by Loree Lough
The guy sitting at the next computer was taking a lot of razzing for the internet site he’d pulled up. Curious, O’Malley leaned slightly left to see what had prompted the coarse barbs aimed at Williamson—the least offensive of which was “sissy”—and the girl in the photo.
“Shut up, fools,” Williamson roared. “Show a little respect. That’s my sister’s kid.”
The men at Stateville were as different as the crimes that had put them here. It didn’t surprise O’Malley to see that the pierced and tattooed giant had a soft spot for musicals. Had a soft spot for his niece, too, as evidenced by his outburst.
O’Malley recognized the old broad in the photo as the costar of a Broadway play he’d taken his wife to see, decades ago. But Williamson’s niece? She reminded him of every brat he’d ever seen, smiling and posing as if she actually believed the lies her mama told about her looks and talent. He’d seen enough, and started leaning toward his own computer again. No sense calling attention to himself. A man like him had to keep a low profile.
But something stopped him. A caption under the photo that said Bonnie, with her Little Friend Alyssa. The child looked vaguely familiar. Something about the eyes, and the dainty lips. Wait…wasn’t Judson’s kid’s name something like Alyssa?
He stood, bent close to Williamson’s screen for a better look.
“Back off, pervert,” the big man snarled.
“What’s the matter, Will? Is the senator sweet on your little niece?”
A chorus of obscenities shot back and forth as O’Malley held up his hands. “I was looking at the woman. That’s Deidre O’Toole. She was a famous Broadway star, once upon a time. Took my wife to see one of her plays when—”
“What play?”
“Chicago.” Irony, he thought. Y’gotta love it.
Williamson exposed a gleaming row of gold teeth, with a diamond front and center. “Saw the movie,” he said, nodding approvingly. “My favorite part was when—”
The chaos behind them escalated, making conversation impossible. Williamson got to his feet and faced the crowd, hands balled into fists as he glared at each man in turn.
“Oh, now see there?” said one. “We done woke the monster.” But despite his bravado, the man looked a little like O’Malley felt: intimidated, and determined to hide it.
The tension was as thick as the gray-blue cloud of smoke above them. “You ain’t s’pposed to be smokin’ in here,” Williamson told them. “Go ahead. Make a fuss and give them monkeys an excuse to come in here and confiscate your cigarettes.” It was quieter when he sat back down.
Quieter, but certainly not peaceful. O’Malley had unintentionally become a pawn in the never-ending game of survival, for Williamson’s intervention had put Hank in his debt. Having a friend who was willing to go to bat for you was a good thing—on the outside. Not so in Stateville. The inmates lived by the “choose your battles well” code, and taking this skirmish to the next level wasn’t worth the price.
Yet.
O’Malley had dodged this bullet, but the war was far from over. Just last week, he’d seen a man killed for standing too close to another in the chow line. Anger, resentment, fear…mix them with a desire to appear invincible, and the will to survive, and the result was a dangerous recipe. A recipe that, consumed daily by the entire prison population, produced the expected outcome: volatility. A situation that, if not vented regularly, could produce a brutal explosion.
If he kept his head down and his back to the wall for the next day or two, some poor fool would do or say something that would put himself in the line of fire. And when that happened, O’Malley could get a message to Nigel, instructing him to contact his friends…the ones who’d hacked some of the world’s most elaborate computer systems. The big redhead might have nothing to do with the little girl in Williamson’s picture, but if her connections led him to Judson and his daughter, O’Malley could kill two birds with one shot.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“SOMEBODY NEEDS TO tell Mother Nature that it’s only November 3,” Max said, shaking snow from her hair. “It’s way too early for this Chicago-like weather!”
“Better not let Alyssa hear you. She’s lovin’ the stuff.”
Max hung her jacket on the hall tree, withdrew a fat legal envelope from an inner pocket. “Where is she?”
“Out back, trying to make a snowman.” Noah laughed. “A good lesson in coping with frustration. It’s melting as it hits the ground.”
