by Elle Thorpe
“I wasn’t a goody two-shoes. I just like learning, okay?”
“If I can admit to being arrogant, I think you can admit to being a teacher’s pet.”
He was probably right. At least he owned it. In one short conversation, I knew exactly where I stood with Liam Banks. He didn’t pussyfoot around me, offering hollow words.
And even if I didn’t like him, at least knowing where I stood wouldn’t keep me awake at night.
10
Liam
I was no stranger to the country club. I parked my car in a member only spot, got out, and jogged around to Mae’s door to open it for her.
She beat me to it, opening it up for herself when I was a few steps away.
I frowned.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
She threw me an odd look, then gazed up at the country club entrance with a heavy sigh. “Well, thanks for the lift. I’ll see you around.” She didn’t make a move to go inside, though.
Soft, loose tendrils of blonde hair framed her pretty face, and her blue eyes shone in the midday sun. I tried to keep focus, but the curves of her body, hugged tight by a black dress, demanded my attention.
Ten years had done nothing to stifle the attraction I’d once felt for this woman. It picked right back up where it had left off and dragged me close enough that my arm brushed hers.
She glanced over at me in surprise, like she’d forgotten I was even there.
Story of my life when it came to her.
“Hey,” I said quietly. “If this all gets too much for you, just give me the signal. I’ll smuggle you out of here.”
She gave me a stiff smile. “I don’t think I can skip out my sister’s wake, somehow.”
“You can if it’s causing you pain.”
Surprise flickered in her gaze, and the vulnerability behind it hit me in the gut. She put on a good front, but behind it, she was in a world of hurt.
That didn’t sit well with me.
But in the next instant, it was gone. Her walls went back up, and her gaze hardened. “I’ll be fine. Thanks again for the ride.” Without another glance at me, she strode into the club, leaving me behind to watch her walk away.
I sighed and followed her slowly up the stairs, only to be accosted by Ryan and Bradley who were waiting for me at the doorway. I hadn’t seen either of them in years. We’d been good friends in high school but had drifted apart soon after.
Ryan let out a low wolf whistle. “Nice car, Banks.”
“Forget the car,” Bradley interrupted. “Watching Mae Donovan get out of it was a thing of beauty. When did she get so hot? You going there, or am I?”
I squinted at him, irritation prickling at the back of my neck at his tone. “Don’t be a dick. We’re at a funeral. And aren’t you married?”
He shrugged, twisting the gold wedding band on his left hand. His gaze roved over the parking lot, like a panther stalking prey. A lot of the people leaving their cars and heading inside were old classmates I recognized from high school. Jayela Donovan had only been a year older than me and had gone to all the same parties we had. Everyone had known her. She’d been outgoing and popular.
I’d caught up with her a few times over the years when our paths had crossed. With her being a cop, and me being a lawyer, it happened.
But she’d never drawn my eye the way her sister had.
I went inside without another word to Bradley and Ryan, hoping they wouldn’t follow. They might have been wanting to rehash their high school glory days, where we’d been the kings of the school with girls falling all over us, but I had other things on my mind. I pushed my way through the crowded room, smiling and nodding at people I recognized as I went, but always seeking out the one person who had always dominated my interest. The one person who had never fallen all over me, even though I’d wanted her to.
I found her at the back of the room, deep in conversation with Tori, who I remembered from school as well, and a few other people I didn’t recognize. I paused, not wanting to interrupt, even though I desperately wanted to talk to her again. A waiter walked by and offered me a glass of wine, which I took gratefully, swallowing down a gulp even though I wasn’t much of a drinker.
“What are you doing here?”
I glanced over and grinned when I recognized Rowe. It was a true smile; unlike the ones I’d shared with my old high school acquaintances. I slapped his hand and drew him into a half hug. “Just paying my respects. I went to high school with her. You know her through work?”
Rowe shoved his hands in his pockets. He was still dressed in his uniform, an ugly brown with the Saint View Prison logo on the shirt pocket. “Yeah. Just got off shift. I didn’t make the church, came straight here. I need to go home and sleep but I heard this was happening today. Fucking awful.”
I nodded. “I liked her.”
“Yeah, me, too. She got family?”
“A sister.” I pointed in Mae’s direction. “And her dad. Not sure if there was anyone else.”
Rowe glanced in Mae’s direction, his gaze lingering for a moment. “Never met her. There’s a lot of people waiting to talk to her.”
There was. The crowd around Mae thickened with every passing minute. I shifted my weight from side to side, peering around the people between us. That tiny glimpse of vulnerability she’d shown me outside had me worried about her. She had no escape route without her car here, and I was more than willing to be her getaway driver if she needed one. But she seemed okay for the minute, and Tori was firmly fixed at her side, so I focused back on Rowe, who seemed tired enough that he might just take a nap on the floor at my feet. Dark circles shaded the skin beneath his eyes, and he slumped on the wall behind him, like he didn’t have the energy to hold himself up.
“You look done, bro. Going to be good for training this week? Want to do the batting cages one night? We have games coming up.”
