Текст книги "Inside"

Автор книги: Brenda Novak

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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

16

Eddie Glover felt like the walking dead. Because his wife had recently taken a job working afternoons and evenings at a craft store, he’d switched to nights at ADX Florence. Someone had to be available for the kids after school. But a week into the change, his body hadn’t made the adjustment yet. Eight hours on his feet during the time he normally slept left him dragging, feeling punchy, dim-witted, slow to react.

Apparently he was slow to react, and none too observant. He didn’t notice the car that turned down his street until it drove up onto his lawn and three white men, all of them wearing beanies and overlarge sweatshirts, jumped out. Once he understood what was happening, he stood slack-jawed as the tallest of the three waved a pistol in his face.

“Glover?”

Eddie didn’t bother denying his identity. Although he was wearing a heavy coat, his uniform bore a tag and would be easy enough to check. “What’s going on?”

With the help of the others, the man who’d verified his name started dragging him to the front porch. But Eddie couldn’t let these men in the house. His wife and two little girls were there.

Adrenaline blasted away the cobwebs in his mind, but there wasn’t much he could do to gain the upper hand, not when he was surrounded by three thugs toting guns. His cell phone was in his shirt pocket, but he knew they’d shoot him the minute he tried to get it out. He had only the lock on the front door and his ability to reason with them.

As soon as they realized the house was locked up, the tall man with a thin line of hair along his jaw—and a pointy chin reminiscent of pictures representing the devil—nudged him. “Get your keys.”

They were in his pants pocket, but he made no move to retrieve them. “No.”

“You’re joking, right?” Devil said.

“Not at all. I won’t let you in my house.”

They stiffened as if he’d surprised them. But he couldn’t imagine why. If these men thought he’d give them access to his house under any conditions, they had no idea how much he loved his family.

“What did you say?” Devil demanded.

He eyed the storm drain, judging the distance. If they tried to get his keys, he’d throw them in there, he decided. “I can’t let you in the house. You can do what you want with me, but that won’t change.”

“Are you stupid?” This came from a much shorter man with tattoos covering every inch of visible skin, including his face. His wild eyes made Eddie nervous. He’d seen that look before, plenty of times. It usually indicated drug use and often preceded violence.

Struggling to remain calm, he drew measured breaths. Panic would get him nowhere. But it would be easier to figure out how to defuse this situation if only he understood why it was happening. He’d worked at the prison for ten years and never had an incident. “Not stupid enough to let you in my house.”

“Then we’ll shoot you here.” Wild Eyes shoved the muzzle of his gun between Eddie’s ribs. Eddie wished his neighbors were early risers, but it wasn’t even light yet. The ones who were up were probably getting into a hot shower, not peering out their windows to see if he’d made it home safe. Even his house was dark.

“If you’d just tell me what you want, maybe I could help you instead,” he said, hoping to calm them. “I’ve got my wallet. It’s right here. We could go down to the ATM.” He’d seen enough gang members to know these guys were affiliated. Their tattoos told him that much. The third man—dark hair and eyes, average height, average build—had a clover tattoo with AB on the back of his hand. Eddie recognized it as an Aryan Brotherhood tattoo and guessed they were after money. That had to be it. There wasn’t any other reason for the AB to come after him. He had good relationships with the convicts at Florence. That didn’t mean he condoned their actions; it just meant that, in his opinion, anyone who expected to be treated like a decent human being should treat others the same way.

Devil nudged his compatriot aside. “If he doesn’t want to go in the house, we’ll put him in the car.”

The car wasn’t any less dangerous for Eddie, but he was willing to go with them to draw any threat away from the house.

Devil jumped behind the wheel and fired up the engine. The more aggressive Wild Eyes shoved Eddie in the passenger seat before getting in behind him, and Clover Tattoo, who hadn’t said a word and didn’t seem all that thrilled to be there, took the other seat.

“Are we going to the bank?” Eddie asked as they ran up over the sidewalk and spun out, tearing up his lawn.

No one responded. They lurched into the street and careered around several turns, but when they headed away from the city, Eddie knew this wasn’t a robbery.

Eventually they found a dirt road leading into the countryside. Judging by the way they hurtled over grooves and potholes without any consideration for the vehicle, Eddie wondered if they were driving a stolen car. But it had very little wear and tear.

It smelled like a rental….

These boys were from out of town.

But that only added to his confusion. What was going on?

