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My new purse sits beside me, empty save for an ebony card I don’t intend to use. As much as I love Roman, I need my independence. The days of being financially beholden to anyone are gone. Thanks to him, my paintings provide me with an excellent source of income.
The car slows toward the iron gates, where a woman in blue blocks the way with her vehicle.
Roman snarls.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
The woman turns around. She’s about my height, maybe a little taller. She’s wearing a black eye patch along with some kind of uniform, and looks furious.
My spine stiffens. What if she’s associated with Jim? “Is that a police officer?”
“Corrections officer,” he mutters. At my blank stare, he adds, “Prison guard.”
Relief whooshes from my lungs, but only for an instant. “What’s she doing here?”
Roman’s jaw tenses. “She’s here to see me.”
“Parole violation?” The words slip from my lips, even though nothing about this situation makes sense. Roman was exonerated.
“Stay here,” he says and turns toward the door.
“Wait.” I grab his arm.
Roman pauses to gaze back at me, his expression unreadable. It’s obvious he doesn’t want me to listen to their conversation, and I want to know why.
“Who is she to you?” I ask.
“Nobody,” he says.
“Random corrections officers don’t just turn up at the gates of men who were falsely imprisoned. You know her.”
“I do,” he replies, his voice flat.
“Did you sleep with her?”
He hesitates. “No.”
My eyes harden. I can tell by the expressions of the men around the gates that whatever was between the police guard and Roman was sexual.
“But something happened between you,” I say.
His jaw flexes. “Yes.”
“Tell me.”
Roman grinds his teeth, looking like he isn’t used to being interrogated by women about his love life. I really don’t give a shit, considering I laid out my entire history with Jim Callahan. My grip around his arm tightens to let him know I’m serious.
“She was my mule,” he replies.
“What does that mean?”
“I had a financial arrangement with her to bring in Sofia’s cooking, so I didn’t have to touch the prison slop.”
My brows pinch. “What else?”
The woman rushes at our car and bangs both fists on the window, making me flinch. Someone must have jostled her eye patch because it’s now hanging halfway down her face.
“Montesano,” she screeches. “Where are you?”
