Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty)

by Lakes, Krista

  Time to go down. Pack a few things. A weekend in the city. Sounded like fun. Maybe Janine would come along, look for her wedding dress.

  She remembered the last time she went down wearing bracelets, so she unfastened both Dane’s and Grandma Angie’s strands and stuffed them deep in her pocket. She looked through the hole that led to the ladder, then scrambled back against the dome. Her mother! And who else?

  She lay on her belly, peeking down. That damn sheriff! And one of the lackey deputies. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  She crawled over to the edge of the platform on the other side. Sure enough, Old Lady Springer was standing on her porch, watching everything. Stella banged the metal. She was stuck.

  She shifted back to the hole. Someone else was walking up—Joe! Hell, was the whole town going to show? A car pulled up with a screech, the door flying open. Beatrice.

  This had to be some comical version of This Is Your Life. Stella figured she might as well not bother waiting. This crew would be there no matter when she came down. She’d just lowered her foot onto the first rung when a booming voice almost made her lose her grip.

  “Stella Ashton, we are sending the firemen up to get you.” The sheriff was talking through a huge white megaphone.

  She shook her head. No firemen. That was ridiculous. She began descending the ladder.

  “I order you to halt!”

  Whatever. She had already made it to the second ladder. She now noticed the whirling lights of the fire truck and looked down. Two of the volunteer men were staring up at her. She couldn’t quite make out who they were in their hats. Probably Janine’s dad was one. He’d been doing the volunteer gig for a while.

  Sure enough, Janine herself came running up the sidewalk. He must have called her. At least she had some allies down there.

  Stella descended the second ladder until her mother’s voice came through the megaphone. “Stella Louise! Stop right now.”

  She looked down. Vivian was wrestling the megaphone from the sheriff. Good grief. She rapidly went down to the final ladder.

  The wind was less powerful this low, so now she could hear them talking. “Why aren’t you going up after her?” Vivian asked.

  “Ma’am, she’s probably got more experience on this here tower than we do.” Definitely Janine’s father.

  Stella slowed down as she approached the bottom of the ladder, just a few feet above everyone’s head. This was going to get interesting. She laughed.

  Vivian’s face was bordering on purple. “This is not funny, young lady! You are wasting the time of all these good people!”

  “So send them home,” Stella said. “I can get down fine on my own.”

  “Let’s get her,” the sheriff said. “Can one of you men bring her down?”

  Janine’s dad came forward and grasped the bottom rung near Stella’s feet. He couldn’t quite haul himself up, so the other fireman gave him a boost. He wrapped his arms around the rung, but still couldn’t get his foot high enough to catch.

  Stella wrapped her knees around the ladder and hung just above his face. “Need some help, Mr. Parker?” She held out a hand.

  He shook his head and dropped back down to the ground. “You coming now?” he asked.

  Stella guessed she might as well. “Sure. It’s easier if you give me some room.”

  The firemen backed away, and Stella sat on the bottom rung, glad today for no miniskirt. She ducked her head through the rungs and rolled backward. She pulled her feet through and hung, now only a few feet from the ground, and dropped in front of her mother.

  Vivian snatched her arm and dragged her forward. “I’ll handle her,” she said to the sheriff. “It’s high time she got herself back home.”

  Stella yanked away. “I’m twenty-two, mother. I’m never going home again.”

  Beatrice rushed forward. “She’s living with me now and doing just fine. No trouble at all.”

  Vivian waved a hand at the tower. “This looks like trouble to me.”

  Beatrice stepped between Vivian and Stella. “I think it’s best you leave her alone now.”

  Stella backed away, running smack into Joe, who steadied her with hands on both shoulders. “You’re all right, Stella.”

  “Not until she leaves,” Stella said. “I will never be all right until she’s out of my life.”

  “She’s your mother.”

