Chapter 16

Craig Baranski, Evangeline Gordon’s college boyfriend, lived two and a half hours southeast of Seattle in Naches, Washington, a small town on the edge of the Snoqualmie National Forest.

Megan was full of manic speculations about Craig and what the pictures of Evangeline and Bianca signified, but Cole’s answers were frustratingly terse. He was closed up tight, back to full-on cop mode as he did his own mental churning over the significance of the pictures.

Megan tried to follow his lead, but after the first hour, she was sure that if Cole gave her one more “hard to tell,” with that inscrutable look on his face, she was going to punch him in the mouth.

Still, she was grateful for Cole’s steady presence beside her. As they approached the door to the sporting goods store where Baranski worked, Megan braced herself to face Craig again. Her memory of him was still vivid. He and Evangeline had broken up before her murder, but the wiry, serious-looking young man had been in the gallery every single day staring at Sean with eyes that blazed with the fury of hell from behind the lenses of his dark-framed glasses. The first time Megan crossed his path, he’d spit at her feet. During the trial, he’d been stonily silent, the only evidence of his grief the tears rolling down his cheeks as Evangeline’s death was recounted in gruesome detail.

And judging from his recent comments, his hatred of Sean and Sean’s devoted sister hadn’t lost any of its intensity.

Megan’s likely poor reception was the main reason they hadn’t called ahead of time. That and the fact that Cole wanted a cold read, wanted to see Craig’s raw reaction to their questions before he had a chance to prepare himself.

She steeled herself as she reached for the door handle, drawing strength from the warmth of Cole’s hand at her back. “You don’t have to do this,” Cole said quietly, his hand staying the door. “You can wait in the car.”

“Are you high? Of course I do. And I know you won’t let anything happen to me.”

Shocking how good it felt to say that, even better to believe it. In this, at least, she could depend on Cole to have her back. She knew under his calm exterior that he was as curious as she was to know how neither the prosecuting attorney nor Sean’s defense team had ever unearthed those pictures.

A little bell tinkled over the door as Megan pushed it open. “Be right with you,” called a voice. At this hour on a weekday, the place was empty. Megan did a slow scan of the store, taking in the array of fishing, backpacking, and hunting equipment. She walked slowly to the front of the store, her gaze drawn to the glass case under the cash register.

“Pretty easy for him to get his hands on a hunting knife,” she noted.

“Hmm.” Cole leaned over her shoulder for a closer look, and she felt a curl of heat at the subtle press of him against her back, the clean scent of his shampoo and shaving cream that teased her. “Evangeline was killed with Sean’s knife. Even he admitted to that.”

That’s all it took for the warmth to drain away. Before she could respond, a man appeared in the doorway.

“How can I—” The man’s voice stopped cold as his blue eyes locked onto Megan’s face. His friendly smile fled, and hot color surged across pale cheekbones. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Craig’s eyes blazed with anger so fierce she was afraid he was going to grab one of the hunting rifles from the rack and start shooting. Cole positioned himself in front of Megan and raised his hand. “You may not remember me. Detective Cole Williams.”

Craig nodded. “You’re the one who arrested that fucker,” he said with a quick nod before he turned his fury back on Megan. “But what are you doing here with her?”

“We saw your memorial page, Craig,” Megan began.

“You can’t make me take it down,” Craig said. “It’s not libel if it’s true.”

“That’s not why we’re here,” Cole said, his voice firm and steady. “There are pictures of Evangeline and another woman. Her name is Bianca, and there’s a picture of her in the album you posted a few weeks ago.”

Craig shook his head. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, and I don’t have to answer your questions. Unless you have a warrant or some official reason for being here, you have to leave.”

“Bianca is dead, Craig,” Cole snapped. “She was found last week in an abandoned trailer, raped, mutilated, and her throat sliced open.”

Somehow Cole’s almost emotionless delivery made the facts that much more chilling. “We’re just trying to understand how she ended up there.”

Craig’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down above the collar of his flannel shirt. He walked over to the door, flipped over the CLOSED sign, and turned to face them, his expression anguished. “Show me which girl.”

