“ID,” the guard barked.
The older man took my driver’s license, not only reading every line several times, but also fingering my name twice before slowly lifting his head and staring into my eyes.
My skin began to crawl. Was there some crazy chance he recognized me? That wasn’t possible. I was merely reacting to a guard doing his job and nothing more. Not that it should matter if he did other than that Samuel’s attorney could have some issue with my visit. Taunting his client was considered against the rules. As if the bastard had played by them.
He grabbed Maverick’s ID, his face furrowing. “Hold on a second, Mr. Callahan. Ms. Martino. I need to double check that Mr. Wells is allowed to have visitors.”
“I already called ahead,” Maverick stated and he was none too happy for the holdup. “He’s allowed.”
“Yeah, well, that means nothing unless the warden agrees. Hold on.” The guard walked away and I sensed Maverick was fuming.
We were standing in a sweltering alcove and the poor guard who’d been motioned to keep an eye on us was none too happy. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, clearly agitated. He walked further away, not wanting to be brought into a conversation.
“This is my turn to tell you to take it easy. They can deny us from visitation for several reasons including if he’s being disciplined or if there’s an overall security threat.” I kept my voice low.
He said nothing, but I could sense his observation skills were in full force, studying the other guard, who was visibly uncomfortable. When Maverick walked closer to the young man, I fought a smile. Once a powerful FBI agent, always an agent.
Maverick had changed very little from his days working for justice. Except now, he didn’t need to take shit from anyone.
“Can I bum a smoke? Left mine in the car.” He was playing the guard, buddying up to him.
I learned something new about Maverick every day.
The young guard was reluctant at first. Maybe because Maverick outweighed him by a solid fifty pounds. Finally, he held out the pack. “Suit yourself.”
Maverick lit up and I expected him to cough. He pulled in the smoke, holding it in his lungs for a solid five seconds before expelling. “I haven’t had a good menthol in years.”
“Helps with the stench around here,” the guard said mostly under his breath. Not only was he keeping his voice down, he was also keeping anyone from reading his lips.
Interesting.
“Yeah, I bet.” They smoked together for maybe a minute while Maverick leaned against the cement wall. “Has Mr. Wells had a number of visitors over the years?”
The guy shrugged. “A couple. Same two assholes.”
“Well, I guess he doesn’t have too many friends. From what I heard, his attorney can’t stand him.” Maverick chuckled and miraculously, so did the guard.
Like smiles and yawns, laughter was catching.
“Not too many people do. They call him crazy. A space cadet.” He twirled his finger by his temple.
That was new. The man who’d been my kidnapper had been sharp as a tack. Maybe wired a little tight but definitely not anyone I’d consider crazy. I already had questions, but as soon as I took a single step closer, Maverick motioned with his eyes to stay away so I obeyed, as much as I didn’t want to.
“Yeah, I also heard Wells has multiple personalities but swears the people are real. Claimed he had a brother. An uncle. Something.” Maverick laughed. “Maybe he was seeing aliens the entire time.”
Maverick was damn good at playing games. I’d need to keep that in mind.
The guard snorted. “Could be. He did have a psycho who visited him from time to time.”
A psycho. Every hair on my arms stood on end.
Immediately, I tensed and this time when I took a step closer, Maverick didn’t stop me. I could tell he was about to grill the guy, but our window of opportunity was tossed aside as the massive steel door was yanked open. The older guard stood halfway in the door, even motioning for the young guard to head back inside.
Maverick took his time, taking another puff as the older man looked back and forth between us.
“I’m afraid your trip was a waste of time,” he said.
“Why is that, Gerald?” Maverick kept his tone conversational, but the cords on the sides of his neck were standing proud.
