The worst was over. After jumping through all the security hoops, she’d arrived in the vast visiting room. Wyatt had authorized her visit. There was no reason to believe that he wouldn’t show up. Yet, her nerves wouldn’t stay still.
Shyla, along with all the other visitors, sat waiting for the inmates to be brought in. The whole experience was disorientating. Wyatt was practically at her table by the time she noticed him. His hesitation suggested he wasn’t wholly sure it was her, and she knew where he was coming from.
Years had passed since they’d seen each other. The man peering at her was more weathered than her brother, harder, and his hair was longer. Still, when their eyes met and he smiled, she saw the kid from her childhood.
“Shit,” he said, coming to the table.
Shyla leaped up and accepted his hug. Her brother had never been the tactile sort. But as they stood there hugging, she wondered how long it had been since he’d experienced any kind of affection. That was on her. The guilt hit hard.
He released her and they both sat down. An awkward kind of air settled between them. She couldn’t look at him, so instead fixated on her fidgeting fingers.
Wyatt startled her by laying his hand on hers, stalling the fiddling. “What’s up, sis?”
The concern in his tone was undeserved. Raising her attention to steal a look his way, Shyla found it written all over his face.
“Thank you,” she said. Sitting there in silence until the guards kicked her out wouldn’t do either of them any favors. “For agreeing to see me.”
“Gotta say I was surprised,” he said, his hand sliding away from hers as he leaned back on his stool. “Never expected to see you again.”
Which was her fault. Score had offered a reminder of her brother when she declared herself without family. Needing a reminder that he existed was habit. A terrible habit. Overlooking Wyatt was her custom. She’d been neglecting him for too long. More guilt chewed at her.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve come to see you… I should’ve made the effort.”
“Why?” he asked. “I made my choices. What I did put me here. This isn’t the kind of place for someone like you.”
“Someone like me,” she murmured. “An innocent child.”
“Well, you’re no child… Where you based now? You married with twenty kids already?”
Her grandfather had written to Wyatt, though Shyla didn’t know how often she was a subject of those letters.
“You can’t have much left of your sentence,” she said, deflecting. “You’ve been in here a long time.”
“Okay, you don’t want to answer questions, I get that. Your life is your business. But you didn’t come here to talk about prison. What do you need?”
“Advice,” she said, making eye contact.
“ ‘Bout?” When she hesitated, he straightened and sucked in a breath. “Drugs are bad, booze has a lot to answer for, and it’s true, guys are only after one thing… I can keep going throwing the random shit out there. Be quicker if you just tell me what’s going on? You didn’t come to me for scrapbooking tips or Great Auntie Whoever’s meatloaf recipe. I’m probably the last person you’d come to unless you were out of options… So, what do you need a brother or a con?”
The question highlighted her selfish behavior. Wyatt didn’t put it in that way, but what he did say told her a lot about his belief in his worth to her.
“Both,” she admitted. He raised his brows to prompt her. Her focus fell to her fingers linking and releasing. “There’s this guy…”
“Murder isn’t my gig, but I can hook you up.”
Shock raised her chin. Shyla couldn’t even tell if he was being serious or making a joke, which was probably deliberate on his part. A life of crime must have taught him to keep things ambiguous. In a court, he’d want to be able to deny wrongdoing or claim anything over the line was a joke.
Considering that he might suspect her of being duplicitous, Shyla figured the best way to reassure him was to lay out her own shady connections.
Leaning closer, she flattened both hands on the table. “You know the McDades?” she asked, lowering her volume.
He pushed out his lower lip and shook his head. “They from the old neighborhood? Don’t exactly get back much. Oh, wait, were they the ones on the corner with that weird tree in their yard. That kid was into you.”
Shyla didn’t know who he was talking about, but it didn’t matter.
She shook her head. “Not those McDades, the McDades. You heard of Score McDade on—”
“Death row in Texas,” he said, bobbing his head. “What about him?”
“He’s not on death row anymore.”
“Yeah, I know the story. This is the kinda place news like that gets a lot of guys excited. So, what is it? You want to write a book or something? Stan will fucking love that.”
“Stan’s dead,” she said, remembering the letter she’d written him after Bernard died.
“Shit,” he said, sliding his hands toward each other. “When?”
“Month ago.”
It had been longer than that, but specifics were irrelevant. Looking back at everything that had happened since then, it felt more like a year.
“Sorry, sis, I know you were close.” Yeah, they were. To deny she’d ever missed that simpler life, especially over the last eight days, would be a lie. “What’s that got to do with this McDade? I’m surprised you even know about the McDades.”
Before going to work for Score, they hadn’t been more than a name to her.
“I, uh… Phoenix and I…”
“Phoenix?” he said, wearing a frown.
“Score… Phoenix is his real name.”
“Huh, don’t know if
