He grabbed a dresser drawer and dumped the contents on the floor, throwing the drawer to the side, where it banged against the wall. She flinched when he used his feet to kick through her clothes, but he didn’t find anything. He yanked up her mattress, but there was nothing there.
Then he saw the large envelope taped to the underside of her bureau drawer and froze. Her mouth went dry when he reached for it, opening the flap and lifting out a dozen enlarged photographs. Luke holding Bandit fresh out of the ice. Luke gazing at her with all the love in the world as they stood in the treetops.
Clyde tossed the photographs on the bed, his lip curled in disgust. “How long have you been carrying on with him?”
She couldn’t answer.
“How long?” he roared. He grabbed her face and forced her to look at him, his fingers digging into her cheeks.
She still couldn’t talk. Her tongue seemed fused to the roof of her mouth, and it was so hot she might faint. Anything she said could cause Clyde to banish her forever. She’d lose everything. Had it been worth it?
She glanced at the picture on her bed, the one of Luke sopping wet and holding Bandit, an exhausted, happy smile on his face.
“That was the day it started,” she whispered. “And it never stopped.”
He let go of her face. Her jaw hurt where he’d clenched it, but that was nothing compared to the pain in her soul.
“You aren’t to leave this room,” he said, his quiet voice throbbing in intensity. “Your meals will be delivered here. You aren’t to have any contact with the rest of the family. We will inform you what we decide.”
She waited until his footsteps retreated down the stairs before staggering to collapse on the mattress. She couldn’t help Luke anymore. All she could do now was pray.
Twenty-Eight
Sweltering heat from the laundry dragged on Luke’s energy. The rotary drums of the drying machines emitted constant waves of warm air, and the vent didn’t do a good job siphoning off the heat. It had been hot in Cuba, but it was a natural heat. There was nothing natural about the man-made heat pouring out of the laundry. It was over a hundred degrees in here, and the air barely moved. His hands were inflamed by the bleach and sweat that cracked his skin and made them sting.
To make it worse, Marianne hadn’t visited him today. So far, she’d always come in the mornings, but it was almost dinnertime and she still hadn’t appeared at the dryer vent. He’d left the laundry for thirty minutes at lunch and had asked Stillman if there’d been any sign of a visitor while he’d been gone.
“No sign of that girl, if that’s what you’re asking,” his fellow inmate said with a wink. At first Luke tried to hide Marianne’s visits, but Stillman quickly caught on. Luke had slipped him a few sticks of candy Gray brought him, and that was more than enough to keep Stillman quiet about Marianne’s visits.
Luke lifted another armful of wet sheets into the drying drum, trying to use only his forearms to spare the cracked skinon his hands. He closed the door on the drum and pulled the metal lever to start the machine into motion.
A guard entered the laundry room. “Delacroix! You’ve got a visitor in the meeting room. Hands out for the cuffs.”
Luke swiped an arm across the sweat on his face. He hated meeting Gray looking like this. His prison uniform was soaked with wash water and perspiration, but maybe the unexpected visit signaled something good. His lawyer planned to file an emergency appeal to a higher court, and maybe there was already some movement on that front.
The guard locked the handcuffs and leg-irons onto him, then led him out of the room. Luke followed, but the leg-irons made it impossible to move more than a few inches with each step. Damp strands of hair were plastered to his face, and he felt as limp as a wet rag as the guard opened the door of the meeting room. Luke shuffled forward.
Clyde Magruder stood inside. Luke immediately went on the alert. A hint of a sneer tugged at Clyde’s mouth when he saw the handcuffs and leg-irons.
“Charming,” Clyde said.
Luke recovered quickly. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Clyde.”
Clyde glanced at the guard still standing in the doorway. “Close the door and leave us,” he ordered.
“Yes, sir,” the guard said.
Luke tried not to cringe as the locking mechanism slid into place, trapping him in this enclosed environment with his bitterest enemy.
Clyde kicked a chair a few inches and ordered him to sit.
Luke refused. “You can order the guards around, but not me.”
“Suit yourself.” Clyde sat, folded his arms across his chest, and glared. “It has come to my attention that you have been carrying on with my daughter.” He tossed a stack of photographs on the table, damning proof of the relationship.
A crushing weight settled on Luke’s chest. This was why Marianne hadn’t come today. She was in trouble and probably suffering at this very moment because of him. He wouldn’t volunteer any information, but he had to stop aggravating Clyde. This needed to be handled as carefully as a time bomb. Clyde held all the cards, and Luke could only gather information.
He pulled out the chair and sat opposite Clyde, setting his hands on the table, letting Clyde see the cuffs and his completely defenseless position.