Spotting a rental agreement lying on the floor with several fast-food wrappers, he tried to get a glimpse of the name. But it wasn’t easy. The agreement had been stepped on and torn, and he was trying not to be obvious.

Something Thompson. That was what it looked like.

Eddie didn’t know anyone by the name of Thompson.

At last they came upon a wooded area, stopped and piled out. As they marched him into the woods, he thought they must have him confused with someone else. Except that they’d clarified his name. Were they trying to learn how ADX worked so they could break friends out of prison? Did they want his uniform to help with the attempt?

Once they were well-concealed by foliage, they shoved him up against the trunk of a tree and raised their guns.

His heartbeat crashed like cymbals in his ears as he studied his captors, all of them strangers. This is how my life is going to end? They gave him the impression that they were going to kill him without so much as an explanation.

But then the tall guy stepped forward. “You see how serious this is?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” he responded.

“You’d better call him sir!” Wild Eyes exclaimed, but Eddie ignored him. He addressed all inmates as “sir” and had done so for his entire tenure. It was a commitment he’d made when he’d started working at the prison. He’d decided he could judge and hate the men he guarded, or he could learn to treat them kindly, as his church taught.

“We pull the trigger and walk away, no one’ll even know where to find you, Mr. Glover.” That was Devil, who afforded him a bit of the courtesy Glover had first extended to him.

“You could be right about that,” he agreed.

“So why don’t you help us out?”

His eyes shifted from face to face. “If you’ll tell me what’s going on, I’ll see what I can do.”

“What do you know about Virgil Skinner?”

Oh, God…he didn’t have a chance. This didn’t involve an escape plot—it involved the life of a friend.

His thoughts splintered, slammed together. “After serving a number of years in USP Tucson, Skinner was transferred to ADX as a behavioral problem. We had him for almost a year but he gave us no trouble. The months he spent in Florence proved uneventful until he was exonerated and released last week.” He hoped that sounded cooperative and professional.

“You’re doing great so far,” Devil said. “Now, tell me where we can find him and we’ll let you go.”

Perspiration caused Eddie’s uniform to stick to him. “I don’t know where he is.”

Devil stepped closer. “I don’t consider a lie to be very polite. And you’re a polite guy. So why don’t we try that again?”

Clover Tattoo intervened. “He’s a C.O., man. How much can he know? Skin wouldn’t hang with no stinkin’ C.O.”

Hocking up some phlegm, Devil spat on the ground. “That was before he knew he was going to be exonerated.” Waving his gun, he drew Eddie’s attention again. “Word has it the two of you were tight. That true?”

Skinner was the brother he’d always wanted and never had. Eddie had never admired anyone more. But they made an unlikely pair, and that was all he had to hang his hopes on. “I’m not sure you’d call it tight. But I liked him. I feel terrible that he got such an unfair shake. Still…he was just another inmate, you know? You can’t get attached to them all.”

The first glimmer of sunrise lit the horizon with a pinkish hue. Eddie wished that meant someone would see what was happening and put a stop to it, but there wasn’t another soul in sight.

“You’re saying you don’t keep in touch with him?” Devil asked.

“No, sir.” Eddie thought about Virgil a lot, missed their discussions, but hadn’t tried to contact him. He knew he couldn’t.

Wild Eyes kicked dirt onto Eddie’s boots. “Who picked him up when he was released?”

Once again, Eddie felt the weight of his cell phone in his shirt pocket and wished for the opportunity to use it. “I’m guessing his sister. I think that’s all he has, one sister. I wasn’t there.” This was a blatant lie, one that could easily blow up in his face if they knew differently. They had to have selected him for a reason. But Eddie couldn’t give them any information. If they found Virgil, they’d kill him. And Virgil had already been through more than any man should have to endure. He deserved a shot at starting over, at building a better life. He also deserved to be able to count on someone who wouldn’t let him down.

“It wasn’t his sister,” Devil said.

“No? Then I can’t imagine.”

Devil wasn’t pleased. “I’m not buying it. You knew him too well not to show up for the big day.”

Eddie had been there. But he had to deny it—and pray his body language didn’t betray him. “I wanted to go. I couldn’t. I had the kids and my wife won’t let me take them anywhere near the prison.”

“Wife wears the pants in your family, does she?” Wild Eyes jeered.

“What kind of piece of shit friend are you?” Devil chimed in.