“She’s outside? Alone?” Max felt his forehead. “Well, you don’t look delirious from fever….”
“That’s a twelve-foot fence out there—one of a hundred reasons I’m glad you didn’t stick us in a subdivision ruled by a homeowners’ association—and the gate squeals louder than a horror movie heroine.” He patted the baby monitor’s receiver clipped to his belt. “If an acorn falls, I’ll hear it.”
Max tilted her head and tucked clasped hands under her chin. “Aw, my little boy is growing up.”
“You’re a riot,” he said, and using his chin as a pointer, added, “What’s in the envelope?”
“Letters.” She handed it to him. “Thought I’d save time and deliver them myself.”
This wasn’t the first time Max had chosen to become a link in the chain of events that brought mail from his family to his door. Much as he appreciated the good intentions, Noah wasn’t comfortable with her decision. If the wrong person noticed the pattern, it could raise suspicion.
“There’s coffee in the kitchen. Care for a cup?”
“Love some,” she said, hugging herself. “It’s freezing out there.”
“Might be time to trade your cool ‘I’m a tough cop’ jacket for something more practical.”
Laughing, Max shook her head. “I’d rather suffer than look like a geeky civilian.”
They sat facing each other at the table, Max munching store-bought chocolate-chip cookies, Noah reading letters from his family. As he finished each, she picked them up and read them, too.
“I know I’ve said it before, but they seem like really great people.”
“They are. This,” he said, tapping the stack of mail, “would be a whole lot easier if they weren’t.”
He hadn’t seen any of them since that last day of the trial, when O’Malley’s deadly threat had echoed through the courtroom. Were they being honest, writing that all was well on the home front, or putting on a good show to keep him from worrying?
“What would happen if one of them got sick—or worse?”
“If you’re asking whether or not you could go back for a visit…” Max sipped her coffee, looking grim and gloomy. “Let’s just say I’d put my full powers of persuasion into talking you out of doing anything that dangerous.” She set the mug down with a clunk. “And dumb.”
He nodded. “I figured that’s what you’d say.” If he got word that something had happened to his folks, to his sister, would he stick to the WITSEC guidelines? Noah honestly didn’t know.
“If something happens to O’Malley, now that he’s in the general population, what then?”
“They bury him.” She gave an indifferent shrug. “One less convict being fed and housed by my tax dollars.”
“Yeah, yeah…but then what? Do I get to go back to Chicago? Pick up where Alyssa and I left off?”
Groaning, Max slapped a hand over her eyes. When she came out of hiding, she leaned forward, flattened both hands on the table. “Help me understand why all of you guys say that! I mean, why would you want to go back? You think people will welcome you with open arms? Put their hair up in Pollyanna pigtails and adopt a sunny forgive-and-forget outlook?” She aimed her trigger finger at him. “Trust me, there’s no forgiveness out there. None. And if you go looking for it, well, let’s just say if you think life stinks now…”
He thought she’d decided to let him finish the sentence in the privacy of his mind. He’d been wrong.
“I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking your story will have a d
ifferent ending, that the love and acceptance of your family and friends is all you need.”
Noah nodded, amazed yet again that Max had gotten into his head and pretty much put his thoughts into words.
“Well, think about this, smart guy: if you go back, Alyssa is going to find out the truth about you. Everything. Up to and including the fact that if you hadn’t made a deal with that devil O’Malley, her mom wouldn’t be dead. You think she’ll be okay with that?”
Heart hammering, Noah frowned. “Man. You don’t believe in beating around the bush, do you?”
The agent sat back, crossed her arms and drilled him with a long, hard stare.
“Look. I like you—and you should know that I don’t say that to everyone in my care. Most of the guys in your shoes are as sleazy as the people who want them dead. You’re a good guy. And a great dad. I respect that. Which is exactly why you have to understand….”
She leaned forward again, and this time gripped his wrists, hard.
