She nodded. “I understand.” She gazed at him, and he wallowed in the sensation. Just being in the same room with her was a balm to his soul.
The guard escorting her began to get impatient. “Look, lady, are you going to take pictures in here or not?”
The trance was broken, and she stepped away. “Yes!” she said, quickly preparing her camera for another shot. She moved to the end of the table and beckoned the prisoners to face her.
Luke turned away. This wasn’t how he wanted to be remembered. It was mortifying enough to be stuck in here without it being immortalized on film.
“Thank you,” Marianne said, and he could only assume that meant she’d completed her picture, but he still didn’t turn around. As much as his spirit rejoiced at seeing her, it hurt too. He was beaten down, humbled, and miserable, but Marianne’s arrival sent a jolt of adrenaline into him that could sustain him for weeks.
He finally turned to admire her. She met his gaze, radiating confidence and compassion. He loved her, and somehow they would find a way through this.
The following morning Marianne approached the west side of the prison with a combination of dread and exhilaration. She suspected Luke planned to communicate with her through the vents he’d mentioned.
Which was why a huge chunk of her quivered in trepidation. To the bottom of her soul, she feared his imprisonment was her doing, and their meeting today would probably confirm it.
The granite bricks of the jail had never looked so gloomy as she approached. She glanced around the prison yard, but theredidn’t seem to be any guards patrolling the premises. She didn’t even know if what she was doing was legal. Was it illegal to wander off the path and communicate with a prisoner through a laundry vent? At least the camera she clutched would be a convenient excuse should anyone question why she’d strayed from the path.
There was no shrubbery to hide behind as she approached a set of three vents sticking out from the side of the jail. The lawn was lumpy and uneven as she picked her way across it, but soon she was on the scrabbly limestone pebbles that abutted the jail.
Damp heat and the rumble of machinery came from the low metal vents. One was about the size of a pie plate, but another much larger opening was a square fan flush with the bricks. She squatted down to peek through it. The blades of the fan spun so quickly it was almost as though they disappeared, letting her see the huge rotary drums and aluminum tubing inside the laundry room.
Near the back of the cinder block room, she spotted Luke wearing a striped prison uniform as he unloaded a mass of wet sheets from one of the rotary drums into a basket. Were there other men nearby? She couldn’t see any, but she dared not call out to him.
She gave two quick claps of her hands, and he immediately looked up, spotting her through the vent. He held a finger to his lips to convey silence, then casually spoke to someone else in the room. A moment later, a man dressed in the same prison uniform left the laundry, and Luke darted to the vent.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said through the opening. “Wait there while I open the other vent.”
He disappeared, but she heard scraping from the pie plate vent a few feet away. She went to stand before it, and Luke’s hand came through the opening. She fell to her knees and grabbed it, pressing kisses to his palm.
“Watch out, I smell like bleach,” he cautioned. “We’ve gotabout five minutes before Stillman gets back from his toilet break.”
That didn’t leave her much time to pry the truth out of him. She withdrew her hand and squatted low so she could see his face through the vent. She drank in the sight, amazed at how happy he looked to see her.
“How did you figure this out?” she asked.
He snorted. “I spotted the possibilities the first hour I was assigned here. I’ve got nothing better to do than plan various means of escape.”
“But you won’t, will you? Luke... it will go worse for you if you run.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It depends on how things go.”
A lump of dread settled in her stomach. “This is my fault, isn’t it?”
“Never,” he said fiercely.
“I know what the charges are. I know it’s because of those studies and—”
He reached through the opening and laid a finger on her lips. “Shh,” he soothed. “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”
But his finger trembled, and she sensed his anxiety from that single bit of contact. She pulled his hand away from her mouth so she could see him again.
“Why didn’t you tell them it was me?”
His smile nearly broke her heart. “It would have killed a piece of me to do that,” he said in a ragged breath.
“I want you to. If they bring charges against me, I’ll be okay. I’m not afraid of enclosed spaces. I’ll be okay.”
“So will I.” But for once he didn’t sound like his usual brash self. His tone was pale and thin, and he sounded exhausted.
