With an effort, Mace pulled himself back to the job. “Laurel will never be safe as long as the Collective has her in its sights.” He shook his head in bewilderment and asked the same question they’d all been asking since the beginning. “How does Winston run the Collective from inside a cell?”
“I did some digging on the Collective last night.” Shelley pulled out a folder and tapped it. “This is full of people believed to be in its pockets. They range from judges to prosecutors to a couple staffers in the mayor’s office. Not to mention police chiefs all the way down to patrol officers.”
“In short, we can’t trust anyone.”
Shelley nodded briefly in acknowledgment. “I’m counting on you to watch her back. I know you well enough to trust you to do just that.”
Mace made an embarrassed sound, then sobered. Laurel was family to Shelley, and family meant everything to the woman who had grown up without a loving mother and no father in the picture. “Thanks, boss.” He started to leave.
“Mace?”
He stopped, turned.
“Thank you. Jake and I have just found Laurel.” His tough-as-nails boss’s voice broke, and she averted her eyes. He knew her well enough to know that she was annoyed with herself for showing that emotion. She blew out air through puckered lips and met his gaze once more. “I can’t lose her. Not now.”
The plea in her voice yanked his heart into a hard knot, and he wanted to give her a brotherly hug. “You won’t.”
* * *
It took two days to set up the visit to see Ronnie Winston. Clearing it with the authorities meant going through several levels of bureaucracy, both inside and outside of the prison. Fortunately, S&J carried some weight in the law enforcement community, and Shelley was able to expedite the process.
Mace still wasn’t happy with the agreement to take Laurel to the prison, but he tried to put a positive spin on it. Who knew, maybe her idea to interview Winston in prison would turn up something. All they knew for certain was that he was passing along instructions somehow.
When Mace pulled up to the safe house where a female agent had stayed with Laurel overnight, he wasn’t surprised to find Laurel ready early. He’d moved her out of the hotel yesterday—it was too public and exposed.
He got out and opened the door for her.
“Will Sammy be all right?” he asked. “Better to not take him to the prison.”
“I’ve already taken him on a walk this morning. He’ll be fine, though he’s probably whining right now about being left. He thinks he should go wherever I do.”
The heels of her boots kicked up her height another few inches, taking her to eye level with him. She’d dressed in subdued, loose-fitting clothes as he’d instructed, her pants and shirt of olive drab, the color reminding him of Army fatigues. Hair pulled back in a ponytail, her face devoid of makeup, she looked all business. None of her efforts, though, were enough to squash her femininity.
“We have time to pick up something for breakfast on the way.”
She shook her head. “After. I want to meet Winston. The sooner we get it over with, the better.”
“Have you given any thought as to what you’re going to do when all this is over?” He’d thought about it—about her—more than he was comfortable with.
“Sure, I’ve considered it. A lot. I have six more weeks on medical leave. More, if I push it. The PT guys say that I’ve made a ‘remarkable recovery,’ but they’re ‘cautious’ about sending me back to active duty.”
“Do you think you’ll go back to the Rangers eventually?” He said the words neutrally. He fought the fact that he did have a stake in it, though he’d never admit that to Laurel.
“You know it’s not that easy. I’ve made progress, but my arm is still twitchy. What if I’m out on patrol and some tangos attack? I hesitate a second because I’m afraid that pulling my weapon will set off the pain. One of our guys is gunned down because I’m a second too slow.”
“That won’t happen.”
“I can’t be sure that it won’t happen. That’s the problem. I don’t know. I can’t know.” Frustration rose in her voice.
“I don’t see you letting one of your buddies down because you’re afraid.” Of that he was absolutely certain.
“Thank you for that.” She sent him a small smile. “I wouldn’t do it consciously. I’m pretty sure about that. But who knows what my subconscious will do?”
She didn’t appear to need an answer and spoke little during the rest of the trip, letting him know that the subject was closed.
Mace didn’t like taking Laurel to the prison. This was no country club for white-collar criminals. Though it wasn’t a supermax prison, the men inside were among the baddest of the bad with rap sheets that would make their own mothers think twice about claiming them. He pulled to the side of the road and turned to Laurel in the truck cab.
“You sure you’re up to this? Winston’s a snake and twice as mean. It won’t matter that you’re a woman. He’ll do his best to intimidate you, humiliate you, just because he can.”
“How did you learn all this about him?”
“I attended several days of his trial, wanted to see what the great and mighty Ronnie Winston was all about.”
“What did you come away with?”
“He’s a narcissistic sociopath. He’ll look at you and you’ll want to squirm because you feel dirty being in the same room with him, breathing the same air he does.”
“I don’t squirm easy.”
He ran his gaze over her. “No. I don’t guess you do. You don’t have to do this. You can walk away. Not just from this visit, but from the whole thing. When you’re well enough, you can go back to your unit, put some space between you and the Collective, and let others take it down. This doesn’t have to be your fight.”
