by Ann Raina
FREEDOM IN CHAINS
By
Ann Raina
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Freedom in Chains
Copyright ã 2007 Ann Raina
ISBN: 978-1-55487-009-7
Cover art by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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For my best friend. She knows what I want to write, sometimes more than I know myself.
CHAPTER 1
The morning headline was stunning.
Police Commissioner and Mayor announce new approach to young crime convicts.
Boston, March 3rd, 2021. Since the failure of the last program to reintegrate young convicts below the age of 28 into society, the government of Boston has undertaken every possible step to fight drug selling and consumption and to treat delinquents according to their crimes. So far evaluations showed that locking up those criminals in prisons does not change their behavior. 90% of the convicts commit crimes within two months after release. The Mayor of Boston, Damian Cresgood, announced in a press conference yesterday that young criminals with minor crime records can join a program that includes being integrated into a firm and work to make amends. If such a delinquent serves, for example, five months without getting into trouble the sentence of two years in prison will be regarded as fulfilled.
"Since Boston citizens were victims of crimes, the criminals shall serve their time to give back to society what they stole," said Commissioner Marvin Hammer, in the same interview. Citizens of Boston, who own a business, have a flawless reputation, and no record of being a victim of a crime can fill out an appliance form under www.boston-police.com. Further information is granted by every police department.
Kyra Jennings smacked her lips and pulled up her legs on the cozy couch. She read the article again and, with a cup of tea in her right and the paper in her left hand, went for the computer at her office to sign in to the program. It was right what she needed and seemed to just have waited for her. With a satisfied smile she slumped back on the couch, read the rest of the paper and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was eleven in the morning, time to meet with Oliver, her neighbor and very special friend.
* * * *
"I would like to express my apologies for not getting back to you sooner," the young employee, his name tag read Brad Cornell, informed Kyra the moment they met on the floor to his office at the correction facility north of Boston. "People almost stormed our offices." He smiled, but it looked strained as if his chief had told to him to treat Kyra nicely and he had trouble conveying his sincerity. "We never expected such response. Our server went down for a day with the mass of data." He waved a slender hand to lead her into a separate room. "It took us some time and more staff than we had to sift through the applications. So I'm truly sorry you had to wait. Please, sit down here. This is the contract. You already saw one of these, I suppose?"
"I'm familiar with it, yes." Kyra smiled to ease his unnerving restlessness. He smoothed back his light brown hair and took a deep breath. "They were on the internet, too."
"Oh, sure, yes." He handed her a pen, again trying to smile pleasantly, but actually making a farce of himself. "Take your time to read it though and I'll be back with your coffee."
"Coffee? That's kind, but…is there a delay I don't know of?"
Again the young man wrought his hands. "Unfortunately, yes, but from here you can watch him. If you like," he added hastily, his pale green eyes wide behind the black rimmed glasses. "I can pull the drapes if you wish."
"No. I'm fine here. I like my coffee with a lot of cream, if you don't mind."
"Right away."
He left the room and Kyra leaned back to relax. She knew the contract's contents she signed with the city. She took responsibility for a convict for five months. This task included that he had to be shackled while being transported from one holding place to another. The convict was not to become a threat to the public. She had to employ him in a legal business, give him a place to sleep, food and drink and take care of his other basic needs. The City of Boston paid her for expenses and also compensated her for time she lost at work. In return his work would be paid with a small fee. If he worked and lived without causing trouble he would be free after that time. It was her task to punish him for his crimes, but also to educate him to become a better person. Therefore the contract contained no strict guidelines how he had to be treated--a person's home or firm was no prison in the same meaning. He was not to be killed or maimed, but aside those basic rules she could use measures she saw fit. The program had been designed to grant the businesses willing to take over responsibility the most leeway to attract them and deal with them. Kyra wondered if that leeway would not backfire.
She took out her reading glasses and read the parts where the prison officer had filled the blanks. The name of the convict was Julian Bithrell, born August 7th, 1994 in New York. He had been arrested for buying and selling Fidelity, a new drug on the market only known for two years. It had appeared out of thin air and neither police nor DEA had been able to contain its production, yet. Taken as a pill or injected it caused immediate addiction. It was easy to produce, easy to contain and easy to sell. It was by pure luck that only few had died of it so far.
Bithrell had had no crime record and had been sentenced to two years in prison. His address was a rental apartment in one of the lower districts of the city. He had chosen the program when it had been initiated. Kyra had a copy of her and of his application form. He had a clear handwriting with upright letters and his wording spoke of a man of some education. His arguments to serve to make amends for his crime had convinced the jury to let him join.
Kyra looked up. Brad handed her a plastic cup of coffee. She thanked him and took a sip before she put away her glasses. Brad settled down on a chair next to her and she inched away automatically. She did not like strangers to be too close to her, even if it was a man as unthreatening as Brad. It was a habit and she hoped Brad had not noticed.
