“Get up, Jamison. You got a visitor,” said Hicks, her least favorite guard.
Who? she wondered, as she had not had a visitor since Lara, and that had been more than a year ago.
Knowing it was useless to ask who, she simply nodded, picked her book off the floor, and tossed it onto her bed. So much for F. Scott Fitzgerald’s characters’ adventures, but she knew the ending, so it really didn’t matter as it was simply a means by which to pass the time, which, unfortunately, she had more than enough of.
“Hurry up. I ain’t got all day,” Hicks shouted.
Tessa nodded, held her hands out of the small opening for the wrist cuffs that connected to the shackles that would be placed around her ankles when she was out of her cell.
“You ain’t going to the public visiting area. You got some fancy-schmancy legal team here,” Hicks explained, her Southern accent heavy with sarcasm. “Must think you’re special, huh?”
Marcia Hicks was overweight and just as ugly as she was mean. More than once she had passed by Tessa’s cell with a black eye. Tessa wasn’t sure if her occasional injuries were from an inmate, another guard, or possibly from home. Nor did she really care. The woman was evil and a bully, which made her well suited for the job of prison guard.
Tessa hated it when the guards tried to antagonize her, anything to get a negative response just so they could send her to the “hole,” but to this very day, she had never allowed her emotions to control her actions. She simply nodded as if this turn of events was expected, and let Hicks lead her out of her cell.
Inside, her heart hammered like a Gatling gun. As Tessa walked down the cellblock, Hicks behind her, she kept her head lowered, focusing on the cement floor as she took one step at a time, her thoughts all over the place.
A legal team? Hicks was probably just trying to get a rise out of her. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder who’d gone to such great lengths to visit her. The few times Randall visited, they had met in the attorney-client holding room reserved for attorneys to meet with their clients, where they could have actual human contact. One couldn’t sign papers or visit with one’s attorney in the area reserved for public visitations. But they were headed in the opposite direction from the attorney-client rooms. When they reached the end of the hallway with which she was familiar, with Hicks on her heels, she stopped, waiting for Hicks to direct her to her destination.
“Left, stupid ass,” Hicks said before Tessa could ask.
Tessa took a deep breath and released it slowly. She would not allow the crude name-calling to affect her, no matter how hard it was not to do so. She turned to the left and walked down a short hallway, which ended with a utilitarian gray door inset with a small pane of wire-covered glass. She had never been to this area of the prison and had no clue what to expect when Hicks jostled her ring of keys and unlocked the door.
Hicks shoved her into the room, and Tessa stumbled, regaining her balance with the aid of an unknown hand that was offered.
When she saw the face of Sam McQuade, tears filled her eyes. Not knowing or caring why he was here, she walked toward him and wrapped her arms around him, not caring that she was being observed by strangers.
“Sam,” she said, her voice a soft whisper.
“Tessa.”
It was only seconds, but it felt much longer to Tessa when Hicks pushed her away from him. It had been so long since she had had a comforting hug; the utter completeness of the act brought back memories that she had thought were tucked away in that safe place in her mind that she rarely allowed herself to visit. A tingle down her spine settled itself in places that were off-limits to her now.
“Get your hands off her,” an unfamiliar voice said to Hicks. “And leave. You’re not needed here.”
Tessa wanted to shout “Yes!” as loud as she could but refrained, knowing what the consequences would be once this visit was over.
It was unlike Hicks not to respond with some smart-ass comment, but the horrible woman left the room without saying a word, signaling her displeasure only by slamming the door behind her. Perhaps these people had the kind of clout that even a bully like Hicks recognized could spell trouble for her if they decided to make an issue of her crude conduct. One could wish.
“Are they all like her?” the man who had spoken asked, nodding toward the door.
Tessa shook her head. “No.” Her head was spinning, wondering what was happening. It couldn’t be good; that much she was sure of. No one visited a prison to deliver good news; at least she didn’t know of anyone who’d had good news delivered this way.
“I assume you’re wondering why we are all here,” said the man with the unfamiliar voice. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a head of the blackest hair she had ever seen. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, a dark blue suit, and a pink tie, which she assumed to be in recognition of it being October, Breast Cancer Awareness Month. “I’m Lee Whitlow, and these are my associates”—he stepped out of her line of sight—“Steven Kilhefner and Bethany Young.”
Tessa extended her hand, shaking hands with these three strangers who had most likely come with devastating news, hence Sam’s appearance.
Her first thought was that Lara had either overdosed or had been killed. Just the thought caused her stomach to churn with that familiar tugging sensation that she identified as gut-wrenching fear.
Unsure of what she should do, she simply said, “Hello.” It had been a very long time since she had had occasion to display her social graces, and she