  “Not anymore. I don’t need a mother like that.” Stella remembered the bracelet. “Joe, there’s something I want you to have.” She pulled the tangle of beads from her pocket and separated Grandma Angie’s from Dane’s. “Grandma Angie made this for you. For your roses.” She showed him the yellow and orange beads. “I think you should have it.”

  Joe held the strands against his palm, pain crossing his face. “She made me a bracelet?”

  Stella swallowed. She had done the right thing, giving it up. “Yes. She kept it by her bed, no telling how long.”

  He looked past his hand and back at her. “Thank you, Stella.” He pulled her into an embrace. “I sure have missed her.”

  “I got a letter from Dane,” she said. “I’m going to see him. Have you heard from him?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. I’m sure you were first.”

  “Do you know where Ryker went?”

  “No. I expect to hear, though.”

  “Must be quiet at that garage without them.”

  His eyes went back to the bracelet. “It is indeed.”

  Beatrice turned around. “So you’ve decided to go?”

  “To see him, yes.” Stella waved Janine over, who was standing near her dad. “You want to come to Jefferson City?”

  “She most certainly will not!” Vivian tried to push back through to her. “Her parents will never allow it.”

  Stella ignored her mother. “We could shop for gowns.”

  Janine’s face lit into a smile. “Well, I AM getting married, and I don’t think my parents really have much say anymore.”

  “You girls have a good time,” Beatrice said. “Be careful up there.”

  “The State Pen is pretty intimidating,” Joe said. “I’ve never been inside.”

  Stella looked around at the group. “So am I getting a ticket or what? I have plans to make! So write me up or I’m out of here.”

  The sheriff stepped forward, but Vivian held him back. “It’s no use, Terry. I can’t be responsible for her anymore.”

  Stella turned away, threading her arms through Janine’s and Beatrice’s. This was it, she realized. Definitely time to move on.

  32

  On the Inside

  ––––––––

  THE prison movies got it right. Except for the parts they got wrong.

  The worst stuff was pretty accurate. On his first day on the main cell block, he’d seen no fewer than ten shivs and shanks, all made of the most unimaginable things. Metal spoons, sharpened on the floor and made longer by binding twigs to them with twine. A broken handle of a paint roller, filed down so it could slide between someone’s ribs with ease. Even plastic tableware could be fashioned into weapons. Anyone who wanted to demonstrate power to the new inmate had flashed him theirs.

  Dane hadn’t wanted the fear, hated the terror that crept over him, making him anxious and unable to handle himself like he knew was necessary—laid back and cocksure. His anger had gotten him here. Only a total lockdown from the inside out would get him through it. So when someone lifted a pants leg to reveal a toothbrush whittled to a point, Dane just nodded in acknowledgment and turned away.

  The stuff the films got wrong was the tedium. Long boring hours in the housing units or out in the yard filled much of the day. Work duty was the best part, as he had something to actually do.

  Dane walked the yard, a large dusty hole littered with inmates. Some of the men lounged on the lowest of the crumbling steps up a rolling hillside. He preferred to climb to the top of it, generally out of the main fray of men doing push-ups or talking in clumps, jostling and laughing, of
ten plotting some scheme or another.

  A month in, he had assumed his position in the inmate hierarchy. Mostly he flew beneath the radar of the big shots, the ones with cigarettes behind their ears, shafts strapped to their calves, and flaunting their power even before the guards. A few small-timers, hoping to ply him with their contraband, tried to mess with him, but he’d shown enough instability to make them wary, but not enough to incite counteraction.

  He kept to himself. The caseworker had said he might earn a spot in the mechanic shop if he had good behavior, but he realized already he didn’t want it. Access to the metal and tools meant thugs wanted you to steal for them, and you had little choice in the matter. The shoe factory was better, well watched and fewer items of interest. But for now he was just fine in the laundry room, where the soaps and bleaches were on lockdown and all he ever handled was the endless white shirts and gray pants. He didn’t even get to the sheets, as they could be stolen and made into rope. He tried to be just competent enough to keep his position, but not so noteworthy as to get promoted anywhere with more responsibility and risk.

