Sanctuary

Or were they?

“So you see how closely our worlds are entwined?” the warden said. “I know more about you than you might have guessed. I have powerful friends who can change lives with the stroke of a pen. But you’re wondering how I know about Roman Thompson, the pedophile you killed. Am I right?”

At least the pedophile’s death in no way implicated Renee. He’d killed the man years before she’d come into his life.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” Danny said.

“Then let me refresh your memory.” The warden sat forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “The man you killed had a father. A judge named Franklin Thompson. Surely you know that much. What you can’t possibly know is that the Honorable Franklin Thompson knows more than you think he knows. He has no physical evidence, of course, you were too good for that, but he isn’t without his means.”

“So that’s what this is all about? Forcing a confession out of me?”

“No.” Pape leaned back in his chair, comfortably smug. “No, I doubt I could ever manage that. My objective is to help you see who you really are, so that you can truly repent and be whole. And to that end, I will now confess that there’s more to Peter’s story. How do you think a young man like Peter ended up in Basal?”

The facts lined up in Danny’s mind like crows on a high wire. A ghost had come out of his past to haunt him. The father of his first victim had found a way to send an innocent boy accused of rape to Basal, not to teach Peter a lesson but to destroy Danny.

They intended to push Danny to his end.

“So, now you think you know. An eye for an eye. How far will you go to protect Peter? Hmm? Me, I think you would kill again. That your vow of nonviolence is only an empty promise to appease your guilt. I intend to find out if you still have self-righteousness in you. And I promise to push until you do. Randell isn’t my wolf, Danny. You are.”

Danny let the judgment sink in, aware even as he sat across from the warden that he now faced a world of impossible choices. Already the heat of familiar rage was spreading up through his chest and face.

“How about Renee?” the warden said. “How far would you go to save your precious wife?”

Danny’s mind went dark, then brightened with panic. But he didn’t dare reveal his terror at those words. He couldn’t allow any focus to linger on Renee.

“She’s not my wife,” he said, bringing all of his resolve to mind.

“No. No, she isn’t. You’d better prove that you’ve changed, Danny. You’d better come clean and tell me everything and show me that you’re a fully rehabilitated man no longer willing to deviate from the law. Each of my children is unique, each with his own rehabilitation plan. But you’re special. You’re a man of the cloth; you should have known better.”

“Then deal with me on my own. Don’t subject Peter to punishment to teach me. Let me prove myself to you on my own terms.”

The warden drew his hand across his mouth to dry his lips. The man was still reeling from his own tragedy.

“Well, my friend, as it turns out, I’m one step ahead of you. I always will be, remember that. In this case, I’ve already had Peter transferred to the privileged wing as a sign of good faith. The boy’s suffered enough for the time being. As the good book says, ‘There’s a time for peace and there’s a time for war.’ But know that I’m watching you. If you slip—if you allow your ugly, violent nature to emerge without my express direction or permission—then it’s war. Fair enough?”

Danny hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you.”

“You see, I am a reasonable man. I only want to know that you’ve truly changed, Danny. Punishment will haunt those who do not confess their sins and embrace a new life at my mercy. Are we clear?” He stuck out his hand. “Friends?”

Danny had little choice but to take the man’s hand. “Again, thank you for showing the boy some kindness.”

“Grace, my friend. As the good book says, ‘It is through grace that you are saved.’ No need to boast, but I feel good about myself in moments like this. Don’t you?”

Danny felt a measure of relief that Peter had earned himself some peace. But he felt no connection whatsoever with the warden’s form of grace. And the warden’s earlier claim that grace was no grace at all floated like a harbinger in the back of Danny’s mind.

“Yes,” he said. “I suppose I do.”

“Good. One last thing and I’ll let you go. Like I said, I have friends, many more outside these walls than inside. Breathe a word about deep meditation to a soul, now or ever, and I will have you hunted down and killed. Am I clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He pressed the intercom. “Send Mitchell in. The prisoner’s ready.”

The gaunt facilitator with big eyes came in, restraints in hand.

“No need for chains.” Pape waved them off. “We have an understanding.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take him to the hard yard as we discussed. I’m sure the man would appreciate some exercise before lockdown.”

16

KEITH’S SUGGESTION that we go about our business as if nothing in the world was wrong was fine. I got it, I really did. If we were being watched—and we were—the reports that found their way back to Sicko would needle him, which was in and of itself a small advantage. He was obviously as interested in manipulating me as he was in achieving whatever end he hoped for.

He needed to feel his power over me, Keith said. It was why he insisted I play his game. Not rewarding him with the satisfaction of seeing me cower was our only hope of pushing him off his own game. That was probably why he was making us stew for forty-eight hours, he said. Either that or he needed the time to set up whatever awaited us.

It all made perfect sense, it really did.

It also felt impossible.

We had nearly forty-eight hours before we could go to the warehouse to learn what twisted fate awaited us, and we spent only five of them together, at Heartwell Park off of Carson Street, rehearsing every possibility and angle a dozen times, but doing it like two free-spirited hippies burning up time. Long but only a block wide, the park offered an open line of sight from either Carson or Parkcrest, and we expected to be seen lounging on benches, strolling with hands in pockets, or carelessly kicking chunks of bark along the grass, arms folded.

Under the facade, my heart refused to slow down, and my skin felt sticky. Yet with each passing hour the realization that any other course of action would only bring tragic consequences became more certain. Still, we rehearsed them all, more for Keith’s sake than mine, because I already knew what was going to happen.

We were going to play Sicko’s game. The fact was, someone certainly knew I had killed two men. And they knew Danny had killed more than two. And if they knew, they could talk. I had to get to that person, end of story. It was the only way to protect both of us.

But Keith didn’t know that. He’d suggested we play the game, but like a good lawman, his mind was always looking for the angles, the alternatives, the way out with the least amount of risk.

“For the sake of argument,” he said, “we could still involve one of my old contacts at the sheriff’s department and get him to make inquiries into Basal, just enough to put the prison on notice.”

“We’d have to assume Sicko would find out,” I said, my tingling hands stuffed in my jeans.

“There are ways—”

“Like what? Meet in the dead of night in a park like this one? We don’t know who we can trust or who’s watching. The first call into the prison would alert them that someone’s leaked something. If someone on the inside is in on this, they’ll carry out their threat.”

Keith glanced around nonchalantly, scanning for a driver or pedestrian watching us. He was always looking,