria, and all the others.”

That wasn’t quite true—but I let Redding think that Dean had told me everything.

“And you don’t care?” Redding said, tilting his head to one side and staring at me, into me. “You’re drawn to darkness.”

“No,” I said. “I’m drawn to Dean, and I do care, because I care about him. My turn—and you owe me two questions.”

“Ask away.”

My instincts were telling me that Briggs wouldn’t let this go on for much longer. I had to choose my questions carefully.

“How do you choose who dies?” I asked.

Redding put his palms flat on the table. “I don’t.”

He was lying. He had to be. The only connection between Trina Simms and Emerson Cole was that they both had a connection to Redding.

“I believe I owe you one more answer.”

“Fine,” I said. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

Redding chuckled. “I like you,” he said. “I do.”

I waited. Give him enough rope, I thought, and he’ll hang himself.

“Something you don’t know,” Redding mused. “Okay. Let’s try this one: you will never find the man who murdered your mother.”

I couldn’t reply. I couldn’t breathe. My mouth was cotton-dry. My mother? What did he know about my mother?

“That’s enough,” Dean said sharply.

“Oh, but we’re having such a nice little chat,” Redding said. “We prisoners do a lot of that, you know. Chatting.”

He wanted me to believe that he’d heard something through the prison grapevine about what had happened to my mother. That meant that he knew who I was—or at least, knew enough about me to know that I had a mother who was missing, presumed dead.

Despite the way my heart pounded in my chest, I was suddenly possessed of an unnatural calm. “Tell me something I don’t know about this case,” I said.

“Allow me to share my master plan,” Redding said wryly. His tone was joking, but his eyes were dead. “I’m going to sit in my cell and wait, and while I wait, two more people are going to die. Agent Briggs will get the call about one of them any minute, and the other is going to die sometime tomorrow. Then the victims will start piling up. Body after body after body, because Briggs and Sterling aren’t good enough.” Redding lifted his gaze from my face to Briggs’s. “Because you aren’t smart enough.” He let his eyes travel to Dean. “Because you’re weak.”

I pushed my chair back from the table, bumping into Dean as I did. He kept his balance, and I stood up.

We’re done here, I thought, but I didn’t say it out loud. Single file, Briggs, Dean, and I walked out of the room, leaving Dean’s father chained to the table alone.

We joined the rest of the team in the observation room. Sloane was sitting cross-legged on top of a nearby desk, her blond hair barely contained in a messy ponytail, her posture unnaturally straight. Agent Sterling stood beside her, a few feet behind Lia, who was still staring at Redding through the two-way mirror, her arms crossed over her chest, painted fingernails resting on her elbows. On the other side of the mirror, Agent Vance entered to transfer the prisoner back to his cell.

A hand grazed my shoulder, and I turned. Michael didn’t say anything—he just studied my face.

I couldn’t turn my face away from his. I didn’t tell him I was fine or that Redding hadn’t gotten under my skin—whatever I was or wasn’t, Michael already knew. There was no use belaboring the point.

“Are you okay?” Agent Sterling actually verbalized the question. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or to Dean.

I sidestepped the question for both of us. “Ignore the bit about my mother,” I told Lia. “Focus on the case. How much of what Redding told me in there was true?”

Lia finally managed to pull her eyes away from the mirror. For a few seconds, I thought she would ignore my instructions. I willed her not to. She’d said it herself: the best liars were magicians. Whether Dean’s father had been lying or telling the truth when he’d said I would never find my mother’s killer, I didn’t want to know. Misdirection. My mother’s case was five years old. Our UNSUB was out there killing now.

“Well?” I said. “What was everyone’s favorite psychopath lying about?”

Lia crossed the room and flopped down into an office chair, flinging a hand to each side. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” I repeated.

Lia slammed her palm into the side of the chair. “Nothing. I don’t even know how he’s doing this.” She shot to her feet again, vibrating with anger and too restless to stay still. “There were two versions of every question. I was supposed to be able to contrast his responses. That should have made things easy, but I would swear that every single answer was true.” She cursed—creatively and with impressive verve. “What is wrong with me?”

“Hey.” Dean reached out and grabbed her arm as she paced by him. “It’s not your fault.”

She jerked out of his grasp. “Then whose fault is it? The other deception reader in the room who is apparently completely useless?”

“What if you’re not?” Sloane interjected. Her eyes weren’t quite focused on the here and now. I could practically hear the gears in her head turning. “Not useless, I mean,” she said, haphazardly pushing white-blond bangs out of her eyes with the heel of her hand. “What if he was telling the truth, every single time?”

Lia shook her head hard enough to send her ponytail swishing. “That’s not possible.”