"Did you read it carefully before you signed?"
She knew he either ignored the fact of her moving away or had not noticed at all. "I did."
"Fine." He took a copy of the contract and left her the other. "He will be here any moment. Ah, there he is."
The door to the room behind the window opened and two guards entered with a man between them. Kyra put down the cup or would have dropped it. The prisoner was at least six foot six, broad shouldered and slim waisted with long legs and strong arms that looked as if he did serious workout or a lot of swimming. Kyra's heart skipped a beat when he turned to face the window. She knew he could not see her, but the look out of dark, chocolate brown eyes was everything but insecure. He had a clean-cut face, very manly, with high cheekbones and dark brows, fitting his almost black hair. A strand fell loosely over hi
s brow.
The prison guards pressed him to sit on a wide chair. His arms were fastened to the arm rests and his head fixed to the curved backrest with broad leather straps. An additional strap was wound around his chin to lift it and expose his throat. Kyra saw a glimpse of fear the moment he realized he could not move an inch, but then it was gone and he relaxed again.
"The collar's a very special thing."
Brad's voice made her jump. She had completely forgotten about his presence.
"Sorry, Ms. Jennings, I just thought I should explain it to you."
"Sure. Go on." Her heart beat in her throat and she kept her eyes glued to the scene while Brad spoke behind her.
"Each collar is custom made to fit around the Adam's apple. As you know a direct pressure on it is very uncomfortable so every man is measured before the collar is produced. It contains the name and file number of the convict and the latest detecting technology. If Mr. Bithrell escapes he can be found almost immediately. Not to mention that the orange color reflects in the dark."
A Chinese man in a business suit entered the room. He brought the collar and a set of tools and sat down beside Bithrell. The convict strained his eyes to watch the man's doings, but the straps held his head firmly in place. He breathed heavily and his nostrils were wide. The two inch wide collar was laid around his neck.
"Doctor Fa-Lung is our specialist on this matter. He developed the collars. See, there is no lock on it like you know it. The collar can only be opened here at the prison with a special tool, which also deactivates the needles."
"Needles?" Kyra asked without turning.
"Yes, Ms. Jennings. If the collar is broken by force fifteen needles with a strong sedative are activated. They stun the convict in thirty seconds max."
"Great."
The doctor had set the collar in place and locked it. He checked the readings of the signal and nodded toward the waiting guards. Bithrell's fingers were clenched around the arm rest.
"Yes. It's the ultimate security system brought to men." Brad stood. "I suppose you want a police escort to take him to your holding place?"
Again, Kyra was startled. She shook her head. "Thanks, but, no. I came with my car. I can take him home." The moment she said it was the moment she regretted it. Brad Cornell's eyes widened. Shit. Oliver had warned her, but the truth had just slipped.
"You have a separate holding room at your…home?" Brad asked when he found his voice.
"Yes, I do." She took her backpack and looked back to where the prisoner was released from the chair. He was indeed eager to leave, but the guard handcuffed him first.
"In a…basement?" Brad wrung his hands again.
He was obviously more nervous than Kyra, a fact she found amusing. The prisoner would be at her place not his, right? "Not directly." She forced a small smile on her face that urged him out of the way. "Where shall I take him over?"
"Outside." Brad led the way. "Are you sure you want no escort? I mean – "
"Mr. Cornell, I was told to fetch Mr. Bithrell here at the prison. I was not told that there would be police or guards helping me out."
"Oh, sorry for that. Other contract owners insisted on it so we arranged a service."
"I assumed to take him home alone. And that's what I will do."
"Of course."
Kyra wondered if he thought of her being mad or stupid or both to reject the offer. She hoped she was not, but her heart sank the moment she saw Julian Bithrell in person. Even in handcuffs he had the effect of being a giant. Six foot six might have been an understatement. He towered over her five foot eight and his face, though carefully blank, held the hint of you won't keep me if I don't let you. She braced herself and forced the utter astonishment away. "I'm Kyra Jennings, your employer for the next five months."
"Julian Bithrell." He looked down humbly.
She did not buy it. "Since there are no prison walls around I will take measures to keep you under lock and key. I think you understand."
"I see."
He pretended to face the floor to his feet, but she realized he was assessing her character. The small frown lines on his forehead told her to be careful. He was not modest, just trying to hide his thoughts. She opened her backpack and took out gag and blindfold. The guards at Julian's sides gave a surprised whistle. Behind her, Cornell cleared his throat. Kyra looked the guard to the right in the eyes. The grin was all male and smut. She pretended not to notice. "Will you give me a hand, please?"
"Sure. On your knees, Bithrell!" Bithrell made a sudden step backwards, his eyes wide, set on the devices. "Down, I said!"
