The chains of the cheaply made SecureLynk handcuffs rattled against the metal table top when the young man adjusted his hands. Tara Brown, the dark-skinned, self-proclaimed FBI agent in the smart navy business suit, didn't acknowledge the sound. She kept reading the pages in the thin manilla folder she held.

"May I call you Nolan?" she asks, lowering the folder.

"You may," the young man replied.

Tara nodded and said, "But Nolan Keller isn't your given name, is it?" When Nolan didn't respond, she continued. "And it isn't your only alias."

"There is no crime against having different names, as long as I don't use them to defraud anyone or disguise criminal activity."

Tara nodded again and glanced back at the folder. "Your father worked in the intelligence community."

No question was asked, so Nolan did not respond.

"Do you know why you are here? Why you've been arrested?"

"I was made aware of my Miranda Rights and informed I was being arrested for the murder of Nikki Bowen, my friend." Nolan says the words calmly but couldn't keep his jaw from clenching.

"Sherriff Caldwell seems convinced you are guilty. Why do you think that is?" Tara asks.

Nolan appreciated her skills. She was good at this. "I assume it's because I am capable."

"What do you mean, capable?" Tara asks.

"I've had documented training with weapons. I teach martial arts. Rumors around town suggest Nikki and I were romantically involved."

"Were you romantically involved?"

"No."

"No? But you were close?"

Nolan calmed himself with a slow breath. "Yes. She's my friend."

"Sherriff Caldwell says you have refused to cooperate. Why is that?" Tara laid the folder on the table in front of Nolan.

"His deputies searched my business and home illegally. I didn't invite them in and they didn't present a writ or a warrant. No one will tell me what happened to Nikki. And Roy Caldwell is a bully." Nolan had said more than he wanted to, but something about Tara's demeanor was relaxing. She was good. Her tone shifted smoothly, as needed. And she looked capable, too.

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The sound of a struggle, originating from beyond the Sheriff’s office, caught their attention.

Concern flickered across Tara’s face, and her eyes narrowed.

"A tweaker," Nolan says. "They brought him in right before me. That's why we are in here and not in a proper cell."

Tara stared at Nolan like he was a crossword puzzle, then she put a finger on the file folder. "Notes in your file say you spend a lot of time at the local shooting range."

"This is Kentucky. Everyone has guns."

"Let's circle back to your father. Given his line of work, that you are fit and seem intelligent, why didn't you follow him into the public service?"

Nolan forced himself to relax again and says, "I wasn't interested in the family business."

"I see you have a 9mm pistol and a 12-gauge shotgun registered to you. Both Berettas. Do you own a Glock, Mr. Keller?"

Nolan cocked his head to the side. Was Nikki shot? "No, but I'm betting you do. Probably a Glock 22. Or maybe a Glock 23, since your hands are small." He gestured to her side under her left arm.

Tara sat up a little straighter and narrowed her eyes at Nolan just a fraction.

"Nolan, what can you tell me about Ms. Bowen's dealing with cult religions?"

Nolan blinked. "Nikki? Nothing. She wasn't into anything like that. Didn't have time."

"There were signs discovered at the scene of Ms. Bowen's murder that suggest otherwise. Are you familiar with a Satanic cult operating in this area?" Tara's soft demeanor had faded, and she pinned Nolan with a glare.

"Sure. There's a group around here somewhere. A bunch of potheads that drive up on Klack Mountain and smear themselves with goat's blood or something. But Nikki wasn't involved with them. She works at the University. They drug test. Look, I've answered your questions. Will you please tell me what happened to Nikki?" Nolan's attempts at composure were fraying.

Tara looked toward the door, where the inmate and police officers continued to struggle in the next room. She sighed and looked back at Nolan. "We know very little. She was hit by a car or a truck. And then she was shot. Then someone drew a pentagram on her abdomen with her own blood."

None of that made sense. "Where?"

"On State Route 427."

The road leading up Klack Mountain. Nolan held his cuffed hands up to Tara. "Test me for GSR."

"They haven't done that?" Tara asks.

"No. KSP and Caldwell don't get along."

"KSP?" Tara asks.

"Kentucky State Police. They have a post out by the interstate. I haven't seen a trooper yet." Nolan had been expecting a gray uniformed officer when Sherriff Caldwell brought Tara in. Why are the feds here, but not the troopers? Small town bickering aside, homicide wasn't something the locals often dealt with.

The look on Tara's face told Nolan she was asking many of the same questions to herself.

"If you have any information that could shed some light on this, I think it would go a long way towards getting Sherriff Caldwell to release you." Tara leaned across the table to sell her plea to Nolan when a primal scream erupted from the front office of the sheriff's department. A yell followed the scream, and then a gunshot rang out.

The Glock 23 Nolan guessed Tara was carrying was in her hand before she finished standing. She looked at Nolan with resolve and a little excitement dancing in her eyes. "Keep your head down and stay put."

Nolan held up his cuffed hands and says, "Where am I going to go?"

Tara nodded and bolted out the door, gun in hand.

Nolan thought about Nikki and about three seconds before he pushed the slide lock of his cuffs hard into the metal table. The cuffs cut into his wrists and he bit his lip to stifle a cry. Then the lock released, and the cuff popped off one wrist. He repeated the motion and tossed the cuffs on the table. "SecureLynk," he says with disgust as he flung open the office window and stepped into the night.