In an instant, a flashback flared up.
Someone striking him. Boots kicking him. His body being dragged out of a room, down a hallway of a house, and thrown off a porch onto slick mud. He hadn’t seen the attack coming. That’s how they got him. In the dead of night. While he was sleeping. Rain fell heavy, followed by a scream, a dog barking. A round erupting. Then it was gone.
“Hey. Hey!” an angry voice said.
Like that he was back, hearing Jeb hurrying over to him.
“Where is Jenna?”
“Uh.” It took a moment to snap back to the present. “In the crawl space.”
Jeb told Carol and she took off to find her.
Colby rose to his feet.
“You shouldn’t have done this! Oh God, you shouldn’t have done this,” Jeb said, staring around at the bodies, a hand going over the back of his head.
“What did you expect me to do… let them take Jenna?”
“I could have handled it. Okay! You don’t know what we’re dealing with or what the repercussions will be because of this.”
“Yeah, well how about you tell me?” He kicked the dead guy. “He mentioned someone called Spider. Who is he?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“It’s him, isn’t it? The one with the tattoo.”
Jeb nodded.
“So you do know him. Take me to him.”
Jeb shook his head, looking down at the man. “No. I can’t do that.”
Colby frowned. “Why not? And why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”
There was a pause.
“Huh? Jeb!”
Jeb snapped out of his trance-like state, lifting his eyes to him.
“Because he’s my son.”
FIVE Dan Wilder
Humboldt, California
Humboldt County Correctional Facility was a hellhole. Overcrowding had been an issue for decades. Every jail in the country suffered from it, and his county was no exception. Throw in the fear of a virus spreading and the CDCR had found a way to begin doing early release of prisoners.
He planned to use that loophole.
Entering the facility that morning, he walked by inmates who scowled.
Even though there would always be those who acted tough and said doing time was a walk in the park because they were indoors and being fed three times a day, he knew that was a façade — the truth was most couldn’t wait to get out. He knew Nancy Strickland fell into that category and he would use that to his advantage.
Dan shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he waited at a table in the visiting area. He heard the clanging of jail cells, the angry sounds of women kicking and pounding on cell doors inside the six-story facility. It was horrendous. No one could get used to this, especially his correctional officers who had to put up with it for 12 hours a day.
The jail was full of everyone from public drunks through to murderers.
Two generators had been allocated to the prison to keep certain aspects of the place running but he knew it wouldn’t last. The responsibility of what they would do with the inmates weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Dan drummed his fingers on the table, his thoughts circling between his wife and what was on the agenda for the day. He glanced up at the sound of someone entering.
Nancy was strong-armed into the room by a deputy. She wore handcuffs and dark attire with a white T-shirt. A smug grin spread when she entered.
Dan swallowed his nervousness, trying to remain composed, professional.
At thirty-three, Nancy looked twice her age, with wiry hair pulled back, dark bags under her eyes, and pitted skin that had been destroyed by meth. Unlike many of her kin, marijuana wasn’t her choice. Heck, it might have done her good. No, she’d gotten hooked on the hard stuff. It was sad to see as he remembered how attractive she looked in her early teens, long before life had gotten its hands on her and dragged her down.
“Dan Wilder. Should I call you sheriff? Congratulations,” she said, taking a seat across from him. A waft of bad odor hit him and he turned his nose away to avoid gagging. If what he had in mind was to work, he had to go out on a limb.
“You look well, Nancy.”
She snorted, an expression of disbelief. Her eyes scanned the room.
He pointed to the items before her. “I brought you some coffee and cigarettes.”
He slid them closer. The deputy stood nearby, observing, mindful, ready to step in. “Uncuff her.”
“You sure?”
“Go on.”
The lock clinked, and Nancy rubbed her wrists.
Her eyebrows shot up as she removed a cancer stick and stuck it in her lips.
“Wow. Don’t I feel special,” she said sarcastically. “Do I get a conjugal visit too?”
“Not today.”
“No, you leave it to these assholes,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “While you look the other way.”
Dan said nothing. The personal jab. The attack on his character. The desire to bring him down a few pegs before they got started, he’d expected it.
Hands clasped together in front of him, he waited as she lit the end, inhaled, and blew a cloud out her nostrils. All the while she studied him.
“So, how are you, Nancy? Still working in the kitchen?”
She tapped ash into an ashtray and nodded, studying him. Her gaze made him feel uncomfortable. She was the back-line cook, making all the meals for inmates. Many inside wanted to be on kitchen duty. It was a coveted position because it allowed them to have as much coffee as they wanted, and as caffeine was the only drug permitted in there, most took advantage of it.
“How many work under you?”
She chuckled. “You didn’t come down here to talk about that, so how about we sidestep the pretentious bullshit and get to the point? What do you want,
