His scent closed over her like warm water. A shiver shimmied up her back. A shiver with a chaser of memory. Once she’d found comfort in his scent, in the warmth of his body next to hers. But that time was gone.
Now he just made her angry.
Trent threw the car into reverse, backed out, and headed in the direction of the highway. His face was hard in the glow of the dashboard light.
“I need to know what is going on, Trent.”
“I don’t know anything beyond what I’ve already told you.”
“And you wouldn’t share it with me if you did.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
She blew a frustrated breath between pursed lips.
“What? Did you expect me to give you all the gory details?”
“The gory details are my life this time. Nikki’s—” Risa knotted her hands into fists in her lap. “Do you think it’s better if I find out about the case when some true-crime author writes a book about it? Is that when I should discover I had the critical piece of information that could have saved my sister?”
For the first time since she’d climbed into the car, Trent turned to look at her. A furrow dug between his brows. His face looked thinner than she remembered. His mouth tensed, but he said nothing.
“I would never forgive myself if something that I know could save Nikki’s life. Or other lives. Would you, Trent? Would you be able to forgive yourself?”
He turned back to the road, his lips flattening into a noncommittal line.
Risa leaned back in her seat and stared out the window at the rolling hills whipping by in the night.
“Okay.” When Trent finally spoke, his voice was low, barely above a whisper. “But you’d better brace yourself.”
Trent
Trent put pen to paper and scrawled his name on the document in front of him without glancing twice at the fine print. He knew what it said. He’d had to sign it many times in his years with the FBI. Sign it and surrender his gun. Every time he’d ventured into the cell blocks of a maximum security prison. The pit he and Rees were heading to now.
He glanced at Rees standing next to him in front of the glassed-in reception and screening desk. She’d conducted interviews at the prison, but he doubted she’d been deeper than the visiting rooms. She would have had no reason to visit the cell blocks themselves.
Eyes squinted, she studied the words in front of her. Damn ominous words. Words she should never have to contemplate. In a nutshell, the document stated that should some inmate with a point to prove take either of them hostage, the prison authorities wouldn’t lift a finger to save their lives. No negotiation. No discussion. No kiss goodbye.
Of course Trent had seen countless instances where prison officials went to all lengths to save a hostage. The document was simply intended to cover the prison from lawsuits should a visitor get hurt. But even so, the implication was there. This was a bad place filled with bad men.
A place Rees shouldn’t be anywhere near.
Trent wished he didn’t have to put her in this situation. But she’d been right. He needed to use every resource at his disposal to stop Dryden, even if that resource was Rees.
Trent turned to the hulking corrections officer waiting to escort them to Dryden’s cell. “Let’s get on with it.”
The guard turned to Risa. “Ready, Professor?”
“Lead the way, Gordy.”
The guard started down the well-worn main hallway, Trent and Rees falling into step behind.
“So you know the CO,” Trent observed, keeping his voice low.
“I told you I’ve been here before.”
“Interviewing Dryden. I remember.” The barred door clanged shut behind them, leaving no sound beyond their voices and the steady tap of their footsteps on scuffed tile.
“This place is worse at night, though. Funny, since there are no windows, but…”
Trent had to agree. It was the stillness. A hanging tension. As if they were waiting for a disaster that was sure to come. “Academic study questionnaires don’t cover what we might find here.”
“They do cover pompous condescension, though.”
“Ouch.”
“Listen Trent, I know we might find something disturbing. And if we do, I’ll deal. Not finding anything that could help us would be much worse.”
After walking for what seemed like an eternity, Gordy stopped to turn his key in the control panel and opened the last set of barred doors at the entrance of the first cell block. They stepped through, and the doors clanged shut behind them. The sound echoed through the vast two-story structure like the slamming of the doors of Hades.
Trent had never visited this particular prison before, and it was in serious need of renovation. Unfortunately, in that, it was not unique. A long hallway stretched on either side of them, barred windows black with night on one side and two stories of cells on the other. The scarred bars and dingy beige walls and floors looked like it was built in the same era as Alcatraz. A smattering of murmurs, shouts and catcalls erupted as they stepped forward into the cell block. Thankfully, it was the middle of the night. Otherwise the jeers and obscenities would be worse. Among other unpleasantries.
Rees tensed beside him.
His first impulse was to slip an arm around her, to protect her from the scum leering at her from behind barred doors. But this was not the time or the place. That time and place didn’t exist. Not anymore.
Between the open shower rooms in the center of the structure, a steel staircase rose to the second floor. They followed Gordy up the stairs, their footfalls making the metal hum like a tuning fork.
When they reached the second tier, Gordy led them past two uniformed police officers and down the walkway overlooking the floor below. Each cell pod consisted of a small, enclosed common area surrounded by six individual cells. All the pods in this section stood unoccupied, their doors yawning wide.
Two men in suits stood in the common area of Dryden’s cell pod. The taller of the two wore a double-breasted Armani suit and French cuffs with the pomposity of a man eager for people to think more of him than he thought of himself. If Trent had to hazard a guess, he’d peg the man as the prison’s warden. Although why the warden of an outdated prison in central Wisconsin would invest in designer suits, and where he’d come up with the cash on a public servant’s salary, Trent couldn’t say.
The other man, Trent had met years ago. Ed Dryden had terrorized communities in the northern tip of Wisconsin, and that’s where he’d been arrested and charged. As is often the case with sensational crimes, the trial had been moved south to a different county to dip into its theoretically untainted jury pool. The county which was also the home of the tiny town of Lake Loyal, its nearby prison, and sheriff’s detective Dan Cassidy.
Unfortunately, Cassidy had been one of many local law enforcement officers that Trent ran into in his work who were resentful of the FBI. To put it mildly, Cassidy hadn’t been the model of cooperation. In fact, the man was an ass.
Now the detective stood listening uneasily to the warden, shifting from scuffed loafer to scuffed loafer. Add the mop of sandy hair on his head and his abruptly turned up nose, and Cassidy looked more like a little kid itching to go out and play than the aggressive hard ass he’d been trying to portray on the phone.
The warden shook his balding head dramatically. Though he was talking to Cassidy, his voice carried down the row of empty cells. “…and maybe this is for the best. Maybe now the Department of Corrections will give us money for improvements and extra guards instead of funneling all the state’s resources into the new Supermax and into shipping prisoners to Tennessee and Oklahoma.”