No.
The word kept reverberating through Savannah Oliver’s mind, and not only now. It had done so for days. Even longer.
That wasn’t surprising. This couldn’t be happening.
But of course she knew it was.
She looked around the bland—yet terrifying—enclosed back area of the ugly transport van that was returning her to the Arizona Prison Complex in Phoenix. From where she sat strapped onto a bench—not particularly for her safety—with her back against the partition leading to the driver’s area, she glanced up toward the high, wire-meshed rear windows of the van. No way could she get out of the vehicle through those and onto the rural road, in the middle of nowhere, that they now traversed. The windows were too small—and besides, cuffs kept her hands shackled together behind her.
She couldn’t brush any of her hair away from her face. It was shoulder length and blond—and disheveled, she assumed, as it so often was these days. She couldn’t even secure it with one of the pretty hair clips she loved.
She couldn’t brush away any tears, either, but fortunately those had nearly stopped—though they threatened to begin again any moment.
Without meaning to, she looked down at her legs as she sat there—and nearly smiled in irony. At least she had been allowed to dress in brown slacks and a beige shirt for this outing, instead of the bright orange prison jumpsuit that was her usual attire these days. Her shoes were the same ones she wore every day now—casual black slip-ons.
She had just been in court. Not only had she been arraigned, but she had been denied bail. She would remain in prison—and not just the local jail because of the severity of her alleged crime—until her trial, and who knew when that would be?
But did it matter? Her lawyer, Ian Wright, had promised he’d try for bail, but he had warned her in advance that it was unlikely. She had already been labeled a flight risk, and the charges against her were serious. Very serious.
He had also told her that, notwithstanding the solid defense he would mount for her, she was likely to be convicted.
Now she sat on one of the few seats in this area of the van as it continued forward, attempting futilely once more to pull her hands out of the cuffs.
Wishing she had some way to get out of there, even if it involved somehow shoving open one of those windows and squeezing through. Better yet, if she could open one of the doors where the windows were located, and leap down onto the road.
Of course, she’d get badly injured, or worse.
But what could be worse than being incarcerated, possibly forever, for a crime she didn’t commit?
A crime that might not have been committed at all, since no body had been found.
She was accused of murdering her ex-husband, Zane Oliver. Good old Zane.
Horrible, disgusting, appalling Zane.
His body hadn’t been found, and she felt certain he wasn’t really dead.
No, more likely he was hanging out somewhere, laughing at setting her up this way. He’d learn about this hearing, confirm that she wasn’t permitted bail. And he’d smile and smile...
She needed to get her mind off this somehow. She needed a shoulder to cry on, but for the moment, at least, she was all alone.
Except for the driver in the cab of the van. He’d been the same one who’d driven her to court.
His name was Ari. They’d been introduced as she was led into the van at the prison and strapped in before heading to the courthouse. Not that he’d said a word to her then. He was young and skinny, with dark hair and a constant frown, dressed in a police uniform.
Of course they’d send a cop to ensure that vicious, murderous Savannah wouldn’t harm anyone else.
She cringed at the irony her own mind presented.
Outside the courthouse, all Ari had done was to open the back door and unhook her when they’d arrived. Then he’d handed her over to another uniformed cop, who had led her inside to the courtroom where her attorney waited, as did the District Attorney, Karly Fitzpatrick. She’d been shown where to sit—as if that was a surprise. Right up front, facing the judge. The procedure had gone forward, with its terrible result, not even any bail, and she had been led back outside, handcuffed again and strapped once more into this van.
Ari had acknowledged her only with a nod of his head.
But now—well, she could at least try to get his attention. She turned as much as she could to face the closed window that led into the van’s cab.
“Ari?” she called. “Ari, I know we’re still a distance from the prison, and...well, I have a bit of an emergency back here.”
She had many emergencies, but she was making up the one she would tell him about.
He didn’t respond, or at least she didn’t hear him.
“Ari, could we please stop at a gas station or something? I really need to use the restroom.”
She concentrated to hear beyond the vehicle’s rumble and the road noise beneath it in case Ari was mumbling, but she heard nothing.