Megan’s stomach knotted as they followed Craig to the back, where he had a desktop computer hooked up to a large monitor. He took a seat in the desk chair and clicked on the album Cole indiced. “Why did it take so long to post these pictures? It looks like everything else went up a while ago.”

Craig’s voice shook. “I found these on an old data card that had gotten shoved to the back of my desk drawer. They were the last ones I had of her. I thought I’d lost them.”

Cole quickly selected the three photos that provided glimpses of Bianca dancing with Evangeline. “Her,” Cole said, pointing to the dark-haired woman, her face partially cast in shadow, her arms raised above Evangeline’s head as she danced up behind her. “Her name was Bianca Delagrossa, but if you met her, you might have known her as Bibi.”

Craig swallowed hard. “And she’s dead?”

“Yes. Murdered. Did you know her?”

Craig slumped in the chair, his face falling forward into his hands as he muttered, “Oh, Evie, Evie. I told her to stay away from that place, those people.”

Goose bumps broke out on Megan’s skin as her gaze met Cole’s over the top of Craig’s head. “What are you talking about, Craig?” Cole said.

Craig sat back in the chair, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. “If she had just come home, like we planned, none of it ever would have happened.” He shook his head. “But she wouldn’t listen to me. I told her moving up there was a bad idea. We were supposed to come back here after graduation and get married, but out of nowhere she said she was moving to Seattle.” He paused, his eyes going red when he stared at the screen. “I didn’t know that other girl. She was just someone Evie liked to party with. I took that picture the last time I went up to visit her, right before…”

“What was she doing that upset you?” Cole probed.

Craig shook his head. “She never told me for sure. I just knew she was going out a lot, working and partying at that club.”

“Club One,” Megan broke in.

Craig nodded. “She worked there as a waitress, with that woman, from the trial.”

“Talia Vega?” Cole asked.

Craig nodded. “She said was doing some modeling on the side, but she never showed me any pictures.”

Megan bet the only modeling Evangeline had done was on a certain Web site.

“There was something else going on there. She kept talking about moving into another part of the club’s business where she could make a lot more money. But she couldn’t do it with me hanging around.”

Megan thought of the blonde, Stephanie, working the guy in the VIP room, escorting him out the back to be whisked away to who knows where. “How do you think they were making the extra money, Craig?”

Craig’s expression closed like a door had slammed shut. “She never said.”

“But you have a pretty damn good idea, do’t you?” Megan pressed. “Why didn’t you tell the police about your suspicions? If you really thought she was getting involved in something like that, why not say something?” Megan said, her voice rising in frustration.

“And let the press paint her as some kind of whore? Let your brother’s scum-sucking lawyer somehow make it seem like Evangeline deserved what happened to her?” Craig’s face turned purple with rage, and a vein throbbed in his forehead. “That monster butchered her. The police had all the witnesses, all the information they needed to prove it. I wasn’t about to let her name get dragged through shit.”

His accusations hit her like blows, but Megan forced herself to brush them aside. After all this time, she should be used to it, hearing what people believed about Sean, but every time, it singed her like a brand. “Or maybe you were trying to cover your own ass. Maybe you were jealous, because Evangeline was seeing my brother. Maybe you even thought he was a john, that she was letting him fuck her for money after shutting you out. You kill her and frame him; now you’re going after the women who you blame for pulling her into this—”

“Shut up!” He was up and out of the chair and had Megan slammed up against the wall before she had a chance to breathe. Cole was on him a second later, hooking his arms through Craig’s and pressing his hands against the back of Craig’s head. “I loved her!” Craig shouted, struggling against Cole’s hold. “I never would have hurt her. I tried to get her to come home.”

“You touch her again, and I will snap your arm,” Cole said, and shoved Craig back into the desk chair.

Craig shot her a glare but didn’t make another move.

“Now, other than Talia Vega and Bianca, did you ever meet any other people she worked with? Do you know if they actually solicited clients while they were working at the club?” Cole asked, easing his hold on Craig a degree as the anger seemed to drain out of the other man.

