Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(64)

I nod, knowing that’s the word he would’ve used—enthusiastically. That’s a Nate word.

I ask, “You still get to cut out his balls?”

He softens finally. “And stuff them in his mouth.”

“That’s new,” I say. I can just see them discussing it for hours, maybe over pizza and Macallan twenty-one-year-old scotch. We found a case of it hidden in a compartment in a wall when we first broke into this place, and the seven of us got drunk on it. It tasted like freedom. It’s still all we’ll drink.

“But you still get to kill him,” Stone says. “That never changes. You earned that right.”

I feel his heart slow. He’s calming. Good. Stone’s always been one of those guys who needs to work himself up to kill—he can’t kill cold. Not like Calder.

“He’ll die a hero, of course,” Stone bites out.

“He’ll know, though.”

Our captors were portrayed in the media as innocent victims of random violence, and it always got us, that they got love and nice funerals and nobody ever knew what they’d done to us. Carnage in a peaceful community, one headline said. Like our captors were victims or something.

We were stupid—we assumed that when their bodies were found, it would be obvious what they were up to. But somebody got there first and cleaned out the place, taking all the footage, all the evidence we’d ever been there. Maybe the governor or his lackeys. He wasn’t governor then, though. Just some pervert businessman we knew only by sight. We’d never been able to find him after we escaped from that hellhole; then he appeared on TV, running for office. I nearly shit when I saw him on TV for the first time.

Stone scratches his nose with the tip of his gun. “The problem is the governor’s mansion. We knew you’d get free sooner or later, and in the meantime, we’ve been trying to strategize an entry. The place is a motherf*cking fortress.”

“It’s just an old mansion,” I say.

“No, seriously. Thing’s a fortress. Guards, metal detectors. We’ve tried to get in through his people. We put out feelers for bribes but nobody’s soft. We’ve tried to get in twice already, just to scout the place out. Fucking Fort Knox laser trip-wire shit.”

“Do you have the floorplan?

“We found out there was a remodel in the 1970s, but we couldn’t get any intel on it. The paper trail’s shit.”

“We’ll find a way in,” I say, feeling woozy. My eyelids are heavy. How long I can stay awake?

A voice from across the room. “Did you try the library?”

Stone jerks.

Abby.

My heart swells, hearing her voice from across the room. How long has she been up? “You okay?”

“If it’s historic, there are architectural records,” she says. “It’s a governor’s mansion?”

After a beat, Stone says, “Sure.” He still doesn’t look at her.

“The blueprints are probably public. They’d be in the archival section of your main library, or if you have a history center. You can learn a lot about old buildings when you know where to look.”

She’s so beautiful and smart and scared over there. “Baby.”

“A lot of them have been remodeled a dozen times over. But if you look at the originals, you wouldn’t believe how many doors and windows have likely been covered over. There could be hidden points of entry.”

She pulls on her handcuffs. I wonder how much of our conversation she heard. She’s working an angle—I can see it. I don’t even know what it is, but I’m proud. She’s so f*cking strong, a survivor.

Stone snorts. “You think I can go to the library and check out—what?—blueprints to a government building that show secret ways to enter?”

“Shut up and listen,” I say. “She worked at a library. She knows.”

She meets my eyes. She gets me crazy when she talks like that. “It wouldn’t be filed like that. It’s a totally different section. You’d need to go into historical records. It would be filed by parcel numbers, and you can’t check it out or even copy it. If you could sneak in a tiny camera…”

“You think they have records on this building?” Stone asks.

“Definitely. They might be stored in a section of the library that’s closed to the public, but they’re there.”

I grin. “Oh, we’ll get in. Don’t worry about that. I’ll get us in.”

Alarm widens her eyes. “You mean breaking in?”

“That depends. Are you gonna help us?” I ask.

Stone gives me a dark look. Maybe we’re being worked. But maybe not. She has us. She’s f*cking amazing.

“Maybe,” she says.

“No maybe. You’re helping us,” I say.

Stone glares at me. “She just wants to get away and rat us out. She thinks she can get away.”

I turn to Abby, and something like understanding passes between us. Maybe she’ll try to get away. Maybe she won’t. I don’t f*cking know anymore. All I know is that she’s mine. “She’s helping.”

“She’s not a part of this.”

But I’m the one who did the time. I’m the one who was the favorite down in that hole, and not the kind of favorite you ever want to be. “I want her there.”