“It’s like we’re a weird family. I’m the mom, you and Alyssa are my kids. Sometimes I have to say things you don’t want to hear. Make you do things—or keep you from doing things—that you don’t agree with. Because I care about what happens to you guys.”
Max let go and slumped in her chair, watching him, waiting for him to show her some sign that he got it.
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Noah began. “You’ve been good to Alyssa and me, real good. Gone way above and beyond the call of duty, all the time. No way I can repay you for all you’ve done for us. So thanks, Mom.”
Laughing, Max said, “You have no idea how ironic that is!”
He failed to see any irony in what he’d said, but Noah knew if he gave her a moment, she would explain.
“The guys at the office think I’m sweet on you. They say I treat you like a beau, treat Alyssa like she’s mine. It’s one of those damned if you do, damned if you don’t situations. If I deny it, they’ll think they’re right. If I don’t deny it, they’ll think they’re right.” She threw her hands into the air and laughed. “So thanks, son. Thanks a lot!”
They shared a moment of laughter, but Noah’s heart wasn’t in it. He saw her dilemma, and felt helpless to correct it. Yeah, this was her job, and she was professional enough to take the good with the bad. He felt guilty for adding to the latter.
“Sorry,” he said, meaning it.
But it didn’t stop him from thinking that with some serious effort and patience, he could make a go of it in Chicago…provided O’Malley was out of the picture.
“Don’t fool yourself, Preston. There’s no forgiveness and there are no guarantees, either. Even if that miserable thug is shanked by one of his own kind, you can’t be sure he hasn’t given one of his flunkies orders to find you, end you, to avenge his death.”
Yet again, she’d read his mind. He would never admit it to her, but Noah was relieved that she could.
He tried not to dwell on the sad, depressing elements of life in WITSEC. Far healthier, he thought, to focus on things he could be thankful for. Like the bike shop, which kept a roof over their heads and provided enough money to meet every physical need. They had a true friend in Max, and thanks to her diligence, they’d remained safe. If the price to pay for that was never again seeing Chicago, or those near and dear who called it home…
He’d learned to live without the accolades that were a result of his former profession. The big house. The status car. But if he hadn’t learned to live with the restrictive nature of the program by now, would he ever?
“Sometimes,” Max said, “it is what it is.”
“Now there’s an original line. Maybe I’ll have it printed on a T-shirt.”
“Sorry, somebody beat you to it.” She dunked a cookie in her coffee. “Bumper stickers, too. And if I’m not mistaken, wall posters, magnets, pencils—”
“Uncle,” he said, waving a paper napkin. “I get it.”
She wasn’t smiling when she said, “I sure hope so.” She slid a second, smaller envelope from her jacket pocket. “Because if you don’t, you will get it. Literally.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“LOOK, I WOULDN’T ask if I wasn’t desperate. Be a pal and help me out here.”
Noah couldn’t decide if Troy was serious or joking. “She’s your mom, not Godzilla. Besides, I thought your parents canceled Thanksgiving.”
“They did, but they wanted to spend a few days with us before their cruise.”
Troy looked at Billie, his hands extended. “Tell him, kid. Tell him what will happen if Mom gets here and my house still looks…” a sweep of his arm indicated the empty rooms “…like this.”
Noah glanced at her, standing in the doorway between her brother’s foyer and living room. Did she seem small and delicate because the arch was so large? Or because of the sympathetic look on her expressive face?
“He’s right,” she said. “Mom will start a one-woman campaign to fill every space with furniture.”
“And doilies and knickknacks and embroidered throw pillows. See?” Troy’s voice cracked slightly. “I really need your help, man!”
Noah had already agreed to loan him his truck. Alyssa might get a kick out of traipsing through a department store in search of bath towels, pots and pans, window coverings and bed linens, but it would bore Noah to tears.
“Alyssa can stay with me,” Billie offered, “if that’s why you’re hesitating. She can go grocery shopping with me to fill Mr. Hubbard’s cupboards.”