Craig shook his head. “I only visited her a couple of times before she was killed. She never told me what was going on. It was all stuff I inferred. I overheard a couple of phone conversations, found a lot of cash around her apartment. She said she was just making good tips.”

Megan swallowed back a surge of bile. Had Sean seriously stumbled into some kind of secret, high-end prostitution ring? None of this made any sense.

Cole released Craig, who rolled his neck and pinned Megan with a hate-filled glare. “So what, now are you going to the press, talk about how Evangeline was a slut, tell the world she was asking for it in a last-ditch effort to save your brother?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Megan said grimly as she turned and walked out of the back room.

Craig’s venomous voice followed her through the store. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t save him, just like no one could save Evangeline from that animal!”

Rage twisted with determination as she stormed through the front door. She could hear Cole’s footsteps thundering behind her. Now she not only had Club One connecting the two latest victimng Evangeline, but they also had proof of a personal connection between Bianca and Evangeline. She prayed they were actually on to something, prayed the information wasn’t too little, too late.

She slid into the passenger seat of Cole’s Jeep. One thing she was sure of. “I want to talk to Talia Vega,” she said. “I have a lot of questions for that bitch, and I’m not going to stop till she answers every last one.”

Talia unlocked the door to her office at Club One, shed her coat, and walked numbly to the private adjoining bathroom she’d had put in when she was promoted to manager. It was still early, not even four yet, but she couldn’t bear to go home after the afternoon she’d had. Couldn’t pollute the white-picket-fence innocence of the house she shared with her sister Rosario, the house that helped Talia pretend, for the few precious hours that she spent there a day, that she was normal, upstanding, worthy of a lovely, quiet house in a lovely, quiet neighborhood a universe away from the place she and Rosario had been born into.

So she came here, to her private oasis of creamy marble and brushed-nickel fixtures. The bathroom featured a state-of-the-art, multiple-jet shower that doubled as a steam room, something Talia appreciated mightily after long nights on her feet, catering to the club’s customers’ every need.

Not every need. Some things you save just for him.

The ugly thought brought a bitter taste to her tongue as she turned on the faucets to the hottest setting and stripped off her clothes. Tight red dress, black lace bra, matching thong panties, and garter belt hit the floor, followed by black fishnet stockings. He’d been very specific about her outfit today when he’d summoned her. Every once in a while, he liked to send her a reminder of what her place was and what would happen to her if she did anything to try to change that.

Like she had any illusions left.

She could try to whitewash it all she wanted. Girlfriend, mistress, paramour, if you wanted to go really retro. It didn’t matter that she’d once been in love with him and thought he’d loved her back. It didn’t matter that he’d never actually given her cash outright.

They both knew what she’d become.

She stepped under the scalding spray, completely immune to the opulent luxury surrounding her. She scrubbed at her skin with a bar of lavender-scented, French-milled soap, desperate to rid herself of the sins of the day, knowing that even if she fried off the top layer of her skin with acid, his scent, the feel of his hands, had permeated down to her bones.

You’re only doing what’s necessary. You can’t beat yourself up for that.

That had been her mantra for too long, and while it never served to entirely clear her conscience, at least it kept her from becoming paralyzed with guilt and fear over the web of dark sins and darker secrets her life had become.

But lately it had become harder, and with the latest murders, it was almost impossible to keep up the facade.

It’s not like you know anything for sure.

Right, the same feeble excuse she’d been feeding herself for three years, ever since she’d let them convince her to tell part of the truth about Sean Flynn and his relationship with Evangeline Gordon. She’d never lied outright, she’d consoled herself. There had been nothing she’d said on the stand that wasn’t true.

But the other stuff… the things she suspected but didn’t know for sure. All she knew was that if she voiced her suspicions to anyone, she would end up like Evangeline, or Bianca, or Stephanie, or worse.

