sent, she was out of options. Left to fend for herself, knowing that sooner or later Griggs would try something. His threats weren’t idle, neither was his nastiness, so… uh-huh. It was a no-brainer. The oily guard was slick with an extra helping of smart. If he wanted her dead, she’d end up that way.
Ice-cold. Toes pointed up. Laid out on a slab in the hospital morgue.
Wiping her sweaty palms on the blanket, she ran through alternatives. Death by strangulation. Murder by pillow suffocation. Overdose via whatever drug he could find. All were distinct possibilities with Griggs in the mix. Her heart picked up a beat, then another, rushing blood through her veins. The accompanying thump-thump made her chest ache as she glanced at her IV. Curled at the edges, strips of medical tape held the shunt in place, presenting the perfect delivery system…
For the perfect murder.
Quick. Easy. Diabolical tied up with a neat bow.
Griggs’s methods left no room for doubt. None for error either. He’d make sure of it, leaving the ME to draw one of two conclusions: accidental death or natural causes.
Bad luck for her. Even worse for Tania.
Please, God, let her sister pick up the text message.
Closing her eyes for a moment, J.?J. asked for extra reassurance and sent a prayer heavenward. As she bargained with God, pleading for a way out, her heart throbbed so hard an answering ache opened behind her breastbone. A terrible pang trailed in its wake and emotion swelled, spilling through the cracks in her defenses. Tears—the ones she’d fought so hard not to shed—pooled behind her eyelids, and she promised to be a better person, to pray more often, to attend church, if only He would grant her this one favor.
Just one. It wasn’t too much to ask… was it?
Licking the cut on her bottom lip, J.?J. glanced toward the bank of windows. Pushed wide, plain curtains framed the skyline. City lights glittered, jewel-like and beautiful, making Seattle look like a postcard picture taken at midnight. Her focus strayed to the digital clock sitting on her bedside table—11:57 P.M. Not bad. A mere three minutes off and a pretty good guess, considering she hadn’t seen the night sky in a while.
In almost five years to be exact.
Lockdown inside the prison always happened before dark. And the narrow window in her cell had never satisfied her love of stargazing. Not that she could indulge in her favorite pastime tonight. Or get distracted by the music rising from that secret place inside her. Soulful and restrained, the melody crooned, tempting her to flesh it out, find the beat, create the lyrics, give it life, and follow her bliss. J.?J. shoved temptation aside. Composing a song while admiring the constellations wasn’t going to happen.
Not right now. Perhaps never again if Griggs made his move before—
“Ready for another adventure, Jamison Jordan?”
Touched by a light accent, the rich baritone jabbed at her.
J.?J.’s attention snapped toward the door. The sudden movement sent her brain sideways inside her skull. Her eyesight warped, washing out into streaks. She blinked to clear the visual interference. No such luck. The painkillers were mucking with her ability to focus. She tried anyway, squinting hard. A squeak-squawk echoed, laying down an audio track, joining the rumble of male voices in the hall and the soft call of the PA system. A moment later, a man appeared through the blur. Her vision cleared. A dark-blue gaze met hers. J.?J. cursed under her breath.
Ah, crap. Not him again.
But despite the ferocity of her denial, her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Goth Guy was back, pushing a wheelchair this time.
“Go away.” She scowled at him, warning him with a look. If he came anywhere near her, she’d smack him. Just wind up and let her fist fly. No way she wanted to go round two with his particular brand of crazy… and get sick again. Too bad her glare didn’t do the trick. Despite the load of nasty she threw in his direction, he kept coming, long legs eating the distance between them. Her eyes narrowed on him. “I mean it. Stay away from me.”
“Now, now…” His nose stud sparkled in the low light. The one piercing his eyebrow took up the cause, flashing in answer. He grinned at her. She glowered back, more determined than ever to hold the line. The wheelchair wasn’t a good sign. It signaled big trouble, the kind that would see her speeding down a hospital corridor with him in the driver’s seat. Oh, so not advisable. Her stomach couldn’t take the fallout. Ignoring her unmistakable “screw off, buddy,” he abandoned the wheelchair at the end of her bed. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”
“Friend?” Her gaze landed on the spider tattoo on the side of his neck. Precise black lines spread in a web over his skin, creating a nest for the red spider, which… good God, looked so lifelike it freaked her out a little. “Yeah, right. You almost killed me last time.”
Stopping alongside her, he threw her an amused glance. “Exaggerate much?”
“You made me sick. I puked… nearly popped my stitches because of you.”
“Sure you did,” he murmured, his attention on the IV embedded in the back of her hand. His mouth curved. She went on high alert. Whatever his agenda, it couldn’t be good. He was too intent. Way beyond focused. Fingering the plastic tube connecting her to the cocktail of drugs, saline solution, and antibiotics, he shook his head. “You look fine to me.”
Suspicion took a nasty turn, raising her internal alarm system another notch. Something about him was, well… all wrong. Not that she could put her finger on the reason. Logic didn’t hold sway. Rooted in intuition, her reaction might not make sense, but it was justified.
Shifting with unease, she fisted her free hand. Just in case. She really didn’t want to punch him, but she would… if he made her. “What do you want? Does Ashford know you’re here?”
He ignored the question and, leaning in, examined her IV. Frowning, he studied the jut-out used to inject drugs into the tube. Instinct screamed a warning. He withdrew a syringe from his breast pocket and popped the top off. Air stalled in J.?J.’s throat. She shook her head, her voice on temporary lockdown. Oh God. She couldn’t scream, and as her heartbeat ramped into apocalyptic territory, J.?J. watched him raise his hand.
He inserted the needle into the mouth of the tube.
“Oh my God… stop. Stop it!” Horror punched through, mixing with terror. Slow on the uptake, she reached for his arm. “What are you doing?”
He depressed the plunger, pushing God only knew what into her IV, then glanced at her sideways. A strange shimmer gathered in his gaze. “Giving you more juice.”
“Don’t!” She fought the handcuffs. Steel banged against metal. The clang reverberated, sounding hellish in the quiet. “You’ll—”
“I’m not gonna kill you.”
Sure. Right. Like she trusted him to tell the truth? A murderer, after all, never warned his intended victim. Oh God.
A knowing glint entered his eyes. “Don’t bother. Save your energy. No one can hear you.”
Bullshit. The guards stood fifteen feet away. They’d hear her—so would Ashford if she yelled loud enough —and come running. Opening her mouth, J.?J. filled her lungs. Her rib cage expanded. Agony drove a spike into her side.
Ignoring the pain, she let loose. “Help! Somebody… help me!”
Nothing happened. No sudden flap of movement. No shift or glance in her direction. Nothing but business as usual as Griggs laughed at something the other guard said.
A chill snaked across the back of her hand. Oh no… the drug was on the move, headed straight into her vein. Frantic now, she moved her left arm toward her right. Her hand might be cuffed, but that didn’t mean she was powerless. She must pull the shunt out. Get rid of the IV before—
“Stubborn female.” With a quickness that defied description, Goth Guy reached out. He shackled her free hand, preventing her from ripping the needle out. “Relax. You need the extra hit. It’s not safe for you here, so I need to move you. The Demerol will keep you comfortable for the duration.”
Fighting his grip, she screamed again. He held firm, watching her panic with an impassive expression. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, making his face waver into a blur.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his tone soothing. “It’s the only way. Had you not sent that text message…” A