Even as he said the words, he knew Laurel wouldn’t do as he suggested. She had guts and grit to spare. She didn’t run from a fight, even when it was in her best interest to do so.
Bright color shot into her face. “You think I don’t want to walk away? I want to run from it. And because I do, I can’t. Not if I ever want to be able to look at myself in the mirror again.” She let that sink in. “I’m a Ranger. Just like you.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he said. “Winston’s a sociopath all right, but he’s not insane. Not by a long shot. He knows exactly what he’s doing and is fully aware of the consequences.” Mace ran his gaze over her. “Are you going to be able to face him, knowing that he probably gave the orders to kill your mother?”
“Bernice was never a mother. We shared blood. That was all. Her choice.”
“Let’s get this over with.” He put the truck back in gear and finished driving the short distance to the prison. “Once we’re inside, keep your eyes straight ahead. Don’t react to anything.”
She drew herself up. “I’m no hothouse flower.”
“I know. But I’m responsible for you. Do what I say and we’ll get through this.”
She didn’t flinch when she stepped inside the industrial gray walls. She and Mace put their firearms, phones and keys in a locker, along with her jacket. After they were searched and their IDs verified, they were directed to the warden’s office.
Warden Dresden greeted them brusquely. He was a beefy man and looked like he could bench press his weight and then some. “I know why you’re here. You think Winston’s getting messages to the outside. That’s nonsense and you’re wasting your time.” A beat of silence. “And mine. Winston’s conversations with visitors are strictly monitored. He doesn’t get the orders out that way. Besides, the only person who ever visits him is his wife.”
Defensiveness underscored every word. Mace didn’t blame the man. They were essentially accusing him of allowing subversive messages to get out of his prison right under his nose.
That said, t
he warden lifted massive shoulders, his shrug saying that it was no concern of his. “But it’s your time to waste. You have thirty minutes with the prisoner. No more.” He eyed Laurel critically. “Keep your eyes down. Don’t give anyone reason to look at you.” He grimaced. “They’ll look anyway, but don’t give them reason to.” He shifted his attention to Mace. “You ought to know better than to bring her here. Isn’t like we don’t have trouble enough.” His shoulders now drooped, the gesture eloquent of weariness with the job.
The warden offered his hand to Laurel. “Follow my instructions and you should be all right.” But his voice didn’t offer any encouragement. On the contrary, it smacked of doom.
She shook his hand and noticed a green figure on the back of it as the cuff of his shirt shot up. Tattoos weren’t uncommon, but she hadn’t expected the warden to be sporting ink.
A corrections officer led them to a windowless room where the smell of vomit mixed with cleanser permeated the air and despair hung heavily. The depressing gray walls and ancient flooring added to the effect. “Wait here,” the CO instructed and left.
Laurel looked about. “You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
Appreciating her humor, Mace nodded. “Yeah. For our next date, maybe we’ll visit the town dump. I hear it’s a showplace.”
“Can’t wait.”
The small exchange was interrupted when Ronnie Winston was shown in. He wasn’t a large man, shouldn’t have been intimidating, but there was meanness in his eyes. Meanness and craftiness.
To underestimate him would be a mistake.
EIGHT
Laurel took her time studying Ronnie Winston, comparing the information she’d learned about him with the reality of the man. Winston was in his late forties, though he looked older. The prospect of three consecutive life sentences in a federal pen was enough to age anyone.
But the man led in by a guard with a DOC badge on his uniform didn’t look beaten. To the contrary, he appeared confident, his expression one of expectation, despite the fact that his wrists and ankles were chained, attached to another chain around his waist. He shuffled forward, but there was no air of submission in his movements. Rather, he appeared to regard the shackles with amusement, as though he knew a joke no one else did.
The guard pushed Winston to a chair. He sat.
After being shackled to a steel table by the guard, Winston never took his gaze from Laurel. She recognized the intimidation tactic and made no attempt to hide her own scrutiny. The smirk on his face, as though he knew why they were there and was amused by it, emphasized the darkness that emanated from him.
“Ma’am, sir, I’ll be on the other side of the door if you need me.” With that, the guard departed.
“Nice to have some visitors,” Winston said expansively. “Especially such a pretty one.” He winked at Laurel.
She did her best not to recoil. She supposed some women might find his oily looks with the slicked-back hair and smarmy smile attractive. She was not among them.
To her, he looked like every other bully she’d ever met, someone who used fear and hatred to intimidate others. She wasn’t afraid of him, only repulsed.
“I’d offer my hand, but, as you can see, I’m a little tied up.” Winston’s smile invited her to join him in the bit of humor.
She didn’t.
“I can see this isn’t a social call.” His air was one of a gracious host extending hospitality. “With whom do I have the honor of meeting?”
“Laurel Landry.” She let the words hang for a moment, wanting to see if they had any effect. If Ronnie were calling the shots, he must know the name of the woman he’d sent men to kidnap.
He seemed unfazed. Was his lack of reaction genuine or was he feigning not recognizing her name?
