Pitch Black (31 page)

“You do know we have a dress code for a reason,” he said, not acknowledging her greeting. He frowned as he stared at the length of her skirt. Though what she wore was perfectly acceptable for a party, it wasn’t for a prison, where women’s skirts, if she recalled correctly, had to reach the knee. “Many of these men are unused to the presence of females. We prefer to keep them docile, and having a young woman in the area is difficult enough without adding provocative attire to the mixture.”

Her face flushed hot. Sam hadn’t been called out on her clothes since she was a teenager and her mom wouldn’t let her wear a pair of jeans with one of the ass pockets torn down at the corner. She kept her cool, though, saying, “I apologize. I forgot about the dress code.”

“We won’t be seen by any of the general population,” Alec said, stepping close, lending silent support, as if he read her embarrassment. “Maybe she could leave her coat on?”

The older man didn’t unbend. “Coats are against regulations, too. I don’t make the rules, the state does, but in this case, I agree with them. It is an issue of safety—of the inmates, my men, and you, ma’am.”

Alec pulled out his badge, which he’d just tucked away after showing it to the checkpoint guards. “Mrs. Dalton is assisting me with an investigation, Warden, and I really need her help. Can you not make some type of accommodation here? Search the coat thoroughly, perhaps, and let her keep it on? I assume the prohibition is because of the fear of weapons?”

Warden Connolly held Alec’s gaze, and for a second, she thought he would refuse. How embarrassing would that be, sent out to wait in the car like a recalcitrant child because her damn skirt was two inches too short?

Finally, the man let out an annoyed sign. “Very well. If it truly is urgent.” He gave a quick nod to one of his men. The guard patted down Sam’s coat, put his hands in the pockets, felt the lining, then handed it back to her.

“Please do keep buttoned up. It is difficult enough to keep these animals in check,” the warden said. “I do not want any trouble because one of them loses his head over a nicely turned leg. They’ve preyed on society enough on the outside. I won’t allow them to cause any disruptions in here.”

Harsh. Obviously the guy took his job seriously. “I understand,” Sam said, feeling as small as she ever had. She vowed to go through her closet just as soon as she got to return home.

“Good.” The man spun away with a few crisply issued orders and a nod at his guards.

Once he was gone, Alec leaned close to murmur, “I’m sorry about the clothes.”

She buttoned the coat from neck to thigh, knowing she’d be a sweaty mess within minutes, but not about to get tossed on her ear for not obeying the rules. “It’s okay.”

Once she was suitably concealed, they were led to a private interview room. Her previous meeting with Flynt had taken place in a regular visitors’ area, thick Plexiglas separating her from the man. This was different, a private room used for law enforcement, obviously meant for interrogation rather than personal inmate visits.

It hadn’t occurred to her that there would be no barrier between her and the criminal they’d come to see. She didn’t worry for her own physical safety. First because Jimmy hadn’t been incarcerated for doing violence; he was here for being a damned thief. And second, because even if an armed guard hadn’t walked inside and stayed with them, she knew Alec would never let Flynt lay a hand on her.

But the situation promised to be an uncomfortable one. As Alec had said, she was setting herself out as bait for someone she detested. She suddenly found herself glad for the strict dress code, knowing how unpleasant it would have been to sit here in her tight clothes and be ogled by the creep. Not to mention counterproductive, since Alec would never have stood for it.

She was especially glad when Jimmy entered the room, led by another guard, accompanied by his attorney. In his orange jumpsuit, with his hands chained together, he still managed to smile like a host greeting a guest at an exclusive party. “Samantha,” he exclaimed, stepping closer, as if he fully intended to greet her with a warm hug. “Happy birthday!”

Her birthday. God, she’d totally forgotten.

The guard put a stop to Jimmy’s attempted contact, even as Alec stepped in front of her, giving her a quick it’s-your-birthday-and-you-didn’t-tell-me? look. Sam offered him an apologetic shrug, then got back to the reason for their visit.

“Hello, Jimmy,” she said, trying to sound pleasant, and also trying to hide her shock at his appearance.

The last time she had come here, Flynt had looked like a healthy, middle-aged man, with thick dark hair, robust features, and an inmate’s weight-lifting physique.

