by Brenda Novak
“You’re going to get some new digs, man,” Eckland told him. “You’re being transferred. Say goodbye to all the boys.”
Tucker halted his chain-clattering stride. “Transferred where?”
“Alta Vista,” Eckland told him with a smile. “Just your kinda place.”
The only place on earth worse than here, Tucker thought as the despair that had been edging around his consciousness crept a little closer. He’d just received word from his lawyer that his appeal had been denied—again. And now this.
He’d never get out, never get his life back. At times he felt so powerless, he was tempted to pound and kick and rail at everyone and everything until they simply killed him. Then the quest to survive would finally be over. Forever.
But he couldn’t give up, wouldn’t allow himself to be such a coward…at least not until there was absolutely no hope he’d ever see his son again. The thought of how lonely Landon must be, how confused, cut Tucker to the quick; it was the only thing powerful enough to lend him the strength to keep fighting.
Tightening his jaw against the nausea caused by the throbbing in his hand, he moved on. Eckland had been poking and prodding him in the back for several seconds, but Tucker hadn’t paid him any mind. He responded only to his own internal drive. Whether or not the guards understood that, Tucker didn’t care.
“We’re gonna miss the excitement ’round here,” Eckland was saying as they made their way down the stairs. “You always put on a fine show, Tucker. Sometimes I wish I could fight like you. But I figure, why hit somebody when you can shoot ’im, eh? That’s the beauty of being a corrections officer.”
Eckland wielded nothing more than a baton most of the time and, when he acted as a member of the emergency response team, his shotgun held only birdshot, but he enjoyed the power his job afforded him. He liked baiting Tucker and some of the other inmates, but Tucker generally didn’t bother to respond. None of the guards could compare to his real demons, the ones that taunted him from inside his own head.
“Good morning.” Officer Hadley came out of the guards’ station just as they reached the outer door, but she was the last person Tucker wanted to see. She symbolized everything he’d lost—love, respectability, his wife, his child. And he couldn’t help but remember the way she’d touched him in his dreams, the kindness of her smile, the feel of her lips on his face, her hands on his chest….
“I’ve got the paperwork,” she told Eckland. Her eyes settled on Tucker and her pleasant expression immediately turned into a glower. “You’ve got him in full restraint,” she said, accusation in her voice.
“He’s dangerous,” Eckland snapped. “’Course I’ve got him in full restraint. It’s standard procedure.”
“But he can’t wear handcuffs. His hand is broken.” She took Tucker’s elbow to turn him slightly, probably to check the tightness of the bracelets, but Tucker shook her off.
“It’s fine,” he growled, because he was too vulnerable to receive any kindness right now, especially from her. The pain lent him strength, fueled his anger, and he needed that. It was all he had. “Tell me you’re not going with us.”
Her jaw dropped. “Does it matter whether I go or someone else does?”
He shrugged as though he didn’t really care, but he did. He didn’t want Officer Hadley anywhere near him. Her decency weakened him, made him yearn for the past, for a better future….
A slight frown tugged at the corners of her full mouth as she told Roddy, in the booth, to let them out. Then they were in the yard, beneath a sun so bright it nearly blinded Tucker.
A patrol car waited outside the front gate. Because he couldn’t use his hands, Tucker thought Hadley might try to help him into the back seat, but she didn’t. She stood aside while he climbed in. Eckland got behind the wheel, and she took the passenger seat. “I can see this is going to be a pleasant drive,” she muttered.
Eckland didn’t respond. Neither did Tucker. Hansen had just come out of another cell block to give him a final, mocking salute.
“We’re gonna miss ya, Tucker. Have fun in hell!” He laughed as Eckland started the car.
Tucker kept his focus straight ahead until they began to move. Then he turned to catch a final glimpse of the hundred-year-old structure where he’d spent the past six months. Painted gray with blue trim, the words Arizona State Prison emblazoned above the central arch, it looked like something out of an old Western. Never had he thought he’d call such a place home.