“I do my job, then I go home. I don’t carry it with me.” There was some truth to that. Treating the inmates with respect was one thing. Making them part of his personal life was another. Eddie had made an exception for Virgil because Virgil was an exceptional man.

Devil spat again. “You’re not gettin’ the point. We know where you live, man.”

Eddie’s knees nearly gave out. They had to believe him. He had to say something to make them believe. “I’d help you if I could, but I can’t. I swear.”

“You’re forcing my hand. Look at this guy.” Devil motioned to Wild Eyes. “See him?”

Eddie glanced at the crazy man who wanted to shoot him with or without cause. “Yes, sir.”

“He’s nuts. He’ll kill anybody. Women, children. Don’t matter to him. You know the type. You’ve met ’em, working where you do.”

“I’ve never had any serious problems with an inmate,” Eddie said.

“You’re going to have problems with my friend here, because we gotta have some info to take to our boss. We gotta find out where Virgil went. He’s not a magician. He had to go somewhere. And someone at that prison knows. I’m guessin’ it’s you.”

Eddie’s mind flashed to the day Virgil had told him about the Federal Bureau of Prisons coming hand in hand with the California Department of Corrections to offer him a deal.

They want me to help them bring down a gang in Pelican Bay.

You gonna do it?

I don’t know.

You’ve been through enough.

What do they care about that?

That’s a tough place to do time.

Every prison is a tough place to do time.

In the end he’d agreed to their terms, for the sake of his sister. Eddie respected that, respected him. “Why do you think he’d tell me?”

“You aren’t the only one who has friends in Florence. We know you two were pals. C.O. or not, you and Virgil hung out as much as possible.”

He hadn’t kept his friendship with Virgil a secret. He’d never dreamed there’d be any reason to. So now all he could do was try to downplay it. “We got along. But I haven’t seen or talked to him since they let him go.”

“That doesn’t solve our problem.”

“I can’t help you. I’m just a C.O. who once knew Virgil Skinner. It’s not like we’re family.”

Devil made a noise with his tongue. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this,” he said and, just like that, he waved for Wild Eyes to shoot.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Eddie began reciting the Lord’s Prayer.

Clover Tattoo interrupted. “You kill him, we won’t get anything.”

“He’s not talking, anyway,” Devil responded. “What good is he?”

Eddie went on with the Lord’s Prayer. He didn’t want to be the kind of person who’d betray a friend. He wanted to be better than that, better than these men who felt they could tempt him to do anything to save his own neck. If their roles were reversed, Virgil would die before giving him up. He was sure of it.

“Last chance,” Devil warned. “You gonna tell me about Virgil or not?”

Some things were worse than death. Losing his honor was one of them. Virgil had taught him that. And Eddie believed it. “He’s gone. They let him go.”

“You know more than that!” Out of nowhere, Devil kicked him so hard he doubled over but, strangely enough, he couldn’t feel the pain. He was already numb with terror.

“This isn’t working,” Clover Tattoo complained. “Let’s leave this dude alone and get the hell out of here.”

Wild Eyes swung around as if he’d shoot Clover Tattoo instead, but then he halted. “I’ll get this bastard to talk.”

“You’re about to blow his head off,” Devil responded. “What more can you do?”

“This.” Coming right up into Eddie’s face, he lowered his voice. “Tell us where Virgil Skinner is, or I’ll drag you back to your house and make you watch as I rape and kill whoever I find there. Boys, girls, it don’t matter to me. You understand? No one’ll be spared.

A bead of sweat rolled from Eddie’s temple.

“Is Virgil worth your family, sir?” Wild Eyes whispered.

Tears streamed down Eddie’s cheeks. No. As much as he loved Virgil, he loved his wife and children more. And that was why he finally told them.

17

Rick sat in his car on the shoulder of Interstate 5 near the Sacramento airport. Farmland stretched for miles on either side, but he could see the cityscape in the distance with its handful of high rises. It probably wasn’t safe to remain where he was, not with the Monday morning commuters whizzing past, but he wasn’t in the mood to return home or go to work. He’d gone home after he got off the plane, but fled the house when he and Mercedes got into a fight. From there, he’d driven almost to Redding before turning around. And now this. He’d just received a call from a detective in Colorado who said he’d been assigned to a shooting. The victim of that shooting, a corrections officer from ADX by the name of Eddie Glover, wanted to speak with him.