Rowe nodded. “Yeah, for sure. I’ll be fine once I sleep off the twelve-hour shift.”
“You work longer hours than I do.”
He shrugged. “All the more reason for us to go to the cages this week, then, huh? I don’t want to lose our next game because you strike out again.”
Rowe and I had played on the same baseball team for the past two years. It was just a social thing, a weekend competition that was mostly filled with guys like the two of us—single, no kids or other tie downs, and missing the ball games we’d had in high school. None of us were good enough to go further in the sport, but we still all loved to play. And we liked to win.
My phone buzzed in my shirt pocket, and I pulled it out, glancing at the name on the screen. I slapped Rowe on the chest and edged away. “Gotta take this. But I’ll text you about the cages, yeah?”
Rowe nodded. “All good. I think I’m going to get out of here anyway. I’m going to fall asleep at the wheel otherwise. See you later.”
I already had the phone to my ear, so I just nodded and waved as he moved toward the exit, my mind already on the call. “Barclay,” I said to my boss, without saying hello. “What’s up? I’m off work today.”
“I know, I know,” he answered. “But something’s come up, and I need you to come in.”
I spun around to face the window overlooking an eighteen-hole golf course. I barely noticed the rolling greens. “Is it urgent? I’ve wrapped up everything on the Simpson case—”
“Exactly. And word has gotten around about it. I need you to take another one. Jonas Borden wants us to take him on.”
I closed my eyes. “That’s a really high-profile case. Didn’t he hit someone with his car and then leave them for dead on the side of the road?”
“Damn straight. And he’s guilty as fuck. So I need you on it. If anyone is going to get him off, it’s you.”
I paused.
“Problem?”
Yeah, there was just the small problem of the fact the man was a disgusting human being. Everybody knew Jonas Borden. He was a playboy hotel mogul, well
known for his party lifestyle. He was a regular in the tabloids, and his antics were all over social media. The way he treated others, women in particular, made me want to throat punch the guy. And after my last case, I was really fucking sick of defending scumbags and getting them off when they deserved to be behind bars.
“This is a big case, Banks. Huge. It’ll put your name, and this firm, on the map. And a nice big paycheck, too.”
I turned back to face the room, pressing my back against the glass windows. My gaze snagged on Mae’s, but she quickly looked away.
I sighed.
“I need an answer, Liam.”
This case would take up all my time. And it would chisel away another little piece of my soul. But what else did I have? A room full of old high school friends I could no longer stand to be around? A cold and empty apartment to come home to at night? Mae’s soft floral scent was still engraved in the back of my nose. There was certainly no woman to come home to. No family.
My job was my baby. My life. And other than a bit of baseball, there was very little else in it. This was what I’d signed up for. It was what was expected of me. So I shoved all of that back down, burying it deep. It did me no good to dwell on the things I’d lost, and the things I couldn’t have. I’d made my bed and now I had to sleep in it. “Sure, Barclay. I’ll take the case. No problem.”
11
Mae
I’d never been to a prison before, but Saint View Prison looked much the way I would have expected from my limited knowledge that came from movies and TV shows. A huge imposing building, the ugly cinderblock gray of a stormy day, loomed in front of me.
I had to pass solid black gates to get to the main reception building, but once there, I found a buzzer on the wall with a little sign that said to press for assistance. I put my finger to it, jumping at the shrill noise, but recovered quickly, smoothing my hands down my dress, trying to hide the sweat building on my palms. Nobody spoke through the intercom, but the door in front of me popped open an inch. I took that as a sign I could enter and pushed my way through the heavy doors.
I cautiously approached the reception window, covered by a thick plastic with only a narrow gap at the bottom which allowed communication with the staff members on the other side. A man sat at a desk in the small room, his back to me, typing furiously on his computer.
I cleared my throat.
“Wait.” He raised one hand but in the next second continued typing.
I frowned, wondering what sort of customer service training they had in place here. I would have been fired on the spot if I’d spoken to a parent or another staff member like that.
Eventually the man turned around and pushed to his feet, closing the distance to stand behind the plastic window. He paused, without even saying hello, his eyebrows knitting together in a frown. “I know you from somewhere, don’t I?”
I blinked and tried to find an answer to the question I hadn’t been expecting. From the bark and the rude way he’d acted, I’d expected an older man in his forties or fifties. Perhaps someone approaching retirement age who was just riding out the days until he could claim a pension check. But the man who stood in front of me now was none of those things. His short dark hair and deep-brown eyes were the same color as chocolate. His skin was a deep olive, and he was taller than I’d expected, too. Not quite as tall as Heath, I found myself noticing, but well taller than I was. Broad shoulders filled out his ugly brown guard uniform. He watched me with an arrogant impatience, as if his time were more important than mine, and I was wasting it. But I didn’t recognize him. “I don’t think so.”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Fair enough. If you’re just here to sell us shit, we aren’t interested. We’ve already got suppliers for whatever it is.” Seeming bored, he swiveled on his heel and went back to his computer.
I finally got my lips to work. “No, sorry. Wait. Not selling anything. I’d like to visit a prisoner, please.”
