Though Amelia wanted to protest, Donovan had a valid point. Prisons across the country were notoriously overcrowded, and she didn’t have to stretch her imagination to realize the issue extended to protective custody. Inmates weren’t moved to secure locations without a valid reason. If Donovan had to pull an inmate back to gen-pop, chances were good they’d be in almost as much danger as Carlo Enrico.
Zane must have been in agreement with her thoughts because he didn’t jump in to protest as the office lapsed into silence. And he didn’t look happy, either.
The warden readjusted his glasses, offering them both a sympathetic smile. “Look, I understand what you’re saying. I really do. I go through the protective custody roster regularly to make sure the only inmates in there are the ones who need to be there. I don’t doubt that this inmate needs our protection, especially if he’s a Federal witness. But I can’t just tell the rest of the prison officials to take my word for it. They’re going to want some kind of documentation from the prosecutor.”
“Do we have any alternatives? Any other options?” The combative tinge had dissipated from Zane’s tone.
Drumming his fingers against the metal desktop, Donovan slowly shook his head. “Not many. We could move him to a different location, but that would require the same type of approval as protective custody. It’s not something we could do within minutes.”
Amelia tapped her fingertip to her lips. “Are you sure there’s not a spare broom closet you could toss him in?”
The remark was far from professional, but a hint of amusement flashed across the warden’s face, and the tension evaporated from the air. Amelia and Zane had only been at the Chicago FBI office for half a year, and she didn’t want to make an enemy of a Federal prison warden before she hit the one-year mark. She’d learned from Zane that a little levity could go a long way when it came to maintaining alliances.
“Unfortunately, no.” Donovan flattened his palms and glanced from Amelia to Zane. “I can have the COs on that floor keep a close eye on him over the next couple days, or I can order increased security around the area.”
Zane was shaking his head before the warden finished. “No. I appreciate it, but I think right now, the fewer people who know about this, the better off we are. We’ll get the U.S. Attorney’s office to push through that paperwork as soon as they can.”
“That sounds good. I’ll keep an eye out for the message.” Donovan pushed to his feet. Amelia and Zane followed suit, and the three of them made their way through the hall and back to the lobby.
After handshakes, she and Zane headed back out to the bustling Van Buren Street and then to a parking garage catty-corner to the prison. The temperature had risen since their coffee trip, and to Amelia’s chagrin, her phone advised that the high for the day was in the nineties. Again.
Groaning as she took her spot on the passenger’s side of Zane’s silver Acura, Amelia slumped down in the seat.
Closing the driver’s side door, Zane glanced at her, an eyebrow crooked in concern. “Was that about Carlo or something else?”
Amelia pulled her handbag from where she’d crammed it beneath the seat. “Both. I don’t suppose you have the Assistant U.S. Attorney saved in your favorite contacts, do you?”
His gray eyes were fixed on the windshield as he turned the key over in the ignition and pursed his lips. “Not in my favorites, no. But I might still have her number.”
Amelia did a double take. “What? I haven’t even met the prosecutor for this case yet. How is it you’ve got her number?”
As he shifted the car into reverse, Zane gave her a fleeting glance before backing out of the parking spot. “We, uh, we went on a couple dates.”
“Wait.” Amelia held up a hand. “Hold on, you what? Is that…something you can do? Are you even allowed to date the person who’s prosecuting a case you worked on?”
He thrummed his thumbs on the steering wheel, avoiding her curious stare. “We’re not dating. We went on, like, three dates, and that was a while ago. It was before we worked the Leila Jackson case.”
A pang of relief wriggled into Amelia’s thoughts, but she ignored the sentiment and all its implications. “That’s good, I guess? Does she know that she’ll be prosecuting a case you worked on?”
He nodded, but his expression was unreadable. “Yeah, she does. That’s why I know she’s the one working it, actually. She called me to tell me, and she said she’d already disclosed our past…um, relationship.” He paused, pursing his lips as they finally turned onto the busy downtown street. “Her boss, the U.S. Attorney, gave her the green light. You know, since it was a while ago, and it wasn’t really…serious.”
Though she considered Zane Palmer one of her good friends, Amelia knew very little about his dating history. Granted, they hadn’t known one another well before the Leila Jackson case, and romantic relationships weren’t a topic they often broached in casual conversation.
For good reason.
When Amelia was a teenager, she’d spent four years in a committed relationship with the son of a prominent D’Amato family capo. No one aside from Amelia’s closest family and friends knew about Alex Passarelli, and as far as she was concerned, that particular secret could stay buried for the rest of her life.
“Huh.” Amelia tapped an index finger along the doorframe, wondering how far she could press into his dating life. “I guess you guys ended on good terms, then?”
As they slowed to a stop behind a sea of morning commuters, Zane rubbed his chin. “Something like that. We weren’t