This Flynt was much different. So visibly unhealthy, she felt a stab of sorrow for him.

He had lost at least fifty pounds. His loose, baggy skin hung from protruding bones. Dark circles surrounded his milky eyes, and his cheeks held red blotches and tiny scabs, as if he was too easily cut while shaving. His hair had thinned and was now salted with gray, and he moved slowly, like an old man.

She noticed the slight yellow tinge of his skin right before he said, “I got the hep C. Trashed my liver. Didn’t want to worry you, so I didn’t put anything about it in my letters.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

He shrugged. “Not like livin’ in here is so great I’m gonna miss it.”

“There’s nothing—”

“I guess convicted felons don’t shoot right up to the top of the transplant list.”

She disliked this man, hated everything he had done and all he represented, but Sam almost wished she could reach out and touch his hand, offer a moment of human warmth. Dying in this place was a harsh punishment, even for all his crimes.

“Hello, Mrs. Dalton, nice to see you again,” said the attorney, extending his hand.

“Mr. Carter,” she said with a smile. The fiftyish lawyer, who was well-known and highly successful in Baltimore, had been very helpful when she’d been working on her book. He had even made himself available to answer her questions long after the prison interview, insisting on the privilege of taking her to lunch to do so. Recently widowed, he had seemed rather lonely.

“Have you been getting my letters?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes.” She hadn’t opened those letters, not in a long time. Not since the one when Jimmy had claimed he’d taken vengeance on her behalf.

“Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Flynt.” Alec stepped into the line of sight between Sam and the convict. “I’m Special Agent Lambert. Why don’t we sit down?”

Jimmy shuffled to the side to peer around Alec. “You doing all right?”

Sam nodded briefly, then gestured toward the table and chairs. Once they were all seated, Alec tried again to engage Flynt in conversation. “As you might have been told, I’m interested in talking to you about your past. We’re not trying, in any way, to implicate you further. We’re just hoping some of your knowledge could assist us in future investigations.”

Flynt didn’t even glance at him. “Aren’t you hot in that coat, Samantha?”

Sam shifted on the hard chair. Yes, she was hot. She could feel a line of fine sweat on her upper lip and along her hairline. The room was already warm, and the bright overhead lights didn’t help. Despite that, she managed a smile. “I’m fine, thanks.”

Alec leaned over the table. “Mr. Flynt—”

“You don’t look fine. You should take it off.”

“Jimmy, look,” Sam said, feeling Alec’s impatience, “I really would appreciate it if you’d talk to Agent Lambert. He came here today specifically on my recommendation.”

The convict’s rheumy eyes widened in pleasure. Knowing how his mind worked, she imagined he was building up quite a scenario about how impressed she must be by him. Flynt might have stolen millions, but at heart he was still a petty crook. He just used computers as his weapons, rather than standard burglary tools.

“I would consider it another personal favor if you’d help him out.” Swallowing her own revulsion, she added, “You know, because of my family background.”

Jimmy’s quick, indrawn breath said he’d taken that exactly the way she’d intended him to—as an acknowledgment that she believed he had already done her a favor. A big one.

“You’re welcome.” He cast a quick glance at his attorney. “This is all off the record, right? Nothing I say can be used against me?”

Carter confirmed as much with Alec, then nodded once. “You’re free to speak.”

“Good.” His thin, bony hands twisted together on the table and he said, “Course, it probably wouldn’t matter, even if you could use it against me. I’ll be dead long before anybody can convict me of shivving another inmate.” His eyes gleamed as he added, “It was worth it, Samantha, for what him and the others did to you and your poor grandma. I never preyed on old folks, never stole a dime from somebody who couldn’t afford it.”

She doubted that. What she didn’t doubt, however, was the passion in Jimmy’s voice. This didn’t seem like the BS line she had expected from the man. It sounded, in fact, as if he almost believed every word he was saying.

Sam’s breaths quickened, coming from a shallow place in her lungs, and her head suddenly seemed a little light. The heat, probably.

But maybe more. For the first time, she wondered if there was a kernel of truth in Jimmy Flynt’s story. If he really had found one of the nameless, faceless men she’d hated for so long, and done something to him.

Was it possible?

“He was a bad man,” Jimmy said, as if knowing what she was thinking. “Tried to deny it, but I knew the truth about what he did to your grandma, wiping out her retirement and all.”