The man turned back around to face me, and I found myself drowning in the depths of his eyes. It should have been illegal to be that good-looking. He was entirely out of place in such a drab environment. His face was so perfectly symmetrical it was impossible to comprehend how he’d found himself working in a prison instead of on a catwalk somewhere.
“You sure you’re in the right spot? This is maximum security. For the men’s prison. Minimum-security and the women’s prison are on the other side.”
I frowned at the fact he thought I couldn’t follow the clearly marked signs that had led me here. “I’m in the right spot. I want to see Heath Michaelson, please.”
The man raised one eyebrow, then grudgingly pulled paperwork from a folder and passed it through the gap in the shield. I glanced down at them.
“Goddamn prison groupies,” he muttered, probably assuming that the plastic would muffle the sounds.
It didn’t.
“Excuse me? Did you just call me a prison groupie?” I’d never heard the term before, but it was obvious what it meant. I fought to tamp down my annoyance.
He glanced up from pushing a pen beneath the shield. “Aren’t you?”
I ignored his rudeness, deciding dignifying him with a response wasn’t worth it. Instead, I picked up the pen and the sheaf of papers and began filling them out. The man watched me; his gaze shrewd like I might be trying to smuggle a shiv in under my summer dress. When I finished filling out my details, I handed them back beneath the gap and waited.
He read over my neat, elementary school teacher’s handwriting, until he got to the bottom of the page. “What’s your relationship to the prisoner?”
“What does that matter? That wasn’t one of the questions.”
His eyes narrowed, as if he was annoyed I’d dared to question him. “Might not be on the forms, but I still need to enter it into the computer. You won’t be laying eyes on anyone unless we know what the nature of your visit is.”
The nature of my visit? “That’s personal.”
“Nothing is personal here.”
“Fine. He’s my friend. I just want to see how he’s doing.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Friend. Okay then.”
I wasn’t a particularly confrontational person. But something about this man’s tone reeked of judgment. And I was a little bit short on patience lately. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His gaze raked over me, taking in the soft floral fabric of the dress I’d picked out. It cut deep between my breasts, showing off a healthy but not inappropriate amount of cleavage. Though now I thought about it, any cleavage at all in a men’s prison was maybe not my best choice.
“We see women like you all the time. Women claiming to be these men’s ‘friends’.” He made air quotes with his fingers.
“And that personally insults you?” Because he certainly looked irritated, with his jaw locked tight. I imagined his teeth might be hurting quite a bit right now, with the way he had them ground together.
“Actually, yes. It does bother me. It wastes my time. You women who romanticize these men? You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re rude.”
“Yeah. I’m rude. And lover boy over there in his cell? He’s a murderer. You do know that’s what he’s in for, don’t you? Or did he play your heart to get in your panties, and tell you all about how innocent his is?”
I bristled at his tone, and at the insinuation I was a stupid woman who raved online about how handsome some random criminal was. That wasn’t what this was. Heath wasn’t some psycho I’d decided to take a fancy to. I knew him. He was my friend. And this guy could just fuck right off.
“You don’t know anything about me. About my situation. Or Heath’s for that matter.”
“I read his rap sheet, lady. I know exactly who he is. And I know exactly who you are.”
I threw my hands up in the air. “And who’s that? Please, enlighten me since you seem to know so much from your box over there.”
“You do realize that there are no conjuga
l visits here? Right?”
This guy was the biggest asshole I’d ever met. Or had a bee in his bonnet about something that didn’t relate to me, and I was just on the receiving end of his bad mood. Either way, I was done trying to explain myself. “Just do your job. I’m here to see Heath. Make it happen.” I spun on my heel before he could say anything else and sat myself down in one of the hard plastic waiting room chairs. My gaze bounced around the barren room while the muffled click of his keyboard filled the air.
Cheap linoleum lined the floor, dirty and scuffed and worn right through in one section so the cement floor beneath showed. The seats around me were identical hard plastic, spaced evenly along the walls, and bolted to the floor. I idly wondered if that was so people couldn’t throw them. Did that happen in a place like this? Did the friends and relatives of the men behind these security walls act like that? Was that partly why the guy behind the desk was such a dick-knob? I really hadn’t thought this through very well. If I’d realized there was a chance just being in this waiting room was actually dangerous, I might not have come.
Yeah, you would have. Because you’re riddled with guilt and will probably never sleep again if you don’t get some answers.
I let out an involuntary yawn as proof of how little I’d slept lately.
A cheap clock on the wall ticked in the silence, counting the minutes that passed. Eventually I grew bored of waiting, and nervous impatience forced me to my feet. I crossed the small space to a bulletin board full of pinned announcements and advertisements. One tattered piece of yellowing paper caught my attention with its big black lettering, and I removed the pin, taking it down so I could get a better look at it.
Position Available - Education Administrator
I let my gaze roll over the job description. Monday through Friday evenings. Two hours per night, teaching groups of prisoners wanting to get their GED. Full security provided. My eyes bugged out when I saw the salary figure. With some quick mental math, I worked out the per hour rate was barely minimum wage.