"What's this about?" Bithrell lifted his shackled hands and again stepped back. "You're not goin' to blindfold me, you bitch! And what else! No!"
"You don't have to ask why, asshole, just do as she says!" The guard brought him forward again and pressed him down. He needed the other guard's assistance to bring the convict down on his knees--he was strong and still fought the holding hands by twisting his shoulders. He did not like being down and it showed.
"Are you crazy?" He sounded terrified and angry as he glared at her. "I'm already in handcuffs! I'll go with you! So what's this for?"
"You'll do as I order you." Kyra sounded calm when she handed the guard the devices. "And I won't hear any argument, Mr. Bithrell. None whatsoever."
"You're a sadistic bitch!" he cried just before his eyes were covered and the bit gag forced between his teeth. Still he struggled, uttering his anger without words.
"Anything else?" The guard was warming up to the task.
She took out the combination cuffs for hands and ankles, which were held by a lockable belt around his waist.
"Now, that's some nifty stuff." He laughed, and his colleague helped changing the cuffs and taking back those belonging to the prison. Bithrell breathed heavily, but gave up. "Get up!" The guard pulled at his elbow and made him stand. The chains rattled. "He's all yours."
"Thank you for your help. The bag with his personal belongings?" The guard handed it to her. Kyra shouldered the backpack and took the sports bag in her right hand. Her heart was still racing, but she had managed the first important step. She was calm on the outside and her voice firm. She stepped beside the prisoner, whose shoulders and chest heaved with the aftermath of his fight. He turned his fists in the cuffs--his whole body language told her of his utter discomfort and the guttural sounds did not stop. "I'll take you to my car now." He exhaled loudly as if to protest his treatment, but moved forward. Like many tall people Bithrell had the tendency to permanently stoop. Now, bereft of sight and most of his freedom of movement, he hunched his shoulders and lowered his chin in a way that looked submissive, but was not. Kyra felt the tremble of anger along his arm. Muscles contracted as he clenched his fists. He was outraged.
Cornell fell in beside her, stooping confidentially to her shoulder. "Are you sure you want to take him that way? I mean…"
"Mr. Cornell, be assured that he won't assail me. His hands are behind his back and he can't run. He can't even see. So, please, relax." She felt everything but relaxed, which he did not need to know. He shook his head and escorted her to the parking lot. Kyra had thought that she drove a big car, but when she opened the passenger door to make Bithrell get in it did not quite fit his size. She managed to get the safety belt around him, but it was tight and his head almost touched the ceiling. "And that's a Grand Cherokee," she mumbled, put in the sports bag and closed the door. Cornell was still behind her and watched the prisoner through the tinted glass. "Thank you for your help and escort, Mr. Cornell." She shook his hand.
"Sure, no problem. The nearest district has been informed about you taking in a prisoner. A police officer will show up every week to make sure you are all right."
"That's nice." She smiled when Cornell opened his mouth as if to add something else, but refrained from it. "Goodbye." She sat behind the wheel. The rearview mirror showed her the blindfolded face of her new employee. "Let's get started."
Kyr
a watched the prisoner shift on the seat. He tried to ease the pressure on his hands, but the seatbelt hampered him. The gag seemed to irritate him, too, and he breathed loudly. She knew it was uncomfortable, but Oliver had warned her not to take any prisoner lightly. No matter how humble or fragile they looked they would try to frighten her. Well, Julian Bithrell looked everything but fragile and he had not been humble at all. More like…a raging bull. She knew that Oliver was damn right--if she did not make him swallow her being in charge, he would test her ever and again. The orange shirt tightened over his biceps and stomach--he was pure strength contained in a male body. And she was but one woman. No doubt, she had opted for a challenge and got a tough one. The day was looking up.
On the long drive home she thought about how she would be able to control him. Oliver Hartford had had arguments against taking such a--maybe violent--stranger into her single home. Though he knew her well and relied on her common sense, there was still a great risk going along with the praiseworthy task to help a convict back into a life within society.
Kyra thought about the conversations they had in his house on quiet evenings in March and April. She had had the chance to quit the program, but the challenge was too great to let it pass. Finally, with a sigh that went right to her stubbornness, Oliver had agreed in helping her master that challenge. And now he would be running back and forth from the window to be present on her arrival. She smiled at the idea of Oliver being nervous. He was never nervous. He was easygoing, not the hectic character you knew from New York, Boston or Washington D.C. Oliver had inherited his father's cool Midwestern blood and could see the best in people as in life. It was a gift, no doubt, and--as always--she looked forward to meeting him.
When she pulled the car in the driveway she saw the curtain of Oliver's front window fall back into place. Her smile deepened. Yep, he had waited impatiently for her return. She got off the car and had not even rounded the trunk when he met with her.