The clear window looking into the brightly lit interrogation room showed a forty-something man shackled at his wrists and ankles. He had short-cropped sandy blond hair, a pointed chin, and blue eyes. He was average height and build, with the sunken look of defeat seen in many lifers.

He looked like Bobby MacIntosh. At first glance, Rowan was certain it was her brother in chains behind the table.

But it wasn’t.

Roger spoke, his trembling voice deep and filled with anger. And fear.

“That’s not MacIntosh.”

“Uh, sir, we double-checked his records and it is him,” Warden Cullen said with a stiff nod, running his hand over his smooth skull. “He’s been here for fourteen months. Our new security protocols have us take a DNA sample on arrival. When you called three weeks ago, we took another DNA sample. It’s definitely Robert MacIntosh.”

“He must have made the switch during transport,” Roger said, almost to himself.

“Excuse me?” John said.

Warden Cullen explained. “Security is very tight. For the past two years, new prisoners must provide their DNA for the file. In addition to a recent photograph and fingerprints, of course. In the past, fingerprints and identifying marks were the main distinguishing characteristics.

“Everything is in the computer,” he continued, confidence growing. “So when we received Robert MacIntosh into the facility fourteen months ago, we compared his photograph, distinguishing marks, and fingerprints with the computer records. Perfect match.”

“What about his DNA?” Roger asked.

The warden frowned. “We took his DNA sample upon admittance.”

“So you had nothing to compare it with.”

“DNA sampling is expensive, Director Collins. New prisoners are done routinely. MacIntosh has been in the system for over twenty years. Existing prisoners are added as funds become available.

“MacIntosh had been in Louisiana since his conviction until fourteen months ago, when he was transported here. They didn’t have a DNA sample on record,” the warden explained.

“I didn’t know he’d been transferred until three weeks ago,” Roger said, not looking Rowan in the eye. He stared instead at the imposter.

“Transferred,” John repeated, failing to contain his frustration.

Roger nodded, looked sheepish. “I had a copy of the file sent to me. He’d been beaten by a prison gang, and it wasn’t the first time. Louisiana has been having some problems, and MacIntosh’s attorney petitioned for a transfer. It was granted. I was supposed to be notified, but I wasn’t.”

“There was no reason to believe he’s anyone other than Robert MacIntosh, Junior,” the warden said, his voice tight with indignation. “All the files matched.”

“Computer records,” John mumbled, running a hand through his short hair. “They could have been switched.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Flynn,” the warden said, “but computer security is tight. This is a federal penitentiary. We protect ourselves against hackers.”

“No system is secure,” John said, jaw clenched.

Rowan nodded to the man on the other side of the window. The man posing as her brother. “He knows the answer.”

Two minutes later, Rowan sat across from the man who’d passed as Bobby for fourteen months. John stood against the wall next to one of the two guards, Roger sat to Rowan’s right, and Warden Cullen stood nervously at her left.

“Who are you?” Rowan asked.

“Bobby MacIntosh, but ya know that,” the imposter said, staring at her and trying to look fearsome, but failing.

Rowan shook her head. “No, you’re not Bobby. Bobby is my brother. I know him. You are not Bobby.”

“Hey, babe, I’ve changed.”

“Tell me how you made the switch,” Roger said.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He shuffled his feet, the chains clinking together, echoing in the silence of the sparsely furnished room.

Rowan glared at him. This man had helped her brother commit murder. “Did you plan it with him? Accomplice to murder. Hmmm. Texas has the death penalty, doesn’t it, Warden?”

“Well, uh, yes we do.”

“I don’t suppose an accomplice is eligible,” Rowan said, her voice flat and hard.

“Well, there are extenuating circumstances where an accomplice may be eligible,” the warden said.

Rowan controlled her reaction. It was bullshit, but the imposter wouldn’t know that. Play up whatever angle they had. Besides, everyone knew Texas had one of the strongest death penalty laws in the country.

The imposter fidgeted, crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Well, let me spell it out. We have your DNA. My DNA is on file with the FBI. Assistant Director Collins,” she motioned toward Roger, “already called for my profile to be faxed here. If you really are my brother, the DNA profiles will prove that.” She glanced at Warden Cullen, who quickly picked up the thread.

“Guard, please call up to my office and see if the fax has arrived from Washington.”

One of the guards left the room and the imposter became visibly agitated. Certainly he had heard of more than one criminal who’d been caught because of DNA. DNA was king at enough trials to make any prisoner wary.

“I, uh-” he began, then stopped.

“Tell me where Bobby MacIntosh is,” Roger said.

“I don’t know,” the prisoner whispered. His eyes darted from Rowan to Roger to the warden. “I think I need a lawyer.”

Roger slammed his fist on the table. “No!”

Warden Cullen frowned at him. Rowan leaned forward. “Sir,” she asked, “what is your name?”

“Lloyd,” he answered, his shackles rustling.

“Lloyd, my name is Rowan Smith.”

He shrugged. “I know.”

“I’m the reason Bobby wanted out of prison, right?” she prodded.

Lloyd hesitated, then nodded.

Her head spun. It was Bobby. All along it was him, and he wanted to destroy her. Take from her what he hadn’t twenty-three years ago.

She kept her voice firm and modulated. “Bobby told you about me.”

He hesitated. “I really think I need-”

Warden Cullen interrupted. “Look, Lloyd, I’ll tell you what. Anything you tell us here won’t be used against you, okay? Just answer their questions.”

Lloyd didn’t look convinced. “He’ll kill me if I talk.”

Rowan stared at him. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

“Ms. Smith-” Warden Cullen warned.

The guard returned with two pieces of official-looking paper. He handed them to the warden, who read them and nodded. Lloyd paled, his pasty complexion becoming even whiter.

Cullen spoke. “This proves you’re not Robert MacIntosh. Do you want to cooperate or be charged with accessory to murder?”

“Murder? But she’s not dead!”

“Bobby started with others,” Rowan said. “He plans to end with me. But I have no intention of letting him kill me.” She kept her face rigid, her eyes shielded. She knew she looked fearsome; it was an expression the press had loved to comment on when she’d been with the Bureau. It also worked well on criminals.

She couldn’t afford to break down now. Not when they were so close.

Lloyd swallowed, glanced at the warden, then back at her. Rowan didn’t move a muscle, but her heart beat so loudly in her ears she thought for sure everyone could hear. She couldn’t blow this. Wouldn’t blow it.

“I want in writing that I’m not gonna be charged for any of this.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his mouth.

Roger looked at the warden, who sighed and pulled out a legal pad. He hand-wrote a promise on two sheets of paper, signed both, and handed the pen to Lloyd. Lloyd signed them awkwardly with his hands bound and the warden took them. Rowan glanced down. He’d signed them “Robert MacIntosh.”

They weren’t legitimate without his legal name, but no one said anything. Stupid idiot, Rowan thought. No wonder Bobby had so easily manipulated him.