“I don’t know.”
He squeezed my knee. “I want to tell you it’s okay, but I don’t mean the situation with your son. I’m sure it’s not. I mean—I’m here. I’ll help if I can.” He gave me a solid smile that made me feel a bit better.
Some crazy emotion sizzled through me, and the way it swelled in my chest and made me feel too warm and floaty scared me. I rested my hand on his. “Thank you.”
He slid about an inch closer and glanced over his shoulder at the man standing behind the check-out counter, then focused his attention on me. “I want you safe. I have to go to a release meeting. What can I do? Your choices are class, or maybe I can take you out to the garage. Rolánd is there, and you usually aren’t. No one would probably think to check for you out there.”
“Garage,” I said at once. I couldn’t handle acting stupid again today.
“Okay.”
The gentle squeeze Drew gave my knee had me feeling overwhelmed. Someone was looking out for me. Keeping me safe.
“You’re going to have to go to your cell tonight,” he said as he stood. “But I’m working on that.”
My heart almost stopped. “Oh.”
He slid behind my chair and ran soft fingers over my head. Warm tingles slipped down my spine. “Go to the NA meeting. Get yourself there.” He pulled my chair back from the table, carefully so he didn’t knock me around, and then started pushing me forward.
“Okay.” Terror zipped through me—half was for Black, the rest was for how much I relied on Drew.
Drew leaned down and his breath tickled my ear. “If that motherfucker comes at you when no one else is there, stab him in the throat.”
Smirking, I glanced back. “You sure you’re a good guy?”
He shrugged and smiled down at me as he pushed me along. I turned forward and could barely believe how amazing it felt knowing one person had my back and could—maybe—keep me safe. Hell, even if he couldn’t, he wanted to, and that was more than I’d had in a very long time.
9
Drew
Somehow I managedto make it through working fourteen days straight. I was spending more time at TFC than at home. Rowdy was sending me bitchy text messages about how he was starving to death, and I kept putting him off for when he could swing by for dinner. They were still holding Zihan at the psych department at Walnut Creek, too, so there was no reason for him to guilt me into any early morning excursions yet.
At the prison we were short-staffed, one might even say understaffed, and dangerously so. They couldn’t find any suckers who wanted to lower their life expectancy and take on the risk of work-related PTSD for the cheapskate amount they wanted to pay, and right about now was the only time in the history of the universe I was thankful for it. No one gave a shit about paying me overtime. I’d managed to keep Peter surrounded by people most of every day, and then I stomped the block for the half hour between lights out and everyone being in their cells with the door closed—that was after making sure I got in most days with enough time to be around for the cells opening. The early hours made for a slog of a day.
But Peter in the morning, whether he walked his way out of his cell, rolled in the chair, or grumbled and needed a hand to even sit up in his bed, was something I was quickly growing to enjoy. His hair was always a little mussed first thing, and his honey eyes were shiny and alert bright and early, the way they weren’t later in the day after he’d tired himself out. He would give me shy smiles that made my insides tie into knots. His contradictions kept him interesting, but that morning sweetness made me excited to see the end of his time inside. I was planning on being able to take care of his morning snark and complaints in a much more personal way soon.
Peter had gone to his first physical therapy appointment with the old-timers. He’d been so fucking proud of himself for managing to take a couple of unassisted steps, after a ton of stretches and massage. All I’d wanted to do was kiss him—which I couldn’t. I’d had to settle for a pat on the shoulder as he’d come out of the prison gym that Leighton, the PT who drove out to the prison once a week, had converted into a mobile therapy room for the afternoon.
Peter was also doing exercises every day with Dr. Bond for half an hour, and I thought maybe that was driven by the good doctor both liking Peter as a person—he could be a prickly sort of charming when he wanted to be—and the fact I was still on his ass every fucking day of my life to find room for Peter in the medical dorms. The personal therapy time was Bond’s peace offering. I couldn’t complain.
But Black was still watching and waiting. The sick fuck blew me kisses whenever I passed his cell every morning and night while I was doing rounds. Every time I saw him during the day, the big sonofabitch made sure to let me know he noticed me, too.
And I saw the way his evil smile lit his face these days. I was beginning to think he’d remembered who I was to him and his “organization.” I’d never been a big player, but I’d been around. My stomach turned every time I considered the very real possibility that the anonymity I’d relied on to keep an eye on him had been blown to hell. Tatum Black had something on me, and if he really decided to use it, he could twist things around until I was sitting right beside him in here or somewhere worse.
And all that scared the fuck out of me for Peter. Who would watch out for him if I was sunk up the river? What might happen if Black broke his long silence to tell where all the bodies, both figuratively and literally, were buried? I knew he fucking hated people like Rowdy, who had walked away from everything and hadn’t been there when they’d finally had the heat come down on them and arrest a bunch of people.
No one had gotten sent up for murder. Black had to be weighing what it was worth to dig up those bodies. It was a lot to think about.
But I was running myself ragged doing everything I could to help Peter, while juggling spying on Black and the small cadre of miscreants who reported to him. This morning I felt every minute of the lack of sleep as I slowly blinked at my shadowy room. I got up to get ready for work after the third time my alarm went off. It took me twice as long as usual to crawl out of bed, and the coffee brewing on a timer in the kitchen had never smelled more refreshing than it did today. The windows were dark as I shambled out to the kitchen to listen to the machine grumble and burble while the aroma of coffee tickled my nose.
I poured ice from a tray in the freezer into a mug, tipped coffee in on top of it, then made myself a real mug of coffee and set it aside to cool while I chugged my iced coffee on the way to shower and dress. I had no idea why, but everything I did this morning took longer than it should’ve, until finally I was sitting in the Jeep and smacking my palm off the steering wheel because I had to stop and get gas. If I didn’t pitstop, I wouldn’t make it to work and out again. I was running late before I even hit the highway, and the sun was too high over the trees near TFC as I pulled into the parking lot. I was cursing my way through the side door with my lunch bag clutched in my hand when Lon Wiseback stepped out of his office.
“You’ve been raising hell.” He hooked a thumb toward his doorway. “Get in here.”
“But—”
“Now. I want to know what’s going on.” The glare he gave me had my stomach sinking as I shuffled into his office after him. He already had the sleeves of his white button-down shoved to his elbows for the day. I was happy to see he’d buzzed his hair down, and the bald spot on the top of his head was a friendly gleam. He used to try to hide it with a comb-over. Someone must have finally talked some sense into him. But I doubted he wanted me to come in and chat about his new hairstyle. I’d been very friendly with Peter, though I hadn’t risked kissing him since the night I’d snuck into bed with him. Had someone noticed something? Sweat broke out on the back of my neck.Fuck.