“Mr. Winston, we’re here to discuss how you’re sending messages to your followers.” She didn’t see any need to pretend she and Mace were there for any other reason than the truth.
He dropped the bonhomie act, and his smile edged thin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He spoke quietly, the words evenly spaced, but she sensed the anger simmering just below the surface.
She filed that away. Winston liked to pretend that he wasn’t bothered by the circumstances of his incarceration, but he had to be enraged that he was locked up with people he undoubtedly considered his inferiors. From reading Winston’s file, she knew he had a narcissistic personality that fed on the belief that he was superior to everyone else.
“As I said, that’s why we’re here,” Laurel continued. “If you help us, it might mean extra time in the yard for you.” She understood enough about prisons to know that time in the yard was prized by men like Winston who spent twenty-three out of twenty-four hours per day confined to their cells.
Winston leaned back, ostensibly bored, and tapped his fingers on the table.
She didn’t need to look at Mace to feel his reaction to Winston. The air around him was frozen with his anger, his emotions under such rigid control that she was surprised the air didn’t crack with it.
Mace would never act unprofessionally, but it was costing him with every second they were in Winston’s presence.
Her skin felt slimy. The way Winston had stared at her had laid a chill on her arms.
She shook it off. She was here to get information, not to dwell on the foul energy Winston carried with him. She sucked in a breath, held it. When she finally had to release it, she did so reluctantly.
“You don’t even like to breathe the same air as me, do you?”
Winston’s taunt flayed her nerves because it was exactly on-target. She could turn her back on the whole thing, return to Afghanistan when she was able, but she wasn’t built that way. She had to see this thing through, even if it meant dealing with the likes of Ronnie Winston.
“How’d you know?”
“I’m plenty smart.” Bravado oozed with every word. Another wink, and his grin spread fast and fierce.
Maybe she could use that, appeal to his already overinflated ego.
“You’re right. You’d have to be smart to run an organization as big as the Southeast Collective.”
Winston sneered at her. “I’m smart enough to know that you’re trying to flatter me into telling you how I do it. It won’t work.”
“Oh?”
“You’re out of your league, lady.” For the first time since Winston had shuffled into the room, he turned his attention to Mace. “And who are you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Not really. I’m far more interested in the lady.” Delighted with himself, Winston let out a donkey bray of a laugh.
Laurel couldn’t help the shudder that skipped down her spine. She tried to suppress it, knowing Winston would do his best to use it against her.
Too late. “Got to you, didn’t I?”
She hiked up her chin. “Last time I looked, you’re the one in shackles. I can walk out of here anytime I like.” She caught Mace’s infinitesimal nod of approval. Emboldened, she raked her gaze over Winston, letting the insult show. “Maybe you’re not so smart after all.”
“Smart enough to know that you and the rest of the idiots like you don’t have a clue about what’s going on.”
His smugness was unbelievable. Anger built inside her, threatened to spill over, before she realized that it would get her nowhere.
She wanted to shake the answers from him even while realizing the futility of it. Ronnie Winston was the lowest of life forms, but he wasn’t a fool. He was holding on to whatever he knew, waiting for the right time to use it.
“Quit the stalling, Winston,” Mace said. “Either give us something or we’re out of here.” He touched Laurel’s elbow when Winston remained silent. “C’mon. He’s got nothing we want.”
“Don’t be too sure.” Winston started to wave them back, obviously forgetting that hi
s cuffs were bolted to the table. A look of chagrin passed over his face. “I can tell you stuff. Stuff you want to know.” Gone were the cruel taunts and the crueler smile. There was a note of desperation in his voice.
He wanted company, Laurel realized with a start. It didn’t matter that they were there to question him, he wanted contact with the outside world, no matter in what form it came.
“I doubt it.” Mace stood, then pulled out Laurel’s chair.
She jumped up, eager to get away from Winston. She felt dirty simply being in his presence.
“Wait.” The word had her stopping, turning.
Laurel held her breath.
“You want to know how I keep running the Collective?” Winston taunted. “The truth? I do it by telepathy.” Enjoying his own joke, he laughed heartily.
Laurel realized she’d been taken in by the earnest note of a moment ago. He’d only been toying with them.
Mace shot the man a look so filled with disgust that Laurel shrank under the force of it.
“You’re a blight,” Mace said. “A blight on everything and everyone you touch.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right. You’re a lifer, and once we cut off the orders you’re giving, you won’t be able to spread your poison ever again.”
Winston didn’t have a comeback to that but rattled the chains that tethered his hands and feet, rage overtaking him. “You’ll be back. You need answers, and I’m the only game in town.”
Outside, Laurel inhaled deeply. Even the gray sky, slicked with bloated, darkening clouds, was more appealing than the dank, depressive air of the prison. The rich smells of loam and the nearby river swept through the air. “I feel dirty,” she said. “I want to stand under a hot shower for an hour and scrub away the filth.”
“When you lie down with pigs, you’re bound to get some dirt on you.”
She laughed for the first time that morning. “I think you just insulted pigs everywhere.”
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