Which wouldn’t be such a terrible fate, she thought as she turned off the faucets and wrapped herself in a blanket-sized bath towel, if there was only herself to consider. She’d thought of it often, especially in the last few weeks as it all ate away at her. The guilt of standing by, saying nothing as girls were butchered, one after the other, for the sins of wanting more or, even worse, wanting out. She was paranoid from being watched constantly, her every move tracked to make sure she didn’t make a single step out of line.

She didn’t kid herself. She knew every inch of the club; even her supposedly private office and bathroom were littered with hidden cameras, providing a constant feed to the old man and whoever he was using to do his dirty work. Jack Brooks, the security specialist who’d been forced on her a few months ago, was probably in on it, too, and had no doubt jacked off endlessly watching her wet and naked in the shower.

That was why David had called her over today, the second time in as many weeks. He’d seen Megan Flynn and her cop watchdog sniffing around the club, had seen her talking to Stephanie and wanted to give Talia a warning not to get any ideas.

It was enough to have made her consider taking herself out, or letting herself be taken out, dozens of times. Hell, maybe she could even do some good in the process, put someone on the right track for once as they tried to figure out who was killing these girls.

But she couldn’t leave Rosario. Talia knew exactly what they would do to her baby sister if she stepped out of line, and she couldn’t let that happen. Her sweet, beautiful sister who was actually going to make something of herself. If Talia had to sacrifice her morals, her conscience, her soul to make that happen, so be it.

Talia wiped away the steam on the mirror and resisted the urge to look away from her reflection. She barely recognized herself without the full face of war paint. Without the added enhancement of foundation, blush, and concealer, she looked as exhausted as she felt, her olive complexion taking on a sallow cast, dark circles ringing her eyes. Her mouth looked fuller and softer without its heavy crimson stain.

With her hair tumbling damply over her shoulders and her eyes void of liner or mascara, she looked younger, more vulnerable. More like the girl she used to be before she’d been taken in by David Maxwell’s ruggedly handsome face and charismatic charm.

That stupid, naïve girl who believed in true love and happily ever after. She’d fallen for David like a ton of bricks and got caught up in foolish dreams of life with a man who would pamper her like a princess, let her know every day that she was cherished and adored.

Right. She’d felt adored for all of about three months before it became clear what her place really was. Rich man’s mistress. Kept woman. Plaything. By then it was too late; she knew too much, yet not enough. And his reach was too great for her or her baby sister to ever get away.

She had accepted the fact that she wouldn’t just have to compromise, that she would have to sacrifice. And some of those sacrifices would devour her from the inside little by little, piece by piece, until soon there would be nothing left.

Only two more years. Two more years and Rosario will be eighteen, off to college and off on her own. Talia would send her far away, with enough money to set her up for school and anything else she wanted to do.

Far away from here, away from the reach of both the foster system or anyone who might seek to hurt her, Rosario would be free. And so would Talia.

Even if freedom came in the form of a body bag.

She shook herself out of her funk and summoned up the protective numbness that had served her so well over the years. She’d gotten so good at feeling nothing that she could give a heroin junkie a run for their money in shutting out the pain. She started to reach for her makeup case, then paused. She had plenty of time before anyone showed up, plenty of time before she had to become the beautiful, coldhearted dragon lady her staff had all come to know and love. She dropped the towel and pulled on a set of sweats she kept in her office.

She regretted it five minutes later when a knock sounded at her door. Without waiting for her to answer, Jack shoved the door open. He was dressed in all black, as usual, looking big and fierce as he planted himself just inside her doorway. He was exactly the kind of security David Maxwell liked to hire: ex-military, physically imposing, and willing to operate in a moral gray area whenever necessary. A description that seemed to fit Jack to a T and made Talia nervous every time she got in the same room with him.

It it were up to her, she would have never hired him, but it wasn’t like she’d had a choice. Even though David had hidden his involvement in Club One under layers of dummy corporations, there was no argument about who called the shots.

When Jack had been referred by the private security firm underwritten by yet another one of David’s phantom companies, Talia knew she had little choice but to hire him. Though she suspected he’d been sent over to keep an eye on her as much as on the club’s patrons.