The conversation hadn’t been easy to understand, which was why Rick had pulled over—so he could concentrate without having to worry about navigating. Glover had been shot in the chest an hour ago. The bullet had punctured his lung, but he’d managed to use his cell phone to call for help. Now he was in a hospital, ready to be sedated for surgery, but he’d refused to let the doctors treat him until he spoke to Rick.

How Glover knew him, Rick couldn’t figure out, until the detective put him on the line. Then Glover had mumbled that someone named Thompson and The Crew had found out Virgil was working for the CDCR.

Why Skinner had confided in Glover, Rick didn’t know. Glover couldn’t say much so he didn’t ask him. It didn’t matter, anyway. What did matter was that the whole operation had been compromised.

What the hell was he going to do? Twisting the rearview mirror so he could look into his own eyes, Rick glared at himself. He’d had such big plans for this investigation, such high expectations.

Hard to believe it was over before it had even begun….

Or was it? Did he have to pull Skinner and turn him back over to the feds?

It wasn’t hard to guess what Peyton would say. She’d never liked the idea of putting Skinner in Pelican Bay, had harped on about the danger from the first. She’d think this latest news was the proverbial last straw. But Rick wasn’t so sure. Just because The Crew realized Virgil was working for the department didn’t mean they knew he was going to Pelican Bay. Rick had asked Glover that exact question several times.

Did you mention Pelican Bay?

A rattle, a gasp and then, “No.”

You’re sure? Mr. Glover, you’re sure?

Another gasp. “Yes.”

A man who’d gone to that much trouble to reach him wouldn’t get the answer to such an important question wrong.

The detective who came on the phone after had explained a bit more fully. He’d said that from the moment he reached Glover, Glover had been trying to tell him that The Crew knew Virgil was doing some informant work in California. He claimed he hadn’t mentioned where, that he’d convinced the men who’d shot him that he didn’t know, which was why they’d pulled the trigger. They were frustrated about not getting more.

The detective also told him that Glover insisted The Crew had a very strong network in California, and that it wouldn’t take them long to track Virgil down, but Rick wasn’t confident of that. Virgil wasn’t using his real name. And there were a lot of prisons in California. It could take The Crew a long time to find their buddy. Perhaps they’d never find him. It wasn’t as if they were well-educated or sophisticated. They were a bunch of two-bit losers who’d rape their own mothers for a six-pack of beer.

So why panic? He didn’t want to give up too soon. There’d been an element of risk involved in this investigation from the beginning, and everyone understood that. As far as Rick was concerned, the level of risk hadn’t changed all that much. Skinner could handle himself. He wouldn’t get hurt. Cons like him, they were survivors.

And if Skinner did get hurt…well, Rick couldn’t say he’d be too upset. Not after Peyton’s call.

I’ve had an inappropriate relationship with him….

Does inappropriate mean what I think it means?

Yes.

Just the thought of the two of them together made him shake his head in disbelief. Where did Virgil get off thinking he could show up with all his tats and prison swagger and jump into bed with the woman Rick had been dreaming about for months? Virgil was a lowlife. Rick couldn’t figure out how he’d managed to overcome Peyton’s resistance. There had to be something about him, something she liked. She’d never shown any interest in Rick.

But she might have. If he wasn’t married…

Leaning back against the headrest, he thought about the promises he’d given his wife to get counseling. After the argument this morning, which had nearly turned to blows, he knew that was never going to work. Not in a million years. It was too late. He didn’t dream about Mercedes anymore. He didn’t think of her at all, at least not when he was away from her. And if they made love? She became Peyton….

Maybe he’d needed a shocking event like this to wake him up and make him realize his marriage was over. If not for Mercedes, he could move on and be with someone who did turn him on, someone like Peyton.

The flash of lights reflecting off his mirror startled him. Sitting up, he checked to see where those lights were coming from and found a black-and-white tucked behind his vehicle. A highway patrolman was running his license plate. A few seconds later, he used a loudspeaker to ask Rick to get out of the car.

Feeling a little self-conscious about his appearance, Rick located his driver’s license and registration and stepped outside. He’d thrown on some sweats when he stormed out of the house and hadn’t shaved or combed his hair. That plus having minimal sleep in the past twenty-four hours, and he knew he looked like hell.

“Why are you here?” the officer demanded.

Had Rick been wearing his suit, ready for the day, he might’ve played on his position within the CDCR. But, as it was, he didn’t want to mention where he worked, so he simply handed over his license. “Drowsy driving kills, right? I was sleepy so I pulled over.”