  He kicked at a pebble, watching it tumble through the dirt and down the fragmented steps. He liked to walk the grounds, ascending and descending the crumbling stone, listening for the passage of a train just beyond the back wall. The sound reminded him of his childhood in Houston, living in a cheap house near the railroad tracks, the vague whistle and rumble so familiar that it lulled him to sleep.

  He avoided the Supermax building, where the hard-timers lived. He knew that fighting or contraband could land him there, since he already had a man’s death on his rap sheet. He was established in Unit 4, one of the oldest, spare, just a sink and toilet and desk, two rickety beds, and no cellmate yet. He’d made it four weeks, he could do 620 more.

  He sat for a moment, toeing the dirt, and realized he was spelling Stella’s name. He finished the letters, realizing this was only the second time he’d written them. The first was on the letter he’d mailed only a week ago. Still, she had not replied. It was probably better this way. He looked up into the sky. The clouds were the sort that as a kid, you would stare at and decide what animal they might be. One of them, almost right above his head, looked precisely like a circus elephant, fat body, squat legs, and an uplifted trunk that trailed out like smoke. The sight of it cheered him just a notch, an ever-so-slight loosening in his chest.

  Unit 4 was lining up below, so he stood, brushed off his pants, and descended into the dust. He was settled, and right now all he could hope for was more of the same, that he’d be left alone, washing laundry, eating sparely, lying on the hard shelf with its thin mattress, listening for the train. It would have to be enough. He would make it be enough. If he was careful, he’d only be thirty-nine when he got out. Still time for some living.

  But already, his life was changing. As they walked down the block of his unit, his cell door was open, two guards outside. And Dane knew what this meant. His cellmate had arrived.

  33

  Failed Visit

  ––––––––

  STELLA eased off the gas as the Mustang rolled slowly down Capitol Ave. The high stone walls of the Missouri State Penitentiary were unrelenting, stretching for blocks, punctuated by angled watchtowers topped by glass. Stella stared up at one of them, trying to spot the guard. The severity of the scene was lightened considerably by the most oddly shaped cloud, like an elephant with its trunk in the air. She almost laughed.

  “Sure you don’t want me to go in with you?” Janine asked, but the quiver in her voice let Stella know she didn’t want to.

  “No, that’s okay. There’s probably a list or something. I don’t think just anyone can visit anyone.”

  “How do you know what to do?”

  “I don’t.” Stella passed the main gate. “I don’t even know where to go in.”

  “Seems like he should have sent instructions, or something. Didn’t you call?”

  “I didn’t think about it. I guess I should have.” Stella pulled up to a stop sign. “But we’re here now. Might as well learn.”

  Stella drove away from the prison and back toward the heart of town. “So I’ll drop you off at that dreamy little shop. There’s a cafe next door. If you’re done looking before I get back, I’ll meet you there.”

  “Okay.” Janine’s face had returned to full color. “I won’t buy anything until you see it.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be long,” Stella said. “I don’t know if I’ll even get in.” She pulled up before a row of stores. “Have fun looking—I’ll be right back!”

  Janine opened the door. “I hope you get to see him. I really do.” She gave Stella a quick hug.

  The slamming of Janine’s door sent Stella to shaking. She’d never done anything like this. She had no idea what to expect, although in movies she had seen people talking on telephones through glass. Was that the way it would be?

  She approached the prison again. This time she noticed a small sign that said “Staff and Visitor Parking.” Okay, so one hurdle crossed.

  She pulled up before a gate, and a thin guard in a gray uniform walked up. “Visiting?” he asked. His mouth seemed to have a permanent sneer. Occupational hazard, probably.

  “Yes.”

  He checked his watch. “Only half an hour left. You might want to come back in the afternoon.”

  “Can I just pop in for a second?”