All she knew was that she caught him watching her all the time, his steely blue gaze seeming to pierce through the layers of makeup and designer clothes to see too much.

She sat as tall as she could and glared at him from behind her desk. “Who the hell do you think you are, barging in here?” She hated that he didn’t even flinch, envied the way he walked into a room with quiet authority and seemed to own it.

“I caught these two lurking out front. They say they need to talk to you.”

Talia’s indignant facade cracked when she saw Megan Flynn and Cole Williams in the doorway behind Jack. “Get them the hell out of here,” she said tiredly, pulling her gaze back to her computer screen like there wasn’t a knot twisting in her gut. Like she wasn’t fully aware that every word, every look, every twitch was being recorded, would be evaluated, to make sure she stayed in line.

She darted a look at Jack, standing like a sentinel, not moving a muscle as Megan and Cole stepped inside. “Seriously, Jack, I want them out.” She stood, then came around the desk. “I swear to God, if you two don’t stop showing up here like a bad smell, I’m going to have you charged with harassment.”

“Shut up, Talia,” Megan said. “We saw the pictures. We talked to Evangeline Gordon’s ex-boyfriend. We know she and Bianca knew each other, and we know you were involved in helping them both move to the other side of the business.”

It struck her like a fist to the gut, both that they’d made the connection between her, Evangeline, and Bianca, and the accusation that she had somehow been responsible for getting them involved. Even though Talia existed only on the periphery, she knew it was a world she’d never wish on another human being, no matter how glamorous it seemed from the outside.

This is how it starts, the sweater unraveling. They’d kept it secret for so long, but now the dots were starting to be connected, and pretty soon it was all going to blow up in their faces. David Maxwell, the scarred creep he called a son, and God knew who else because Talia didn’t kid herself that it stopped with just them.

Talia pulled her face into its customary cold mask, careful to give away none of the turmoil churning inside of her. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I know you’re hiding something about Evangeline and her relationship with my brother!” Megan yelled.

“You can cut the shit, Talia.”

Though Jack’s voice wasn’t much louder than a whisper, the harshness of his tone stopped Megan’s tirade in its tracks. Talia’s gaze snapped to his face, and she found herself mesmerized by those ice-blue eyes, staring at her, through her, seeing everything.

“No one’s watching now,” he said, his tone softening a degree. “You’re safe.”

Megan was stunned by the sudden change in the usually ultracomposed, practically impervious Talia. Her appearance—no makeup, baggy sweats that gave no hint to the kind of body that made men stare and women bleed green with envy—was jarring enough. The look aroused sympathy for the woman whose testimony had helped land Sean on death row.

For a split second, that cold-bitch mask had cracked, revealing fear, hope, disbelief, a woman who had a glimpse of freedom and was desperate to reach for it. “How?”

Jack shook his head. “The how isn’t important. But I took care of yesterday, after the blonde turned up dead and you were attacked,” he said, nodding at Megan.

If he was irritated at her role in having him questioned as a suspect, it didn’t show. Then again, nothing much seemed to show on Brooks at all except for a whole lot of scary.

“Stephanie,” Talia said in a choked voice, her shoulders slumping. “Her name was Stephanie.” She turned to face Megan, her dark eyes full of anger and regret. “And she was killed because they saw her talking to you.”

“Who saw her?” Cole broke in. “What was she going to tell Megan?”

Talia shook her head, the cold, closed mask once again in place. “I’m sorry. I have nothing more to say.”

Megan could see she was scared, but any sympathy she might have felt evaporated in a wave of angry frustration. “Oh, but you had plenty to say at Sean’s trial, when you lied about him and his involvement with Evangeline Gordon.”

“I never lied,” Talia snapped, her mouth pulled tight as she struggled to keep her lips from trembling. “I never said anything that wasn’t true. Evangeline left with your brother that night, and she ended up dead in his house.”

“You claimed Sean was stalking her.”

Talia looked away and shrugged. “Maybe that was an exaggeration, but not much.”

