Page 36 of Ruthless Creatures

I get the strange feeling that his life hasn’t been an easy one. And also that he’s resigned himself to the fact that it never will be.

Or maybe that’s just my hormones, on the fritz from his proximity.

He turns and starts to walk away, but stops when I blurt, “Wait!”

He doesn’t turn around. He simply turns his head to the side, listening.

“I … I…”

Oh, fuck it.I run up to him, grab the front of his jacket, stand on my toes, and kiss him on his cheek. My words come out in a breathless rush.

“Thank you.”

After a beat, he says gruffly, “For what?”

“For making me feel something. It’s been a long time since someone did. I wasn’t sure I could anymore.”

He stares down at me, dark eyes burning. He cups my face in his big hand and gently sweeps his thumb over my cheekbone. He inhales slowly, his chest rising. His brows pull together until he’s wearing an expression like he’s in physical pain.

Then he exhales, drops his hand from my face, and walks awaytoward his house without another word. He slams the front door behind him.

Five seconds later I hear the steadywhump whump whumpof his fists hitting the punching bag coming from inside.

NINE

KAGE

Communicating with an inmate in federal prison is a complicated process.

No incoming calls are accepted. Phone calls can be made from inside out only and are made collect. Cell phones can’t accept collect calls, so they have to be routed to a land line.

Which means someone has to be there to receive the call. Which means setting up an agreed-upon time in advance.

The length of the call is limited to no more than fifteen minutes. When that’s up, the call will simply cut off with no warning. The inmate can’t call back again.

Keeping the communication private is even more complicated.

Guards listen in on all phone calls. They sit only a few feet away in the visitation area, watching like hawks. They monitor all incoming and outgoing letters and email, the latter of which is restricted and only allowed under special circumstances. Then examined, word for word.

So all in all, communicating with a federal prison inmate is a pain in the ass.

Unless that inmate has paid off everyone within the prison system to get special privileges.

And paid them well.

“You take care of it?”

The voice on the other end of the line is male, raspy, and heavily accented. Max has been a two-pack-a-day smoker for as long as I’ve known him, and it shows in both his voice and his face. His teeth aren’t so pretty, either.

“Yes.”

With that one word, I’ve told the most dangerous lie of my life. Max has had men killed for far less.

I should know. I’ve been the one who pulled the trigger.

He grunts. “Good. I don’t like loose ends. She know anything?”

“No. She knew nothing. She would’ve told me if she did.”