Four mind-numbing hours later, Scott had waited in a lobby chained to a chair, taken a piss in front of a sheriff’s deputy, visited the magistrate to have his charges reviewed and approved, suffered a humiliating in-processing complete with strip search, given up all his belongings, donned prison-issue scrubs and laceless shoes, and now lay on the top bunk of his assigned cell at the Arlington Detention Facility.
Midnight came and went.
He traced a thousand invisible designs on the painted brick ceiling as the strange, yet familiar, sounds of jail at night filtered into his cell like an awful serenade.Locked in.
He shivered and closed his eyes, trying to pretend he was on bivouac, resting in a sniper hide somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but here. His battered psyche knew better, though, and little things repeatedly yanked him back to reality.
The adult detention center was different from juvie, but jail was jail.
Just like when he was fifteen, disinfectant didn’t cover the stink that reminded him of a high school locker room after a football game. Inmates postured and formed cliques, trying to build a rep and stay safe. Scott was still isolated despite the crowd. Up until now, he’d only returned to this place in his nightmares.
This time he wasn’t waking up. And he sure as hell couldn’t sleep.
He knew why the elephants and gorillas and tigers at the zoo paced in their enclosures. He understood why chimps beat the walls and beautiful birds squawked in frustration at their clipped wings.
The fact that he’d sacrificed his freedom for a woman he loved—both times—couldn’t dislodge the boulder sitting on his chest. Maybe he was a fucking coward, but he had no illusions about prison life, and this was no kiddie lockup. If he were convicted and sent to federal prison for life—or, God forbid, death—he’d wither on the vine.
His patience might be legendary, but that ability came from knowing there was something to be patientfor. How did one calmly face every day if there was no future? No point?
Could he really live for postcards from his mother and Valerie, assuming either of them communicated at all?
Jesus. He sat up and rubbed his face. Where was his faith?
It could take months—maybe years—but Valerie would find a way to exonerate them both. He had to believe that. Being locked up again had brought him back to age fifteen so viscerally that he could hardly breathe.
And somehow, returning to jail now was worse. As a kid, he’d known he’d get out at eighteen. This time he had no timeline and no guarantees.
And he was fucking helpless to save himself or Valerie.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Falls Church, VA
Friday, 7:15 a.m.
VALERIE HID IN A DARK cabinet at the end of the row of washing machines, clutching the HOG’s tooth against her chest until she was awoken by the sound of someone starting a load of laundry. Remarkably, she had dozed off sometime after midnight when she decided no one was going to find her hiding spot.
She had debated making a run for it in the middle of the night, but worried that Duncan’s men might still be around watching for her to sneak out. Morning made more sense. If she walked away from the building like a woman on her morning commute, she could easily escape notice.
Five minutes after the laundry room door closed, she eased from the cabinet and slid to the floor. Yellow morning light streamed through a wide window in the door, chasing away most of the shadows. The cold from the linoleum tile seeped through her jeans. Every angry muscle sent a protest in the form of pins and needles and cramps. So she sat against the wall and took long, slow breaths.
Her limbs hurt almost as much as her heart.
Scott had sacrificed himself for her.For us.She had to force herself not to speculate on what his night had been like. Her imagination was far too vivid.
Squeezing her eyes shut against useless tears, she gently worked her muscles until she could stand. Once stable on her feet, she tucked her hair up under her beanie and donned a pair of sunglasses she had stashed in the outer pocket of her bag. She had worn her jacket and gloves all night.
She slung her tote bag over one shoulder and walked out into the dawn. Orange and pink clouds painted the sky in an optimistic display that she couldn’t appreciate. It would make more sense if the sun never rose again.
Moving with purpose, but not haste, she walked about half a mile to the nearest drugstore and bought a bottle of medium brown hair dye, a birthday card—because a fugitive wouldn’t do that—a pack of gum, black eyeliner, berry red lipstick, and a bag of Skittles in holiday colors. Because sugar.
“Breakfast of champions,” the skinny twenty-something cashier said, holding up the candy with an amused grin before he stuffed it into a bag.
Valerie smiled. “Right?”
The cover ofTheWashington Postcaught her eye. Both her and Scott’s photos were positioned above the fold, along with a picture of police cars outside the apartment building last night.
Her heart boomeranged in her chest.Stay calm.Their images might be plastered all over the news, but most people never expected to actually see a wanted criminal in person. No one would notice her. Plus, in her current state, she looked very little like the woman in print.