Megan’s hand curled into a fist and every sinew in her body tensed. Sensing she was about to lose it, Cole wrapped his hand around her upper arm in a gentle but inescapable grip.

“Your exaggeration put my brother on death row where he’s going to be killed in four days.”

Talia stared at Megan, her fathomless dark eyes shining with tears. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low, choked voice, “but we all do what we have to do to protect the people we love.”

Megan exchanged a look with Cole. On the way over here, Megan and Cole had used their contacts in Social Services to dig up more details on Talia and her younger sister, Rosario. It wasn’t in Megan’s nature to fight dirty, but if it helped Sean, she’d go straight for Talia’s underbelly and not stop until she got what she wanted. “This is about Rosario, right? You got custody of her after the trial.”

Talia’s eyes widened and her breath hitched.

“I talked to my friends in Social Services and found out you fought for three years to get custody, and then suddenly, miraculously, you were granted guardianship. Amazing how that happened.”

Talia licked her bare lips. “Amazing.”

“You know, it doesn’t sound like you have the best home environment to raise a teenager. Working all these late hours, possible involvement in prostitution and who knows what else?”

“I’m not involved in prostitution,” Talia said.

“I find that hard to believe, but even if you’re not, you know what’s going on here, and you know why those women were killed. You may have friends who helped you get custody, but your caseworker is a pretty good friend of mine. It wouldn’t take more than a phone call for me to make life a lot more difficult for you and Rosario.”

“Don’t.” Talia’s impervious facade cracked wide open. “You can’t take her away from me.”

“Then talk to us,” Cole said. “Talk to the police.”

Talia sank down on the couch across from her desk. A sound ripped out of her chest, a combination of a laugh and a sob. “If they find out I’m talking to the cops, what they do to me, and what they do to Rosario, will be way worse than her going back into foster care.”

“We can put you both in protective custody,” Cole said, “even get you into witness protection if that’s what it takes.”

“Don’t you get it?” Talia said. “They have eyes everywhere.” She looked up at the ceiling of her office and gestured with her hands. “They have people on the police force, in the court system. They will know, and they will find me, no matter what you can promise. How do you think they’ve gone this long with no one catching on?”

“Who is they?” Megan demanded. “And what exactly are they involved in?”

Talia snapped her lips closed and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Use whatever pull you have in Social Services. Do whatever you’re going to do.”

Megan swallowed back a scream of rage. Talia was closed up like a vault, and if the investigation continued, she’d have to give up something to the cops. But not in time for Sean.

Cole knelt on the floor in front of Talia. “Sean Flynn is going to die, and you might have information that could save his life. Can you really live with that on your conscience?”

Talia lifted her desolate gaze to his. “I was already damned a long time ago, Detective. But I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my sister safe.”

On another occasion Megan would have admired Talia’s devotion. Right now, however, she was darting her gaze around Talia’s office, looking for bamboo shoots to shove under the other woman’s fingernails to get her to talk before it was too late.

“I can help get Rosario somewhere safe.” Jack stepped forward from where he’d been standing sentry by the door.

“How?” Talia said, her voice dripping with skepticism.

“A good friend of mine, my former commanding officer, has a security firm outside of San Francisco. One of the best in the country. It will be handled outside of the system, completely under the radar.”

“Why the hell should I trust you?” Talia said. “What’s your angle?”

Jack shook his head and ran a hand through his short, dark hair. “I don’t have an angle.”

Talia gave a sharp laugh. “Everyone has an angle.”

Jack shook his head. “I came to work here because the money is good, and if I kept my head down and did my job, there would be bigger opportunities down the line. I figured it was none of my business if girls wanted to set up meets here to go make a little extra cash. But what’s happening here… I can’t stand by and do nothing.”

“So, what, you suddenly grew a conscience and want to play hero?”

Jack shrugged. “You need help, and I’m offering.”

Talia eyed him suspiciously, as though she couldn’t imagine anyone offering help without an ulterior motive. “Maybe this is all a big trap. You’re probably lying about the cameras, aren’t you, and this is all some fucked-up test to see if I’ll talk or not. I’m not talking,” she yelled up at the ceiling. “I’m not saying anything and I better get credit for that.”

