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"Right now. She's winning and it'll piss him off. Just wait."

"How do you know?"

"A crime scene that gore-laden doesn't speak of control," I said.

Jenson nodded as he came to stand on the other side of me, his arms folded over his chest. His lips pressed together as he stared at the suspect. He wasn't quiet often, but when he was, it told me he had something else on his mind.

"Lady, I have no problem pissing my pants in this chair. I won't be the one cleaning it," Hollister continued his attempts at goading Nora, but she remained unmoved.

"Like I said twice before, suit yourself, Joshua." She motioned to him then rested her hands in her lap. She crossed her legs again when she leaned back in her chair.

"Don't fucking call me that." He thumped his fist on the table.

I expected Nora to startle, but she kept her composure.

"What would you prefer that I called you?" she asked.

"Jay or Josh," he said, the heat leaving him for the moment.

"Alright, Jay. Was that your nickname growing up?" Nora's gentle question did the trick.

Hollister's shoulders relaxed and he stared down at the chain of the handcuffs while flicking it.

"Jay or J.J. mainly. Don't care for J.J. much," he said, continuing to talk to the table rather than looking at Nora.

"How come?" Nora asked, her brow softening in the clinical manner I'd witnessed dozens of times. How she managed to show such empathy to psychopaths was a mystery to me.

Hollister shrugged. "One of those dumb kid nicknames and all."

"Understandable. Does your son have a nickname?" Nora's question left her on delicate lips, however, the precision shot that accompanied it sprung clear and sharp.

Hollister's gaze shot to hers and his brow narrowed. "What's it matter to you?"

"It doesn't matter to me." She gestured to herself. "But it might matter to you."

"I'm not here to talk about my fucking kid." Hollister's fist pounded the table, sending the cuffs clanging against the metal.

Nora's posture didn't falter, though from the side angle of our observation, I noted her fingers tensed in her lap. "Tell me what we're here to talk about then," she said, not skipping a beat.

"How about we talk about you?" His dark, narrowed gaze trained on her then.

"That's not how this works, Jay. I'm sure you're aware of that."

"What if I wanted to talk about you instead?"

Nora shook her head, again gesturing to him before lowering her hand back to her lap.

"It's your time to use how you'd like," she said, blandly at best.

Nora found her way in, his soft spot, so to speak. She brought up his son and his reaction told us that, when rapport was reestablished, prodding in that direction might result in some disclosure.

"Well, I'd like to talk about you." Hollister folded his hands on the table and leaned forward just like before. "Specifically, about your lack of wedding ring. Don't you have a decent man by your side, Agent?"

"As I've said before, Jay, I won't be answering questions of that nature," she said, unmoved by the query thus far.

"Aw, come on." He glanced over his shoulder toward the door. "Get me out of here and I could make myself a decent man for you. I cook and clean like no one else. And I'm a good fuck. I'd give it to you every night if you wanted." His hands inched closer to her side of the table, but the chain around the bar stopped him for the most part. His taunting and provocative behavior reinforced the reaction to discussing his son.

"Mister Hollister, I've explained the reason I'm here to you several—"