Troy stepped up and opened his wallet. “Here,” he said, handing her a credit card, “use that. And remember, I hate lima beans.”
Was Noah thinking about saying yes because helping a pal made his life seem more normal, or because saying no would disappoint Billie?
“You’ll watch her like a hawk, right?” He knew she would, so why had he said it?
“I’ll pretend she’s mine.”
He’d seen how she tended Bud after the operation. There wasn’t a nurse anywhere who would have doted on the man that way, and she’d done it gladly. Bud’s cat got the royal treatment, too. If Billie could treat a snaggle-toothed black cat with that much TLC… But this wasn’t an elderly neighbor or a scraggly pet they were talking about. It was Alyssa.
“Promise you won’t let her out of your sight, even for an instant.”
“I promise.” On anyone else’s face, he might have called that smile patronizing. But this was Billie, who didn’t seem to have a condescending bone in her body.
“All right. Count me in. I’ll go shopping with you.” Troy clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, man!”
Billie reached into her pocket and pulled out two pieces of paper. She handed one to Noah, then gave the other to Troy.
Troy started reading his aloud. “‘TV, computer, printer, microwave, washing machine, dryer…’” He tucked it into his shirt pocket. “When did you have time to make us lists?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just follow them.”
While Troy groaned, Billie pressed his credit card into Noah’s palm. “It’ll save time if you split up.” She pointed at his list. “If you get the little stuff while he’s choosing appliances and arranging deliveries, all the major stuff will be in place when our folks get here…the day after tomorrow.”
Noah glanced at his paper, then looked at Troy. “Persuasive for a little thing, isn’t she,” he said, pocketing it.
“You think she’s bad, just wait until you meet her mother.”
Billie waved his joke aside. “If you call the school,” she said to Noah, “I’ll pick Alyssa up and we’ll head straight to the grocery store. We’ll get things put away, and then I’ll take her to my house so she can get started on her homework.”
“So much for waiting till the weekend,” Troy muttered.
That’s pretty much what Noah had been thinking. But it wouldn’t break the bank if he closed the bike shop early. He had to hand it to Billie, though, because in a matter of minutes, she’d organize
d the shopping trip that would turn her brother’s empty house into a home. And if he knew her, she’d pitch in and organize everything they bought, too.
After he called the school to arrange Alyssa’s pickup, Billie left them to work out the final details. During the drive to the discount store, Noah tried to imagine how his daughter would react when she saw Billie arrive in his place. And how she’d look walking up and down the grocery store aisles beside her new best friend. The idea made him smile, because he could almost see them, discussing every item that ended up in the cart.
Noah and Troy parked side by side and headed into the store, where Troy veered toward the sheets and comforters section, while Noah grabbed towels, bath mats and a shower curtain. Next, he added cookware, silverware, dishes and glasses to the cart, and Troy sought out the window blinds. They paid for their purchases, carried the merchandise to the parking lot, then went back inside for a mattress and box spring.
“Billie will be disappointed,” he said, smirking as the clerk rang up the order. “She thinks our folks are staying at her place, now that I have one of my own.”
And once the clerk assured a morning delivery, they went on to the appliance aisle.
Noah focused on price and energy savings, while Troy commented on color and style. A couple shopping nearby scrutinized them and gave them a thumbs-up.
Troy snickered.
“Oh, don’t even—”
“Don’t worry. I have too many scruples to put the moves on a guy my sister’s sweet on.”
Noah decided it was quicker and easier to go along with the joke than to press Troy for details. Besides, a salesman was headed their way.
“What can I do for you today?” the man asked.
Troy pointed out the appliances he’d need, and once it was determined they were in stock, the man, whose name was Victor, started the transaction. He explained the warranties and made sure Troy knew about the next day delivery and installation charges.
“Best customer I’ve had all week,” he said while Troy signed the credit card receipt. “Almost makes me wish I wasn’t hourly. Six appliances in one sale?” He whistled and tucked the paperwork into a pamphlet-sized pocket folder.