Cole and Jack exchanged raised-eyebrow glances that speculated on Talia’s mental state.

“You don’t have a choice, and you know it,” Jack said. “You’re getting in deeper by the second, and no matter how much you say you’re already damned, it’s eating you alive to stand by and do nothing for girls like Bianca and Stephanie.” Jack pulled Talia to standing and bent so his face was mere inches from hers. “And you know they’re never, ever going to let you—or Rosario—go free.” His low, menacing whisper sent a chill down Megan’s spine and had Talia swallowing convulsively. “This is your best opportunity. Take it.”

Cole jumped in. “I can set up a meeting for you, away from the police headquarters, with someone I can guarantee is clean. You can give your statement and we’ll make sure you’re protected.”

Talia snorted at that.

Cole held up a hand. “If, as you say, there are people on the inside, then you’re right—it won’t be completely without risk to you. But we’ll do everything we can to make sure you’re safe.”

Talia shook her head, and Megan’s stomach sank. Then Talia shocked her with her next words. “When I know that Rosario is safe”—she slanted a wary look up at Jack before looking to Cole—“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Sean did another slow turn around the yard, then stopped, closed his eyes, and tilted his face to the sky. Drizzle fell on his cheeks, and he took a deep inhale of cold, wet air. Alone in his cell, he kept in almost constant motion, the frenzy of activity the only thing that could keep him from hitting the wall going ninety.

He couldn’t fuck this up. He had to keep it together till the end, not let on how close he was to the breaking point.

God forbid the state of Washington killed a crazy guy.

This single hour a day was the closest he got to stillness. Air. Rain. Sky. He drank it in, filled himself with it. The only sensations he let himself feel anymore, the only things that could quiet his racing mind.

The hours were dwindling. Part of him was sad at the thought of never feeling rain on his face again.

Most of him was eager for the day he wouldn’t need this pitiful hour in the yard to survive the other twenty-three hours a day. Soon he wouldn’t need anything.

The thought made him smile.

“Yard in.”

Sean’s stomach sank at the signal that time was up.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me? I said yard in!”

His shoulders tensed at the guard’s voice. He stood stock still, willing himself to relax, scrambling for the peace that had filled him just seconds ago.

Another guard might have cut Sean a little slack, had a little sympathy. But Riley was a mean cocksucker who got off on throwing his weight around.

“Give me a minute.”

“Get your ass over here.”

Black rage welled up, thick like tar, choking him. Sean struggled to block it down with each deliberately slow step across the yard. He was so sick of fat little turds like Riley directing every detail of his life. When he showered. When he ate the slop from the kitchens. When he could replace the dog-eared books and magazines he’d already memorized.

Not too much longer now. One last deep breath of fresh air before he stepped inside. His stomach revolted at the stink of bodies covered by a thin veil of Lysol. He started to shake. Couldn’t make his feet move.

Oh shit, he had to pull it together.

“Move!” The shove barely budged him.

A blow to his ribs with a baton made him gasp for air. He looked up and saw Riley’s smug face before the baton came down again, cracking against Sean’s forearm. Riley, with his fat, smirking face and beady rat’s eyes was getting off on beating him down.

Something snapped. Sean knew he shouldn’t fight back but couldn’t stop his fist from crashing into Riley’s face. Flesh tore and teeth crunched. He grabbed Riley by the shoulders and flung him against the wall. The satisfaction was so great at first he didn’t hear the thundering of footsteps down the corridor or feel the blows on his back, arms, legs.

He registered a baton swinging toward his face, too late to duck. Crack! Pain like a lightning bolt shot from his cheekbone into his skull. Another baton hit his head with a hollow thunk, and Sean fell to his knees. He tried to guard his face with his hands, but three guards shoved his face into the concrete, wrenched his arms behind his back, and cuffed him.

Even then Sean didn’t stop struggling. He was like a wolf in a trap, the primitive beast taking over even when he knew it was useless to fight.