tall and lanky and gorgeous.
The same reaction she’d had to him the other times they’d met started stirring around inside her. The same butterflies in her stomach, the same silly breathlessness, the same surge of awareness.
What was the matter with her? This wasn’t at all like her. She just wasn’t the kind of woman to lose brain cells over a man. Especially not this man—and especially not in these circumstances.
She drew in a deep, steadying breath. He hadn’t seen her yet, she realized as she watched him stop to exchange words with one of the guards—not Richard but another she had met only a few times.
Wyatt greeted the man with a ready smile, though from here it looked as if it dimmed a little when the corrections officer produced a book from beneath the desk. From here she could see it was Wyatt’s latest bestseller. The guard wanted it signed, she realized, just like all those silly little coeds who had flocked to the lecture the other night.
She couldn’t be too derisive of them, she thought with brutal self-honesty. Not with her pulse skipping and this weak trembling in her stomach.
Wyatt signed the book with a flourish, handed it back to the guard with a polite smile, then turned to leave.
She knew exactly the moment he noticed her. Surprise flickered in those grey-green eyes and he froze for an instant, then walked toward her.
“Taylor. Ms. Bradshaw. I didn’t realize your brother had another visitor waiting. I’m sorry—I’m afraid I went a little long. I hope I didn’t take all your time.”
A few days earlier she might have given him some sharp reply about how her time was just as valuable as his, but she decided that wouldn’t be diplomatic, not if she still wanted his help.
In theory, Kate’s idea had seemed a good one. Wyatt McKinnon could be a powerful ally. His words had influence, and she had just seen more evidence that he had readers everywhere. If she wanted his help, she knew she would have to ask for it. But being confronted by the man made her tongue feel as slippery as a hooked trout.
“He’s still allowed another half hour of visitation.” She sucked in a breath for courage. “Listen, I…”
Richard cut her off. “Doc Bradshaw, you’re up. You ready to go back?”
She rose, aware as always of the time and how limited it was.
She had learned since Hunter’s arrest that life behind bars was ruled by the clock. Inmates talked of marking time, doing time, hard time. Their world revolved around the tick of each passing second.
“Look, I’ve got to go or I’ll miss my chance. Would you mind…that is, um—” she faltered. Oh, this was hard! She would rather be foxtrotting with the sweaty-palmed Troy Oppenheimer who had been the bane of her dance-class days than be forced to grovel to Wyatt McKinnon.
But she had no choice.
“Would you mind waiting for me?” she asked in a rush. “I…I need to talk to you.”
His eyebrows rose in surprise but he nodded. “Of course. I’ll be here when you come out.”
The guard led her to one of the visitor chambers. In the maximum security unit, visits were always non-contact and were carried out in individual rooms separated by a Plexiglas divider.
Hunter was already on the other side of the glass, dressed in the obligatory orange jumpsuit. His dark, wavy hair could use a trim and he had a bruise along his jawline that hadn’t been there the week before.
He looked big and mean and dangerous, and she grieved all over again for the dedicated, passionate cop he had been.
He didn’t smile when he saw her, but she thought perhaps his eyes softened a little. She wanted to believe they did, anyway, though she thought that was probably just more self-delusion.
Every time she visited him, Hunter seemed a little colder, a little more remote. Hard and brittle, like a clay sculpture left to dry too long in the broiling sun.
She was so afraid that one Tuesday she would discover nothing left of him but a crumbled pile of dust.
“What happened to your jaw?” she asked after she sat down and picked up the phone.
That jaw tightened. “Nothing. I slipped in the yard while I was shooting hoops one day.”
He was lying. She had grown up with him, had seen him butting heads with the judge during his rebellious years often enough to recognize the signs. But she also knew he would choke on his own tongue rather than tell her what really happened.
Former cops—especially homicide detectives—didn’t exactly make the most popular prison inmates. She knew there were plenty of other inmates he had helped put behind bars who probably weren’t too thrilled to have Hunter Bradshaw join them in the pen. And though he would never say anything about it, she also knew most of the guards treated him with a contempt and derision reserved for one of their rank who had gone bad.
Oh, how she hated this. She hid her sisterly concern and brought out that smile she had practiced in her car earlier, though it felt cheesier than usual.
“I ran into Wyatt McKinnon out in the visitor waiting room. How often is he coming to talk with you?”
His sigh came over the phone loud and clear. “Don’t start in on this again, Tay.”
“What? I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you have that what the hell are you thinking? look on your face.”
“You’re imagining things. Must be the lighting in here.”
“Lighting my ass. I know what you think about McKinnon.”
Don’t be so sure, she wanted to say but held her tongue.
Hunter went on. “He told me you went to see him last week. He said you asked him not to write the story.”
Okay, it had been a lousy idea. She had known it even before she went to the bookstore, but she had never been very good at inaction. When something was wrong in her world, she tried to take steps to fix it.
“It didn’t do much good, did it? He’s still here today.”
“You think I’m crazy to talk to him, don’t you.”
She thought of all her many objections to Wyatt writing a book about the case. Her biggest fear was that it would make life even harder for Hunter here behind bars.
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” she answered. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Somebody’s going to write the story. We both know it’s only a matter of time. I’m surprised nobody has done it yet. If not McKinnon, it will be someone else, and frankly, I prefer him to some of the bottom-feeders who’ve tried to get interviews with me. McKinnon talked to me a few times about other cases when I was on the job and actually quoted me correctly. From what I’ve seen of his work, I figure he’ll at least try to be fair. He cared enough to attend the trial, not just rely on court transcripts.”
“That’s true. He was there every day. I wonder why he’s just now writing the story.”
“A few reasons, I suppose. I only decided to talk to him a few months ago and I do know he had to finish another project before he could write this one.” He paused. “Today he told me he would like to talk to you. I’m sure he wants to know what it was like growing up with a vicious killer.”
“I wouldn’t know,” she shot back quickly.
Hunter’s short laugh echoed in the phone. That was why she continued these torturous visits. If she could make him laugh even once, everything was worth it.
“Will you talk to him?”
She sighed. “I already planned to. He’s waiting for me to finish up my visit.”
“Really?”