Page 2

CHAPTER TWO

Emily put on her black wig, oversized sunglasses, and Astros baseball cap, doing what she did best: hiding in plain sight. No red hair—her natural color—and no showing her green eyes. No flashy or tight clothes either. Goodwill jeans and faded tees only. Though, her body wasn’t what generally drew attention. She was five-five and far too slender.

When she’d been with Ed, gaining even a pound had been unacceptable. “I don’t fuck fat women,” he’d say, or, “If I want a cow, I’ll buy a farm. Great place to bury mistakes.” It meant that he’d punish her in the worst sort of way if she ever got bigger.

Thank God they’d never had kids, because his emotional punches had left a scar deeper than the physical ones. She still pushed herself to run every morning even when injured, and she had to fend off panic attacks whenever she ate too much. So messed up. Thanks, Ed. But she knew the only cure for her demons was time.

Emily did some quick shopping at the small grocery store, buying herself some nuts, a green smoothie, and a protein bar for breakfast. More eggs, too. Then she hit the drugstore, buying the basics for Charge—some of those icy-heat packs for his hand and more tape to wrap his fingers.

She walked up to the pharmacy window and asked for Charge’s prescription.

“Oh, uh…just give me a sec?” said the man behind the counter.

“Sure. No problem.” Emily pulled out her phone and started checking the posts on this platform she’d learned about that focused on hunting wanted criminals like Ed. It was sort of an amateur-sleuth deal.

Her eyes immediately stuck to a post at the top in red letters. “Missing FBI Agent Found Executed on Boat.”

Was it Ed? Because she’d always suspected he’d fled the country on his boat. With a pounding heart, her eyes quickly scanned the article.

Suddenly, she felt cold steel pressed to her left temple. Her heart jolted, realizing there was a large man to her side, holding his gun to her head.

“Slowly raise your hands,” said the man.

Her hands began shaking, and she dropped her items. Fuck, the cartel found us. I have to warn Charge!

She slowly cranked her head to the left. The man’s bulletproof vest read “FBI.”

FBI? She didn’t know if she should be relieved it wasn’t the cartel or more worried.

“Turn around,” he said.

She obeyed, her knees going wobbly.

“Emily Wilson, you are under arrest for the murder of a federal agent.” The man cuffed her and patted her down.

They hadn’t said his name, but it had to be Ed they’d found executed. Who else could they be referring to?

But why were they arresting her?

How had they connected her alias—Emily Wilson—to Ed? She’d been careful to sever all ties. This didn’t make sense.

“There must be some mistake,” she said. “I haven’t seen my ex for months.” Charge could validate her story.

Charge might not be able to show his face in public, but with a few quick calls, he could clear her name. He knew people. Powerful, important people.

The agent silently marched her toward the exit while shoppers looked on, some even filming with their phones. Several more agents waited outside, where a crowd had gathered across the street.

Emily’s eyes nervously swept through the faces. If the cartel didn’t know her whereabouts before, they sure knew now.

One of the agents opened the back passenger door of a black SUV parked along the curb closest to them. Just beyond that vehicle, a set of cool gray eyes drilled through the crowd.

“Charge?” she mouthed.

Charge gave a nod.

Oh, thank God. He had a plan. He was going to make sure she wasn’t charged with this.

The agent to her right nodded back before Charge turned and walked away.

Wait. What the hell? Charge’s nod had not been for her.

Emily’s heart dropped to the floor. Charge had set her up?

***

“I want a phone call!” She pounded on the solid steel door as a guard in a beige shirt strolled by her cell. He couldn’t hear her, but she yelled anyway. “I have a right to an attorney!”

I hope? Emily had no clue which state she was in, but this was the sort of prison where inmates were delivered in the middle of the night with bags on their heads. Was it some kind of black site? Or a prison for extremely dangerous federal criminals? The only thing she knew was that they’d treated her like a terrorist the moment she got into that SUV. The agents had covered her head and then driven for over seven hours, only allowing her to make one stop to relieve herself in some gas station bathroom.

Even then, she hadn’t been allowed to remove the hood until she was in the stall, and she’d been forced to pee with her cuffs on. A female agent had helped pull up her jeans, and the hood had gone right back on. It had been degrading, not to mention wet.

When she’d arrived here, they’d put her in this cell, uncuffed her, and left. She’d taken the hood off to find an eight-by-ten cell with a steel door, a cot, and a toilet. No water. No food. No answers.

“Justine Hays?” An older man in a brown suit appeared in the tiny window of the cell door.

Justine Hays was her legal name, but when they’d arrested her, they’d used Emily Wilson. It was…strange.

“Are you my lawyer?” she asked through the slot he’d opened. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

He flashed a bright white smile. “Haven’t you been told? You met with your lawyer and confessed to everything in front of a judge.”

What? “I never met with anyone. I didn’t confess to anything.”

He shrugged. “Well, we have your signature. Murder of a police officer.”

A cop? But she thought she’d been arrested for killing her ex—a federal agent—not a police officer. What was happening? There was only one explanation.

“I’m being set up. I didn’t kill anyone,” she said.

“But you did. And since you were so cooperative, the judge was kind enough to only sentence you to thirty years here in Vanderhorst Supermax.”

“Supermax? I’m in a supermax?” What the fuck! Her entire body went numb, followed by her stomach knotting into a ball of dread. I’m going to be sick.

“You’re going to love it here, Justine. They only send the worst of the worst to this place—the most violent criminals. Like you.”

She had broken the law—many times by now—but she was far from being a violent criminal. They would eat her alive in here.

Emily pressed her palms to the cold steel door. “You can’t do this! I want to see a lawyer.”

He clicked his tongue. “You’ll be lucky to see another Christmas.” He turned to walk away but stopped. “Oh, and just so you know, Warden Mitchel likes to make special accommodations for people like you. Enjoy.”

She swallowed hard. This was bad. Very, very bad.

Why, Charge? Why?