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Honk, honk!
Glancing in my rearview, I toss my hand in the air, signaling I’m leaving, and then turn the key in the ignition. I wonder how many minutes I’ve been sitting at this gas pump. Five, ten, fifteen? Time slips away from me now, one of the main reasons I dropped out of school. I couldn’t get my shit together, turn in assignments, or make it to class on time.
I look both ways before pulling onto A1A and heading across town toward the jail. Might as well get this over with before work—I’d rather not stress about the visit all damn day. Going into the jail creeps me out, if I’m being honest. It’s bad enough I have to see my brother, but the leers from the other inmates are just as bad.
Ten minutes later I’m rolling my window down and identifying myself to the security guard. Thus begins the long, slow check-in process. It’s as hard to get in here as any A-list party—not that I’ve been to any of those, but I imagine it’s not easy. There’s a visitor list, and you have to apply through the state and everything. A real pain in the ass, all to go see my jerky brother. Now I’m on a verified list I never wanted to be part of, thanks to Jagger and his stupid criminal ways.
“Juliet Capelli, here to see Jagger Capelli.” I hand over my ID, tapping my steering wheel nervously. Every time I come here I’m on edge, I swear.
“Thank you, miss. Have a good visit.”
As if.
The guard hands my ID back, and I roll into the parking lot, taking the first empty spot I see. Anything to get this over with as quickly as possible.
Clutching my ID, my cell, and my keys, I lock the car, leaving everything else behind. The less I take in with me, the less they have to search and the faster I’ll be out of here.
With quick strides I head into the industrial-gray cinder block building. I drop all my belongings in a small plastic bin, then walk through the metal detector. Next I’m ushered into a windowless room where a guard pats me down. Guess they figure lawbreaking runs in families. After that, a different guard leads me down a dim, cold hallway to a brightly lit room with tables, chairs, and glass windows all around, like a fish tank. No funny business goes on here because armed guards lean on the walls, eavesdropping on conversations. Real private and cozy. I especially like the metal chairs and the flickering fluorescent lights specially designed to induce migraines.
I take a seat and wait for Jagger to appear, crossing and uncrossing my legs, trying to get comfortable. Futile effort under the circumstances, but I don’t have anything else to do. Finally, he strolls in, acting like I have all day or something.
“Sis, always so great to see you.” Jagger sinks into the chair directly across from me, a cocky grin on his bearded face. He’s paler than I remember, probably not getting as much outdoor time as he’s used to.
“Hey. How’re things?” I pick at a hangnail, willing the minutes to tick by.
“Same old, same old. The food sucks, but somebody bought the MMA fight on pay-per-view last week, so that was all right. How’s business?”
“At the Tipsy Taco? Swell. Margaritas flowing, especially on Taco Tuesday.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t be a smart-ass.”
“You don’t get to tell me how I can and can’t be, Jagger. You’re currently in jail, remember?”
He leans forward, elbows on the table, and I note that orange really isn’t Jagger’s color. Washes him out and emphasizes the dark circles under his eyes.
“I know it was you.” Jagger keeps his voice low so the guards can’t hear.
Stay calm. There’s no way he has any proof of anything.
“What are you talking about, Jagger?” I arch a brow, acting coy.
“You turned the maps over to your little prince. Don’t sit here and play all innocent with me, Juliet.”
“I did no such thing. Why would I do that, Jags?”
He runs a hand over his chin. “I dunno, Jules. You tell me.”
We stare at each other for one minute, two, the wall clock ticking loudly behind me. I fervently wish someone else would walk in and distract him, but we’re alone. Morning visits aren’t super popular with the criminal crowd.
I shrug. “I told you I didn’t do it. Case closed.”
Jagger bangs his fist hard, handcuffs clanging on the plastic table, and I jump, my butt flying off the metal chair.
“Bullshit. There’s no other way the judge could get those docs. It had to be you. Cash and Damon would never.” He glares at me, his dark eyes cold.
Fear pricks at the nape of my neck, but I try to stay calm. He is my brother. It’s not like he’s going to hurt me or anything.
“Believe what you want. I’m telling you I didn’t do anything wrong.”