“You been drinking?”

God, he must look worse than he’d thought. “At nine o’clock on a Monday morning? Do I act like I’m drunk? Do you smell alcohol?”

Apparently his irritation was convincing because the cop didn’t ask for a sobriety test. He angled his head to peer inside the car and, when he didn’t spot anything suspicious, said, “This isn’t a good place to rest, Mr. Wallace. The cars that come past here are going too fast. One swerve and it could all be over.”

So it was safer having him get out of the car to stand on the shoulder?

“I suggest you pull off at the next exit.” He studied Rick’s license. “You only live five or ten minutes away.”

Rick’s proximity to the airport and his comment about being too tired to drive had obviously led the officer to believe he’d been traveling all night. “I didn’t say I was from out of town. I said I was tired. I was resting my eyes for a few seconds, that’s all.”

“Right. I see that all the time.”

Rick didn’t appreciate the sarcasm, but said nothing as the officer returned his license.

“Tired or not, like I said, this isn’t an appropriate place to stop. You’d better move on.”

Or he’d cite him for endangering other motorists or some such infraction. Rick was sure the cop could come up with a reason if he really wanted to. “Will do.”

The crunch of the patrolman’s boots receded as he walked to his car. Then a semi passed, blasting them both with damp, cold air. “What a crappy day,” Rick grumbled, but he got in and started the engine, clicked on his turn signal and merged into traffic at the first opportunity. There was no reason to linger. He’d already made his decision.

He wouldn’t dismantle the investigation.

He wouldn’t tell Peyton about Eddie Glover, either.

It was a hell of a night. Peyton tossed and turned, drifted into unfriendly dreams and startled into wakefulness again and again. And when it was time to get up, a hot shower couldn’t ease the tension that’d ruined her sleep. She stood beneath the spray longer than she should have, allowing her mind to wander back to her last encounter with Virgil at the motel.

She had such mixed emotions about that incident, and him. He’d been more forceful than anyone she’d ever been with, but she’d encouraged his aggression. The thrill of being able to evoke such a visceral response in a man who thought he was too jaded to need anyone had been very stimulating.

So she wasn’t upset about the sex. It was his rejection afterward.

But what did she expect from him? She hoped to marry someday and start a family, but a man in Virgil’s situation wasn’t husband material, especially for a chief deputy warden.

Virgil wasn’t her only concern. Her confession to Rick Wallace weighed just as heavy. Now that she had some distance on it and wasn’t quite as desperate to drive a permanent wedge between her and Virgil, she felt remorse for telling him what she had. But if she wanted to be different from the men she locked up, she needed to be honest. And the warden probably would’ve written her up or relieved her of duty, so…it could’ve been worse.

Based on your conduct I’m issuing you a letter of reprimand….

With such a large staff, all working in a high-stress environment, she’d signed her share of letters like that since becoming chief deputy. She might have to sign another one today. When she got out of the shower, she checked her day planner and realized that she had a meeting with Lieutenant McCalley of the Investigative Services Unit this morning. They were supposed to come to a decision regarding John’s conduct.

A glance at the clock told her she should quit dawdling and get ready.

She put on her suit and chose a pair of flats—her ankle wasn’t quite healed—but by then she was afraid she’d be late. If she was, it would be the first time since starting at Pelican Bay. Somehow meeting Virgil had thrown her whole world off-kilter….

She needed to get back in control. Besides her usual workload, she had to make arrangements for his arrival at the prison tomorrow.

After rushing through a cup of coffee and a bagel, she flew out the door in such a hurry she almost didn’t see the flower lying on her picnic table. As it was, she caught barely a glimpse of pink petals and was halfway down the stairs before realizing it didn’t belong. Turning back despite the pressure she felt to keep going, she crossed the deck and was soon staring down at a perfect long-stemmed rose.

Where could this have come from? she wondered. It wasn’t even summer. Someone had purchased it from a florist, a grocery store or maybe a gas station, and that person had brought it here. There weren’t any roses growing in the forest surrounding her house.

She looked over the railing to see if she could spot anyone leaving. But she appeared to be alone. Whoever had brought this had done so earlier.

She thought that was it—all she was going to find– until she noticed a white card that’d blown off the table. Hoping it would explain what the flower was for, she bent to retrieve it from the floor of the deck.