They went slowly down the drive, stopped for a car inspection, then continued through two fifteen-foot, chain-link fences topped with barbed wire and beyond, into a stretch of dry, packed earth. When they reached the perimeter gate, Eckland paused to speak to the guard stationed there, then turned left onto Butte Avenue, where palm trees towered on their left side and a trailer park sprawled on their right.
The fifth oldest town in the state—or so Tucker had read somewhere—the city of Florence lay in front of them. It had once been a booming silver-mining town and was later known for growing cotton, but now its economy depended on prisons. Florence boasted a pair of state prisons, three private prisons, a juvenile center and a U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service center, which meant it had to house at least twice as many inmates as the town claimed in citizens.
An unusual place, Tucker decided, one he doubted had changed much in over a century. He remembered its dusty, sun-bleached buildings from the day they’d carted him there on a bus packed with other inmates, remembered thinking that it looked more like a ghost town.
For him it was a ghost town, haunted by his own shattered hopes and dreams.
“Who’s watchin’ the baby today?” Eckland asked Hadley, breaking the silence.
“Her father.”
So Officer Hadley had a child. And a man, too, from the sounds of it. Of course she would. A woman with a smile like Hadley’s would never lack for male attention. So what was she doing working as a prison guard? What kind of husband would go along with her pursuing such a profession when she had a baby at home?
Tucker leaned forward to see if she wore a wedding ring, but his cuffed and swollen hand protested any movement, and it was difficult to see such details through the metal screen that separated the front seat from the back. He shifted to ease what he could of the throbbing just as Eckland threw Hadley a disgruntled glance.
“Are you happy now?” he asked once they were headed toward Coolidge.
Hadley didn’t look at him. “Happy about what?”
“Your little visit to the warden.”
“He tell you about that himself? Or did Hansen?”
“It’s no secret, if that’s what you mean. And it was foolish as hell.”
“I did what I thought I had to do. I don’t have to explain myself to any of you.”
“Oh, yeah? You’ve been here a week. Not long enough to know the death house from the health center, yet you’ve already been to see the warden. What you did sure didn’t help Tucker any. You like where you’re going, Tucker?” he asked. “You glad Officer Hadley here came to your rescue?”
Tucker said nothing. He’d wondered what this transfer business was all about. Now he knew. He had Hadley to thank, because she was green and idealistic enough to think she could make a difference.
He glowered at the back of her head, but he couldn’t really hold it against her. Not after she’d risked herself more than once to help him. Going to the warden had probably been the gutsiest move of all. Didn’t she know that?
“Tattling doesn’t go over very well with the boys, I gotta tell ya,” Eckland was saying.
“If you’re going to give me Hansen’s survivor speech, don’t bother,” Hadley responded. “He’s already done the honors. ‘It’s only the weak who have to worry, the young, the old, the fairer sex,”’ she said sarcastically. “Frankly, I think his material’s a little dated.”
“You should listen to him. Your life might depend on it sometime.”
Tucker heard the
subtle threat in Eckland’s voice and wondered if Hadley had picked up on it. If so, she didn’t say anything. She sat staring pensively out her window while Tucker considered the very real possibility that the guards might somehow punish her for trying to help him. The thought made something in his gut tighten, something strangely possessive and faintly reminiscent of emotions he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
GABRIELLE COULD HARDLY keep her eyes open. They’d been driving through the monotonous desert for nearly three hours and the motion of the car, as well as the hum of its tires, was lulling her to sleep. It didn’t help that Allie had woken her several times during the night. Gabrielle had been so stressed about making this trip, she couldn’t sleep well to begin with.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She just had to survive the day. Then she’d be home with David. He’d arrived late Sunday afternoon as promised and was with Allie now, which was a comfort. She knew he’d take excellent care of their daughter.
