“It wouldn’t matter if you did.” His eyes narrowed, but he wasn’t looking at her. “I won’t go back.”
“Since you escaped, you’ll get a tougher penalty. It would have been easier to just serve your sentence.”
He gave a long look she couldn’t read. The silence went on and on. He nodded slowly, then said in a quiet and pensive tone, “Easier.” He glanced out at the black water and didn’t speak. The lifeboat bobbed on the sea, and a small swell slapped against the side of the boat. He turned back to her. “So, Margaret Whatever Smith... where are you from?”
“San Francisco.”
He didn’t look at her but through her. “I’ve been in San Francisco.” He paused. “Nice place.”
“I like it.”
He let his gaze rove over her slowly and assessingly. “Nob Hill, right?”
“Russian Hill.”
“Close enough. Nice weather. Great town, San Francisco.” He paused, seemed to let the moment hang there, then asked, “What was that railroad slogan about California?”
“Take a golden ride to the golden state. The land of plenty.”
“That’s right. The land of plenty,” he repeated. “Plenty of food. Plenty of water.”
He wasn’t looking at her. He sat straighter, his look intent, and he rested his elbows on his knees, then slowly moved his face closer to hers. “So you think it would have been easier to serve my sentence?” he asked pointedly, clearly not wanting an answer. The anger on his face became more vivid and a little frightening the closer his face came to hers. “You, a woman from San Francisco, some...”—he paused and looked her up and down—“thirty-year-old—”
“Thirty-two.”
“A thirty-two-year-old woman from Russian Hill in San Francisco thinks you know what prison is like?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I wonder how long you would last on a chain gang.” His voice was calm, but there was nothing calm about the tension emanating from him. He pinned her with a cold look then. “Have you ever been hungry? Had no food and no water for days?”
His face was inches from hers. She said nothing. “Ever been locked in filthy black cell, Miss Margaret Whatever Smith, and been afraid to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time? I’d bet you don’t have any idea what a man has to fear in a prison.”
One of the children edged closer to her, and in reaction she glanced down. His hand shot out, and he grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him again.
“Do you?” He paused, and she could see his scorn. “I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
Lydia began to cry.
He pulled his gaze from hers, then released her chin and shifted back. He gave Lydia a dark look, then glanced toward Theodore. His look didn’t change.
Margaret hugged both the children a little tighter.
“When you’re me.” He jabbed his finger against his chest. “Hank Wyatt. And you’ve lived my life. Then you can tell me what the hell is easier.”
“You’re frightening the children.”
He gave a caustic laugh. “They’d better learn now what a hard life they’ve got ahead of them.”
“They’re only children.”
“They’re orphans,” he said coldly. “The orphanage I grew up in wasn’t much better than that prison.”
“You are a cruel and bitter man.”
“Life’s cruel and bitter. They can learn that lesson now while they’re young. No one’s gonna look out for them. Believe me, I know. They’d best grow up damn fast.”
She looked from the children, whose faces had paled, back at him. “Why did you save us?”