The sender hadn’t signed his name. But he didn’t need to. There were only two words written in a man’s blocky print: I’m sorry.

Peyton hadn’t been nervous about meeting with an inmate in years. She’d grown too accustomed to working in a prison for that. Even the most dangerous convicts typically treated her with respect. She got the impression the majority of the men liked her. Or maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe they enjoyed seeing a woman dressed in something besides a uniform.

According to one study on the impact of females working in all-male prisons, the inmates behaved better when women were present. Women symbolized gentleness and caring, providing a counterbalance to the harsh realities of prison life. And that was how it’d worked since she’d come to Pelican Bay. To some degree she helped offset Warden Fischer’s hard-ass image. It was the “good cop, bad cop” routine, and it worked quite well. She gave the men hope that their difficulties, fears and complaints might reach a sympathetic ear. And often they did. She was certainly more sympathetic than Fischer.

But this was no normal meeting. She’d sent for Buzz Criven. She knew it would take a while for Sergeant Hostetler to bring him to the conference room she was using—unlike her office, it was inside the prison—but she couldn’t sit still while she waited. Lieutenant McCalley of the ISU had just left. After reviewing the medical report and the testimony of the men involved, as well as various witnesses, they’d arrived at a conclusion on the incident with Sergeant Hutchinson. She wasn’t looking forward to sharing that conclusion with anyone, least of all him. Based on what he’d said after dinner last night, she knew he didn’t feel he’d done anything wrong. But he’d overstepped his bounds and had to be disciplined, or she wouldn’t be doing her job.

She’d deal with that later, once she’d talked to Buzz. It was only eleven; she’d have time.

Getting to her feet, Peyton walked over to pour herself a fresh cup of coffee. She didn’t need any more caffeine, but holding the cup would keep her hands busy and camouflage her anxiety. The last thing she wanted was to let on—to Buzz or Sergeant Hostetler—that this interview was a test.

The knock, which came sooner than she’d expected, startled her. “Peyton?”

It wasn’t Buzz; it was the warden. Somehow, he’d tracked her down. “Come in,” she called.

Fischer stepped into the room. Careful to close the door behind him, he lowered his voice. “I wanted to confirm that everything’s going as planned for…Wallace’s project.”

Obviously he was being cautious in case anyone was within earshot.

“I’m still working on it,” she said. “But don’t worry. We’ll be ready.” Hopefully Buzz would be the right man. If not, she’d have to find someone else.

Pivoting, she returned to the head of the table. “Why, have you spoken to Wallace?”

“He called this morning to say he’s taken care of that other business he had to attend to. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

She hoped that nothing on her face revealed her personal interest in this situation. “Great. Glad to hear it,” she said, but as far as she was concerned, Wallace hadn’t taken care of that other business at all. A woman had been shot and killed. Trinity Woods was dead because he hadn’t taken Virgil’s warnings seriously enough—although she had to concede that maybe it wasn’t entirely fair to blame Wallace. The Crew had no reason to murder the babysitter. They’d done it to make a statement, which was taking the situation further than she’d expected it to go, too. She was just angry at Rick because she’d called him herself this morning, twice, and he hadn’t bothered to respond. He knew it would leave her worrying about what she’d revealed, yet he’d contacted Fischer instead.

Did that mean he was more upset with her than she thought? It was a pretty safe guess. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She considered telling the warden what she’d told Rick, but decided it was too late. Since she couldn’t convince the associate director to call off the investigation, it wouldn’t be wise to make any more of an issue of it. That would only leave Virgil friendless in an environment she could help him navigate.

For better or worse, she was suddenly committed to secrecy. And celibacy.

“There’s just one thing,” Fischer said.

Setting her cup on the table, she waited for the warden to continue.

“You haven’t said anything about this to anyone, have you?”

The gravity of his tone caused a trickle of fear. “You mean what we discussed at the library?”

“Yes.”

“Of course not, why?”

He thought for a minute, then shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“You think word of it has gotten out?”

“A couple of the C.O.s have mentioned that there’s added tension in gen pop. I’m wondering why.”

It could be anything; it didn’t have to be word that the CDCR was trying to infiltrate the Hells Fury. So why had Fischer’s mind gone in that direction? What wasn’t he saying? “That’s all you heard?”

“That’s it.” He shrugged. But he’d gone to the trouble of finding her to verify that she’d kept her mouth shut. He could’ve called her later, at her office. Was it because he wanted to see her face when she answered?