Glancing at her window, she fought the pull of sleep by studying Randall Tucker’s reflection, a habit she’d established almost from the moment they’d left the prison. She told herself she was checking to make sure he wasn’t trying to get loose, but deep down she knew she was worried about his hand. At Eckland’s insistence, Tucker still wore cuffs as well as chains. His hand had to be hurting terribly.
If so, he gave no indication. He hadn’t spoken since they’d left.
“How’s your hand?” she asked at last, turning to face him through the metal screen. Because of the way he’d acted, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask about his injuries again, but she couldn’t resist. “You okay, Mr. Tucker?”
He was gazing out the window, a hard, impenetrable expression on his face. After a moment the full intensity of his blue eyes shifted to hers. “Would it make any difference if I said no?”
Eckland chuckled, the coarse sound saying it wouldn’t, but Gabrielle ignored him.
“It might,” she said.
“You saying you’d take them off?”
“I’m saying I could loosen them.”
For a moment Tucker simply looked at her. From his tough, belligerent attitude, she doubted he’d admit to needing anything, but he surprised her with a slight nod.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” she asked.
“What do you think?” He scowled and turned back to the window.
“Pull over,” she told Eckland.
Eckland ignored her. Signaling, he switched into the fast lane to pass a slow-moving U-Haul.
“Did you hear me?” she pressed.
“I heard ya,” he answered. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna listen.”
“We should check his hand. He hasn’t been out of this car in three hours. Even an unbroken hand would hurt at this point.”
“Then let it hurt. He made his bed, and he can lie in it. That’s what I say.”
Gabrielle had expected this kind of response, but she refused to settle for it. A man was in pain because of Eckland’s petty meanness, and she planned to do something about it. “What are you going to tell them at Alta Vista when we show up with an inmate whose hand is swollen to twice its normal size?” she asked.
“I’m gonna to tell ’em he’s a mean sonuvabitch who won’t quit fightin’, that’s what. That broken hand has nothing to do with me.”
“Except for the fact that it was you who cuffed him. I’m sure it’s not going to reflect well on you when I mention that, along with the fact that there wasn’t anything wrong with his hand this morning.”
Taking his eyes from the road, Eckland gaped at her. “You know his hand was already broken!”
“I do? Too bad there isn’t a medical report to prove it.”
Eckland’s pupils narrowed into small pinpoints of black. “Are you threatening me, Officer Hadley?”
“Threatening you?” She forced a cool smile despite the tension wreaking havoc in her stomach. How had she gotten herself into this power struggle? She’d never wanted to get personally involved with the men she policed, never planned to get caught up in the kind of moral dilemma she’d been facing ever since Tucker’s fight. Like Officer Bell, she longed for nothing more than to do eight hours of work for eight hours’ pay. She had her own problems. But she couldn’t sit still any longer knowing how badly Tucker had to be hurting.
“I’m not threatening anyone,” she said. “I’m merely suggesting we pull over and loosen the prisoner’s cuffs so the staff at Alta Vista won’t be overly concerned. We wouldn’t want them to start an investigation, would we? If they find out what happened last week, a few heads are going to roll.”
“Yours will be one of ’em,” Eckland snarled.
“Mine might be the first, but I guarantee it won’t be the last,” she said softly, and she meant it. If she lost her job at the prison, there’d be nothing to stop her from going to the press with the story of Hansen’s behavior.
“I liked you when you started last week,” Eckland said, “but you haven’t done much to impress me since then. You’re treading on very thin ice, Officer Hadley. I suggest you watch your step.”
Gabrielle squared her shoulders and gave him a withering glare. “I suggest you pull over and let me loosen the prisoner’s cuffs.”
“Fine!” Nostrils flaring, Eckland slammed on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel to the right. The sudden deceleration threw Gabrielle against her shoulder harness. She glanced sideways at him to ask why he was driving so recklessly, but before she could say anything, they nearly clipped the front of a car in the other lane. Eckland overcorrected and hit the opposite shoulder, which spun them like a carnival ride and left them facing an oncoming pickup.
