Behind her, Trent’s car door slammed and the engine roared to life. Gravel popped and spit under tires as he gunned the vehicle in a tight circle and hit the brakes in front of her, cutting off her path.
He leaned across the passenger seat and threw the door open. “Get in.”
“Why?”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“You’re not going to let me out of your sight, but you’re afraid being near me will contaminate me? What, you want me to stay twenty paces behind you?”
He gave her a withering frown.
“Ahead of you?”
“Get in the car.”
Risa folded her arms across her chest. “Not until you tell me where we’re going.”
“Back to the prison.”
Trent
Trent watched Rees settle into the corner of the little interview room provided for depositions of prisoners and force herself to bite into the vending machine sandwich. Even though she hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours, she looked as if she was enjoying the cardboard ham and cheese on rye about as much as he had. Tough. She needed something to keep her going.
Her skin had already taken on the pallor that comes from stress, and her eyes held a sheen he’d seen too many times in the families of victims. She’d been through a hell of a shock. First the trauma of Dryden kidnapping her sister, and then learning she herself was the serial killer’s true target. And now…
On the drive to the prison, he’d told her about the murdered man found in Nikki’s car. And when he added that Nikki’s suitcase was in the back and what appeared to be her blood-soaked clothing had been on the passenger side floor, Risa had started to cry.
She needed food. She needed sleep. She needed comfort.
He’d taken care of the first order. But sleep would be hard to come by.
And comfort?
He wasn’t the one to supply that.
Images of the moments in the hotel room bombarded his brain. The sight of her naked body. The feel of her breasts pressed against his chest. The smell of her scent clinging to his skin. Lavender and woman. Passion and…
Knuckles rapped on wood, and the door swung wide. The guard who had escorted them to Dryden’s cell the day before lumbered into the room. Gordon Young. The harsh overhead light glared down on him, draining his face of color and adding shadows around his deep-set eyes. Eyes that flicked to Rees.
“Hi, Gordy,” she said.
Young offered her a shy smile before narrowing his eyes on Trent. “You asked to see me?”
Trent had chosen to start with Young because the burly guard had seemed cooperative the first time they’d met. But judging from Young’s narrowed eyes, his demeanor seemed to have changed considerably in the past hours. Trent motioned to the chair next to him at the bolted-down table. “Have a seat.”
The guard lowered his big body into the chair, his movement rigid. The man was probably pissing his pants at the thought of being questioned by the FBI after a prison break on his shift.
Trent could use that anxiety to his advantage. “It looks like Dryden didn’t pull off his escape all by himself, Young. It looks like he had help. Inside help.”
The tinny smell of sweat and fear tinged the air. The big man shifted in his chair. “What does this have to do with me?”
“That’s what I’m asking.”
A stain of red crept up the guard’s neck and blossomed over his cheeks. Righteous anger flattened his mouth and turned down the inside corners of his bushy brows. “It doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me, that’s what.”
Trent kept his expression carefully blank. “Oh?”
“That’s right. I would never help a murdering bastard like Dryden.”
“So you would never let him into the garbage bay right before the truck arrived to pick up the waste-paper and cardboard?”
“No.”
“You would never disable the cameras in that section of the prison?”
“I wouldn’t.”
Trent let the guard’s denial hang in the air. Most people with guilt on their consciences rushed to fill silence, as if saying nothing was an undeniable admission of guilt.
Young didn’t bite.
Time to work another angle. “What were some of the things you and Dryden talked about in his time here?”
A fresh surge of angry color rushed to the guard’s cheeks. “I didn’t talk to him.”
“Oh, come on. Dryden was a charming guy. If you didn’t know his background, you could almost say he could be nice. Surely he chatted with the guards.”
“Not with me he didn’t.”
“Never?”
“No.”
“Are you saying I could ask some of the other guards working your shift, and they would say that not once did they see you talking to Dryden?”
He seemed to flinch slightly. “I never talked to him unless I had to.”
“And what did the two of you talk about? When you had to talk, that is?”
Young’s eyes had the look of a man being led someplace he didn’t want to go. “He’d complain about the food or about being locked in his cell too long. Stuff like that.”
“And what did you say to him in those exchanges?”
“I told him to go to hell. Son of a bitch got far more consideration than he deserved. More than he gave those girls.”
“So you didn’t like Dryden much?”
“You could say that.”
Trent snapped open his briefcase and pulled out a thick file that had nothing to do with the prison or Young. A small fact the guard would never know. Laying it on the table, Trent tapped the closed manila cover as if the file contained all the damning proof he could ever need. “It seems Dryden has been receiving special favors, more time out of his cell, phone privileges, that sort of thing. And he received virtually all of those favors during your shift. Can you explain that?”
Young lurched forward in his chair and slammed his open hand down hard on the table. “I don’t care what that file says. The only thing I wanted to give Dryden was a bullet in the head.”
“If not you, where were these favors coming from?”
“I don’t know.”
“One of the other guards?”
“I don’t know. I can’t help you. Now I need to get back to work.”
Trent leaned toward the guard. “I need answers. If you don’t give them to me, I’ll have to get them from someone else.”
“Then get them. I’m fresh out.” Young shot to his feet.
“Wait, Gordy,” Rees implored from her corner.
Young stopped in his tracks and turned to her.
“I know you hate Dryden,” Rees said, her voice steeped in understanding. “You never would have tried to help me stop Nikki’s wedding if you were helping him.”
The guard nodded, tilting his chin at a self-righteous angle. “Damn right.”
“But someone helped him escape. And that someone could know where he is.” She rose from her chair and walked across the small room to Young’s side. She reached out and laid a hand on the big guard’s arm. “We need your help.”
Trent wanted to tell her to sit down, to stay out of this. But her voice had stopped Young in his tracks. And her plea was softening the wariness in the big guard’s eyes. Trent bit his tongue and waited to see what would happen next.
Rees continued in her soft voice. “Who do you think would have helped Dryden?”
Young shook his head. “I truly don’t know, Professor.”
“What about the warden?” Trent asked.