From my angle, I saw a cartoon boy with a big smile holding his arms out like he wanted a hug. Thatcher opened the card. His face went slack, then actually seemed to pale a little. He turned the card over, looked inside again, repeated that three times, as if searching for the punch line.
His gray eyes burned with fury when he pinned me with them. “Is this some sort of joke?”
“No,” I replied with far more sympathy than I intended.
“Coincidence?” The heartbreak in his voice startled me into taking a step closer, even though a thick pane of glass separated us.
“I don’t like the word
He noticed he’d crumpled the card, and frantically smoothed it out against his thigh, shaking his head the whole time like he could wish away the terrible truth—that his son was alive and was taunting him from afar. But the taunting confused even me. Why bother now? Because Landon had finally been caught and identified?
“Landon’s alive,” he said quietly, voice rough with emotion. Like he had to say the words to make himself believe them.
“Alive and in some pretty serious trouble,” Ethan said.
Thatcher’s expression went sharp, almost fierce. “What kind of trouble?”
Ethan explained everything we hadn’t told him yesterday, starting with a recap of the other burglaries, straight to how we connected the dots—even though Warden Hudson was right outside. The one nice thing about Hudson, though, was his loyalty to the prisoners in Manhattan. He truly wanted what was best for everyone involved, and I didn’t imagine he’d call the PA police and tell them we were withholding. Not that Ethan mentioned we hadn’t filled in the cops—he was smarter than that.
“So you think someone’s putting him up to this?” Thatcher asked. “Sending him out to steal from these warehouses?”
“It’s our working theory, yes,” Ethan replied. “The real challenge is finding him. He hasn’t contacted us, but he’s contacted you, and pretty damned directly.”
“He knows who I am.”
Thatcher scowled. “More direct mail?”
“Possibly.” Or even more directly than that. I glanced at the observation window, and I hoped Teresa was thinking the same as me. I couldn’t believe my brain was even entertaining the idea, but if a bee is attracted to a certain flower, it makes sense to keep that flower around if you want to harvest some honey.
“Hang on a minute,” I said, then left our side of the interrogation room.
Teresa was waiting outside, Hudson next to her, and they both looked like they’d already been discussing something.
“Thatcher might be our best shot at getting to Landon,” I said.
“I agree,” Teresa said.
“As do I,” Hudson said, “but you’re asking me to take a huge risk here, Trance.”
I raised my eyebrows at Teresa, amazed she’d already updated Hudson and asked for his cooperation.
“I understand it’s a risk, Warden,” she said. “But Thatcher hasn’t had any incidents since he returned to the Warren. He’s been cooperative with us. And he also stands the best chance of leading us to Landon and his accomplice.”
“If I grant a conditional release, he’ll be your responsibility.”
“I understand.”
“What if he doesn’t want to help?” I asked.
Hudson frowned as though the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. “It’s voluntary, of course. He’ll have to wear an ankle monitoring bracelet, and I insist he’s supervised at all times whenever he’s not within the walls of your headquarters.”
“Agreed,” Teresa said. “Flex, would you like to do the honors?”
I went back into the interrogation room. Ethan was waiting patiently with one arm leaning against the glass partition. On the other side, Thatcher had slumped into the room’s only chair. He was staring down at the card in his hands and looked up when I tapped my fingers on the glass.
“I have an offer for you,” I said, “and Warden Hudson has already agreed.”
“Go on,” Thatcher said.
“A conditional release, to help us track down Landon and whoever he’s working with.” Thatcher’s eyebrows jumped with surprise. He didn’t say anything, though, so I continued. “You’ll wear an ankle monitor, and you’ll be with one of us at all times whenever you aren’t in our headquarters building.”
“Who’s one of us?”
“Trance, me, Onyx, take your pick. We’ll play this by—”
“You or Ethan. If I’m to have handlers, I want them to be you two. That’s my condition.”
I stared at him, confused. “Why?”
“Because I know and trust Ethan. He won’t bullshit me.”
“And me?”
He leveled an intense look at me, his exact thoughts impossible to guess. “Your eyes. Because you look like you have something to prove.”
“Do you think I’ll bullshit you?”
“I think I’ll know if you do.”
“And how’s that?”
He didn’t answer, and Ethan gave no objection. “Fine,” I said to Thatcher. “Ethan and I are your official babysitters.”
“Fabulous.”
I blinked.
While the paperwork for Derek’s release was being approved, he was examined (for what, I don’t know), given new clothes (his were looking a bit worn), and fitted with an ankle monitor. Ethan and I were each given a remote for that monitor—if the strap was cut, or if it was removed from his skin for longer than ten seconds, we’d know. And so would Warden Hudson.
Unlike the collars all of the prisoners had once worn around their necks, these ankle monitors didn’t come complete with an electroshock unit that would render him unconscious with the press of a button. If he tried to run, we’d have to chase him. And if he succeeded, our asses could end up taking his place in Manhattan. Ethan and Teresa seemed confident he wouldn’t run. I wasn’t so sure.
And that uncertainty meant I shouldn’t have agreed to be his handler, right? Don’t ask why I said yes, because I couldn’t tell you.
Ethan, Teresa, and I were waiting in the barren lobby when Thatcher was escorted down by two guards. He looked positively normal in his khaki pants and blue short-sleeved polo. He’d even shaved, which took a few years off his appearance. I found myself looking a little too long and turned away.
Teresa led the way. Thatcher followed, with Ethan and me bringing up the rear. At the exterior gate, Thatcher froze. He looked up at the guard towers as though expecting a stray shot, and in his profile I saw a small degree of fear. I saw a grown man whose entire world had been contained by a few hundred square blocks for the last fifteen years. I saw someone who’d been fucked over by others enough times to not quite trust his release.
I took a step closer. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “You’re with us now.”
He twisted his head and looked at me with wide-eyed disbelief. “It’s been so long.”
“One foot in front of the other. Everything else will sort itself out.”
Gratitude bled into his expression. He nodded, then went through the gate. As we walked to the puddle- jumper, Ethan elbowed me in the ribs. I shot him a poisonous glare.
Thatcher experienced each step with the wonderment of a kid entering his first theme park. He gripped the