Brakes squealing, the truck swerved, skidded and smashed into them. The hood of their car crumpled like an accordion. Gabrielle heard Eckland scream amid the crunch of folding metal. Tucker cursed and his weight hit the back of her seat as the impact tossed the car into a nearby gully.
For a stunned moment Gabrielle sat there, breathing hard. They’d crashed. Thanks to Eckland and his giant ego, they’d nearly died. Gabrielle knew she was alive, but she wasn’t sure she was still in one piece. She did a mental checklist of her body parts, searching for pain or injury, wondering if the absence of feeling meant something worse than the presence of it. Was she in shock? Had she been paralyzed?
She wiggled her toes and fingers and found them all in working order, but her knees had hit her chest. It soon felt as if someone had flung an anvil at it.
Still, she was going to be okay, she decided. What about Eckland—and Tucker?
Eckland was groaning and complaining about his leg. Gabrielle fumbled with her seat belt, trying to free herself so she could help him when she heard Tucker’s voice behind her.
“Hadley, get these damn cuffs off.”
His hand. His poor hand. She was shaking so badly she could barely unlatch her seat belt. “Are you okay?” she asked, twisting to peer through the metal screen.
Tucker’s door was smashed in and he was doubled over. She couldn’t see anything except the thick black hair on the back of his head. “Tucker? Are you hurt?”
He groaned. “Just get these damn cuffs off.”
“No, don’t do it,” Eckland said between clenched teeth. “Just sit tight. I’ll radio for help.” He shifted, reaching for the radio, and Hadley cringed as she caught a glimpse of his torn pants and the leg beneath, which was obviously broken. She imagined she saw the bone jutting through the skin and nearly threw up. The only way they were going to get out of here was in an ambulance, she realized. They already had one broken leg. Then there was Tucker’s arm. Had he sustained further injury? Was there anything she could do to help?
“What’s wrong?” she asked Tucker again as Eckland, panting through his pain, placed their distress call. “Do you have new injuries?”
He didn’t answer.
“Leave him be! Help’s on the way,” Eckland grunted when he got off the radio.
&nbs
p; She ignored him. Help could take an hour or more. Wrenching her door open, she rushed around the car. At least Eckland was free. At least he could move, to some extent. Tucker was still chained, couldn’t use his hands or his legs.
The back door required all her strength to open and creaked loudly as she pulled it back. Hunched over, his wrists still locked in his lap, Tucker barely moved but she could see his hand. It was black and blue and so swollen she couldn’t see the metal of the cuff anymore. And his face, when he finally looked at her, showed glassy eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, fumbling with the ring on her belt for the key that would release him.
“Hadley, don’t you dare, dammit,” Eckland said, but he was in too much pain to do more than curse.
A thin sheen of sweat was popping out on Tucker’s forehead and he’d closed his eyes as though he didn’t have the strength to speak.
“I have to. I can’t stand to leave him like this,” she told Eckland, unlocking the cuffs and kicking herself for not loosening them sooner.
Tucker cradled his hand in his lap and sucked in an audible breath. For a moment, the gray tinge to his skin grew worse. Gabrielle thought he was going to pass out, but he surprised her by grabbing her forearm and pinning her beneath him.
“What are you doing? Don’t make things any worse for yourself,” she cautioned, the terror of what he could do finally dispelling the dazed confusion caused by the accident. “You heard Eckland call for help. They’ll be here soon. Just sit back and relax.”
Eckland growled Tucker’s name, threatening and swearing at him, but Tucker didn’t answer. Suddenly alert and quick-witted as a cat—and seemingly oblivious to any kind of pain—he used his left hand to search through her keys and unlock his belly chain and leg irons. Rolling over her, he held her down with one knee while he recovered the handcuffs, locked her right hand to the screen between the seats and got out of the car. Then he scanned the horizon—and started running.
