He walks around the table, his eyes never leaving mine. He looks like he knows a secret, something I should want to know, but that he’ll keep from me until he can use it to his advantage. I don’t know what it could possibly be, but I feign interest. “And you are?” I ask, letting the question hang in the air between us.
“Oh come now,” he says, his tone mocking. “You don’t really expect me to tell you anything do you? You’re the one held in an interrogation room. The questions are mine to ask.” The smile never leaves his face and it grates on my nerves.