The room spun, and she clutched the edge of the table to keep herself grounded. Yes, Sam had given interviews when the book came out, and had touched on a personal, family reason for her actions. But the details Flynt provided weren’t something that would be easy for him to find out, especially not while incarcerated, legally prohibited from going near a computer.

“He won’t be stealin’ some other old lady blind, driving her to a heart attack, ever again.”

Sam rose to her feet, unsteady though they were. How could he know that? Unless it was true. Unless this other thief had realized one of the victims he’d scammed had died during the height of the torment. She swayed a little.

“Sam!” Alec leaped up beside her, and, across the table, Flynt and his lawyer did, too.

Alec slid a steadying arm around her waist. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she whispered. Closing her eyes, she wiped the back of her hand across her brow, feeling the moisture there, using it as an excuse to cover her shock. “I’m just hot. I need to step outside and cool off.”

“Take her coat off her,” Jimmy snapped.

Alec ignored him and led her to the door. The guard immediately opened it. But before she stepped out, Sam knew she had to do something or the interview would be over before it began. The minute she left, Jimmy would lose his reason for cooperating.

Yet she couldn’t stay. She just couldn’t.

Swallowing, she forced a small smile and looked over her shoulder at the man. “I’m fine, really. It’s my own fault; I can’t take my coat off because I forgot about the dress code.”

His mouth rounded into an O, as if he imagined she was wearing nothing but a bikini under the coat.

Swallowing a grimace, she continued. “Jimmy, I need to get outside, but please, can you just try to help Agent Lambert here, as a personal favor to me? It’s very important to me, and I’d be
forever
in your debt.”

The inmate’s sallow face split into a broad smile, and his sunken eyes almost sparkled. All because he was going to get to do her another favor. Something personal. Something he thought would make her like him?

God, if she didn’t feel ready to faint, she’d probably burst into tears. Confused by her conflicting feelings of revulsion and sorrow, horror and gratitude toward the man, she didn’t know how she was going to get past them.

So she did the only thing she could. Even without a confirmation that the inmate would do as she asked, or that Alec would get his interview, Sam pushed out of the room, leaving Jimmy Flynt and his pathetic existence behind her.

Wyatt Blackstone
was not a prideful man. Yet if he ever did think about his one personality trait of which he could be proud, it was his ability to remain fully in charge of his emotions.

He’d seen as a young child the horror that ensued when someone reacted from a place of anger, jealousy, or resentment. Having firsthand knowledge of the dangers of being a slave to feelings, he never allowed emotion to do a job meant for intellect. Even when he’d been targeted by people he had once admired, he’d somehow managed to restrain himself and face his colossal career crisis impassively. At least in the daylight hours, when anyone else could bear witness.

None of that, however, could prevent the hard kernel of pure anger deep inside him from taking root and growing with every word Special Agent Tom Anspaugh spoke.

“What do you mean, you’re taking Agent Fletcher to Williamsburg for a sting operation tonight?” he asked, managing somehow to keep his voice calm and evenly modulated. Though, if the agent had any brain at all, he would almost certainly see the tic in Wyatt’s temple and the narrow set of his mouth.

“Like I said, last night went so great, him chatting for hours, we think this crazy Lovesprettyboys SOB is really hooked.”

Wyatt stiffened in surprise at the name, schooling his features to reveal absolutely nothing. Lily’s involvement began to make sense.

“Last night?” As in, when Lily was supposed to be guarding their witness?

“Yeah, the chat went on forever, her still acting like she thought he was a twelve-year-old boy. Lil made out like her parents were going to be out for the night and she’s babysitting her kid brother, and this guy was practically panting trying to find out where she lived.”

Wyatt said nothing for a moment, putting the pieces together. Anspaugh had blown into his office five minutes ago, without a knock, much less an appointment. He’d launched into a conversation that he obviously expected Wyatt to follow.

Unfortunately, Wyatt hadn’t had any idea what the hell the other man was talking about. Not that he was going to reveal that, not yet, anyway. He knew Anspaugh. More important, he knew other men like Anspaugh. Admitting a disadvantage to someone so ambitious and cutthroat was a mistake only a fool would make, and Wyatt was no fool.