I knew that body language. Had seen it in a hundred different men. The ones who treated women like property they’d misplaced and were determined to recover.
“Been working in here a while now, I hear.” His voice was casual. Too casual. “Must be nice. Cushy assignment.”
I studied his knuckles. Slightly red. The skin across two of them rougher than the rest. Nothing concrete.
But enough.
Men like him always told on themselves eventually. You just had to watch.
And I was very, very good at watching.
“Eyes on your work, inmate.” Whitmore’s voice cracked through the silence. “Not on me.”
I looked up slowly. Let him feel every second of my attention.
I had thirty pounds and six inches on this guy. Outside these walls, he wouldn’t have the balls to look me in the eye, let alone give me orders. He knew it. I knew it.
That was the problem.
Men like Whitmore didn’t like feeling small. So they found ways to feel big. Badges. Batons. Women who couldn’t fight back.
But we weren’t outside these walls.
So, I dropped my gaze back to the clipboard. Slowly. Made sure he understood it was a choice. Not submission.
He moved closer. Invaded my space.
Behind him, I saw Harper glance up. Her green eyes met mine for half a second before darting away. Her hand moved under the desk. I knew without seeing that she was rubbing her thumb with her fingernail. A nervous habit. A tell.
She was scared of him and trying very hardnotto be.
“Something funny, Blackwood?”
I hadn’t realized I was smiling. The kind of smile that had nothing to do with humor.
“Nothing.”
He didn’t like that. His jaw tightened.
“Here’s some advice.” He leaned closer. “You’re an inmate. You don’t get to look at anyone in this room like you matter. Understood?”
His eyes cut toward Harper when he said it. Just for a second. Just long enough.
He was flexing for her, I realized. Big alpha energy unlocked, with the misguided belief he had all the power here.
He stepped back, adjusting his belt. Turned back to Harper.
“I’ll check in later.” His voice had shifted into that of a man who knew how to sound caring when he wanted to. “Make sure you’re not working too hard.”
Harper’s smile was a masterpiece of trying to give nothing away. Refusing to let him rattle her. Refusing to give me confirmation. “Thank you, Officer.”
His footsteps echoed down the corridor as he left.
I stood there for a long moment. Clipboard in hand. Syringes uncounted.
Watching Harper until, evidently, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Knox”—her voice was sharp—“can you help me with something in exam room four?” She stood. Smoothed her scrubs. Professional. Composed.
