Touch & Go (Tessa Leoni, #2)(33)

First family hug we’d shared in months.

I wanted to cry with my daughter, but I didn’t.


EVENTUALLY, I tucked Ashlyn into bed on one of the lower prison bunks. No blanket to cover her. No words to comfort her. I sat on the edge of the squeaky blue vinyl and stroked her hair.

Justin paced. He roamed the tiny cell like a caged beast, running his fingers around the dull edges of the bunk beds, top and bottom. Then inspected the far window, the door, the strangely built stainless steel contraption with a lower half that formed the toilet, while the top half jutted out sideways to serve as the sink.

I turned to give him privacy as he used the facilities. The advantage of years spent sharing a master bath; I didn’t have to sing. When he was done, I peed as well, then rinsed out my mouth with a dribble of water from the sink. I still tasted bile and rust. What I would give for a toothbrush and toothpaste, but apparently, our captors weren’t concerned about such amenities.

When I finished, Justin moved from the far window and sat on the lower bunk across from Ashlyn, his back to the door. He indicated for me to do the same, so I returned to my seat next to Ashlyn, this time turning away from the door and staring at the narrow window.

“No bugs,” Justin said, as if this were great news. I stared at him blankly. He continued, “That means they can see us—there are video cameras everywhere—but not hear us. So as long as we keep our backs to the electronic eyes, we can speak privately.”

The subtleties of this were lost on me, but I nodded, encouraged if he was encouraged.

“This is a state facility. Means our cell door is operated electronically, from the control room. Bad news is that this means there’s no chance of a manual override, or for us to escape by stealing someone’s keys. But it also means they have to split up each time they want to retrieve us. While one or two may come to our cell door, the third has to remain in the control room to work the touch screen.”

I turned my head just enough to stare at my husband. “How do you know all this?”

He turned to regard me curiously. “Libby, the project we wrapped last year in northern New Hampshire? The prison? I built this.”

I blinked my eyes, honestly startled. I knew Justin’s firm had constructed a number of prisons over the years. New Hampshire, West Virginia, Georgia. But somehow, it hadn’t occurred to me…

“Then you know this facility. The whole facility. You can get us out!”

Justin didn’t speak right away. Instead, his expression turned sober. “I do know this facility, honey. Including all the reasons we probably aren’t going to get out. Z was telling the truth. This prison’s state-of-the-art, with all of the state and all of the art designed to keep people wearing these jumpsuits trapped in these cells.”

My shoulders slumped. I leaned against the metal pillar supporting the top bunk. My hands were shaking. I could watch them tremble on my lap, almost like two separate entities, pale, dehydrated, claw-like fingers that belonged to anyone but me.

“Ashlyn,” I whispered, a single word that said enough.

Justin’s jaw hardened. His face took on a fierce expression I knew so well. And because we’d been married eighteen years, years where I’d seen the look in his eyes when he’d held our baby daughter for the first time, watched him patiently balance her tiny hands in his when she was learning how to walk, still caught him standing in her doorway late at night just to check on her, I knew how much pain was behind that rage.

“They’ll demand money,” he said roughly. “I don’t give a f*ck what Z says to terrorize us. This is about money. Sooner or later, they’ll issue a ransom demand. Denbe will pay it. And we’ll go home. All of us.”

“Why bring us here?” I asked. “If this is just about money, why bring us this far north, lock us up…”

“Where better to hide an entire family? This place is deserted for now. State’s too busy cutting costs to fund the operating budget of a whole new prison. It’s also remote, with nothing around for fifteen, twenty miles. Local PD probably does an occasional perimeter check, such as what happened when we were first dropped off, then moves along.”

“They’ll see the lights on,” I spoke up hopefully. “Investigate further.”

Justin shook his head. “The whole property is wired with motion sensors. Every time a cop approaches, this place lights up like the Fourth of July. Nothing unusual there.”

“There’s three of them,” I whispered. “A whole…commando team. They have Tasers, weapons, obviously spent some time planning this. If this is about money, they’re going to want a lot of it. And tomorrow’s Sunday, so even if the company is willing to pay…”

Justin thinned his lips. “We’re probably looking at least a couple of days’ internment,” he granted.

I brushed our daughter’s hair. Ashlyn still slept soundly, exhaustion and shock having caught up with her. “How long have we been gone?” I asked now. “Fourteen, sixteen hours? They haven’t even offered food or water.”

“Sink has water. As for food, we can make it a couple of days.”

I watched my hands tremble again. Felt my stomach churn, my headache build. Things I should probably tell him. But I didn’t. Because while we had eighteen years together, we also had the past six months. And that had changed things.