Crush(74)

Deal with it, McPherson, I found myself saying. I was talking to myself now. But then again I had no idea how long they were going to keep me, and I had to find a way to keep my sanity because I really felt like I was going insane.

It’s not as if I didn’t know the law inside and out. I was well aware of my rights. None of that mattered in here, though. I was stuck with no communication to the outside world and no one knew where the f*ck I was. I was about ready to lose my mind. I wanted to claw my way out of here so I could get to Elle. I couldn’t even think about what must be going through her head.

The South Bay House of Correction was a place I’d been to almost as many times as the Nashua Street Jail, yet I never knew they had an isolation wing for possible terrorist-linked inmates.

And here I sat.

Minutes ticked by.

Hours.

Days.

It had to be Monday morning by now. How much longer were they going to keep me here? The weekend was one thing, but how could they keep me under wraps during the week? Then again, I was in isolation in some unknown wing God knew where deep within the prison walls.

I closed my eyes and tried to push the ache in my heart out of my mind. I had to think. Use my head to get them to let me use a phone. Bribe the guards if I had to. Patrick’s goon squad had to be off duty by now. I might have a chance with a new crew.

“McPherson,” one of the guards called as he opened the door. “Get up.”

I did. I was done resisting. It wasn’t getting me anywhere.

Sure enough, new guards had taken over and none of them seemed to know or care who I was. They were just doing their job. I did the best I could to be whatever the hell it was I was supposed to be.

I was led down a hall, through a number of doors, around a corner, and through another door. It had taken two days, but I was finally sitting in the attorney’s room. The problem with this little scenario is that I had yet to be allowed to make a phone call.

A quick glance in the mirrored window told me I looked like shit. I ran a hand over the top of my head. The sons of bitches in processing decided to shave it before taking my mug shot. The ones in holding complained I was mouthing back, so my black eye was owed to that. But none of that mattered. What mattered was the tightness I felt in my chest because I hadn’t been able to contact Elle. She’d told me she was unable to have kids, and in truth, I didn’t see that as the end of the world, but I knew she saw it as a failure. And then I up and disappeared on her. I couldn’t imagine what she must be thinking. Actually, I could, and that’s why I couldn’t breathe. She probably thought I’d abandoned her. And there was nothing I could do about it.

The very thought was enough to bring me to my knees.

My gaze shifted around. Here I sat in my wrinkled orange jumpsuit, handcuffed, waist chained, and shackled around the ankles, waiting for someone to grace me with his or her presence. The million-dollar question was—who was it going to be?

FBI?

DEA?

Someone else entirely?

Voices carried down the hall. Someone was shouting at someone else. It was a female voice I heard getting louder.

Suddenly, the door burst open and the she-devil herself came waltzing in. She had a suit on, and her trademark red heels, but her face wasn’t plastered in that frown she always wore.

Today, she looked genuinely pissed. “Get those off him,” she barked.

Two cops came scurrying in and unlocked the chains and undid the cuffs.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said to me, looking truly upset.

I shrugged. “Want to tell me what this is all about?”

“Out,” she ordered the two cops who were now standing beside me.

“Ma’am, protocol calls for us to stay with the prisoner.”

She narrowed her eyes at them. “If you don’t want me to put your balls in an envelope and mail them home to your wife, you’ll leave us alone. Now!”

They were out of the room in two seconds flat.

Agent Meg Blanchet with her red hair, red nails, and red shoes came and sat across from me. “I gave the orders on Friday for you to be placed under surveillance and then picked up Monday morning for questioning. The local cops assigned to tail you saw you packing your vehicle. They thought you were fleeing the country, so they picked you up Saturday.”

“I wasn’t fleeing. I was going to New York City for the weekend.”

“Not that I don’t believe you, but how do you explain the wire transfer of over five million dollars into one of your accounts?”

My brows popped. “My maternal grandfather must have released my trust fund.”

Dark brown eyes looked unexpectedly amused. “Well, whatever the purpose of the transfer, since there was no passport found in your possession, I don’t believe you were planning on fleeing the country. Unfortunately, an error in the chain of command delayed my notification that you had been detained.”

My anger was well past any explanation. “Tell me why I’m here and what this bullshit terrorist charge is about.”

“The terrorist threat charge had nothing to do with me. According to the local PD, a call was traced back to you. One in which you were threatening to burn the entire courthouse down if Flannigan didn’t get life behind bars.”

“When I was picked up, the officers claimed I was aiding and abetting a known terrorist. Now you’re saying I made a threat. Which bullshit claim is it?”