  The man rolled his eyes. “Must be your first time. Nothing here happens in a second. ID?”

  She dug the license from her purse. He wrote down something on a clipboard. “Park over there. Main door’s in the middle. Mind you don’t bring in anything but your ID and your keys. No purses, no bags, nothing.” He leaned into the car. “I don’t think they’ll let you in with that skirt. Too short. You got something else?”

  Stella squeezed her knees tightly together. “Some jeans.”

  “Change in the car. And read the instructions you got after your approval letter. They don’t like people ignoring their rules. They can prevent you from coming in.”

  Stella didn’t tell him she didn’t have an approval letter. Surely she could find out what she needed inside. “Thank you.”

  He pushed a button to open the gate. Another guard just inside waved her through.

  She parked in a far corner and reached in the back for her bag. People were coming out the door of the red-and-white-striped building the guard had shown her. She tugged on the jeans, pushing the seat back to make it easier to maneuver. She had no idea about any of the rules. What did it matter what she wore?

  Once Stella had changed, she jumped out of the car and locked the door, holding only her keys and ID as they had instructed.

  A crying woman dashed out the entrance, trailed by a child, maybe five years old, who was sucking his thumb. She pushed past Stella. Another older man held the door open for her, shaking his head. “Tough times, tough times,” he muttered as she passed.

  Just inside the entrance a large woman sat behind a table. “ID,” she barked.

  Stella handed her the driver’s license, taking in the large room, a line of windows in the wall, like bank tellers, and two steel doors on either end. Two rows of benches housed people who seemed to be waiting expectantly, mostly women, all older than her. Stella suddenly flashed ahead ten years. Is that what she would look like then? Had they been young when they first came?

  “Name of prisoner?”

  “Dane Scoffield. Daniel. Daniel Scoffield.”

  The woman flipped some pages in a large black binder. “No approved visitors for Daniel Scoffield.” She handed the ID back.

  “I can’t see him?”

  “Only approved visitors can see inmates.”

  “But he wrote me a letter asking me to come.” Stella reached for her purse and realized it wasn’t there. “It’s in the car.”

  The women didn’t look up, shutting her binder. “Only approved visitors can see inmates.”

  “How do I get a
pproved?”

  The woman stared up at her as though she’d just asked to take Dane home. “Go talk to Mrs. Murchison. She’ll tell you the procedure.” She gestured vaguely toward the wall of windows.

  Stella didn’t want to ask which one, but only two of them were occupied. One was a man, so that left the other. “Mrs. Murchison?” she asked tentatively. The robust woman perched on a stool, her hair tied severely back in a bun. She also wore the gray uniform, buttons straining across her bosom.

  She had apparently already taken in the conversation, and she shoved a paper at Stella. “These are the rules of decorum and dress. No short skirts. No slit skirts. No cleavage. No jewelry. No purses or bags. No food. You can bring change for the vending machine. Your keys and ID will go over there.” She pointed at another window, where a bored young man leaned on his elbows.

  “How do I get approved?”

  “The inmate will send you a form to fill out. Once we have it, we will do a criminal background check. If you get cleared, you will receive another letter letting you know your approval status.”

  “I don’t have the form.”

  “Well, then, maybe he hasn’t listed you. He only gets twenty for his list.”

  “I—I think he would. He wrote me asking me to come.” Stella was so confused. Maybe Dane didn’t know the procedure either?

  Mrs. Murchison opened another binder. “Inmate?”

  “Daniel Scoffield.”

  She flipped through. “He’s new. Not even eligible for visitors yet, although”—she glanced at the calendar—“if he’s had good behavior, he can start seeing them tomorrow.” She flipped another page. “But that’s irrelevant. His list is blank. Did you turn in your form?”

  Stella tried not to get impatient. “I didn’t get a form.”

  “Well, he either hasn’t sent any out or he sent them out late.” She closed the book. “You can write him. Tell him you are willing to come.”