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e. Did they give them to all prisoners? Or did we have a sympathetic guard out there? Someone who knew who I was and liked Sean? We hoped so.
There were other things I wanted to talk about. Personal things. I got the sense Adam felt the same, from the looks he'd slant my way when he thought I wouldn't notice. But neither of us said anything. It wasn't the time. Or the place. Especially with our neighbor listening.
So we played cards. And chatted. And curled up under the blankets together to rest.
TWENTY-ONE
When a guard came again, hours later, it wasn't the same one. He wasn't even wearing the same uniform, just standard-issue Nast security garb. When he approached our cell, he lifted a finger to his lips before we could speak, then waved us over close to the bars.
"Sean sent me," he whispered. "He doesn't dare come himself--his uncle has men watching for him. He's in Miami with Bryce. I'm going to take you to him."
When we hesitated, he said, "Sean says you both owe him now and that means he's never riding Trixie again."
Adam laughed. Trixie was an old nag at a ranch we liked in Colorado. The last time we were there, they'd sold the horse Sean usually rode, and he'd wanted to flip coins to see who had to ride Trixie. We'd refused. It wasn't something anyone else would know about.
The guard unlocked the door. "Hurry. Captain Kaufman is waiting for you."
As we stepped out, a voice floated from the next cell. "You'll remember me, won't you?"
"I will," I said and stopped at his cell. "I'll tell Jeremy you're in here. He'll do something about it."
Miguel had moved back into the shadows. But as dark as this place was, my eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light, and I could see him plainly. Judging the age of a werewolf is a tricky thing. The man in the cell looked about the guard's age--late forties, early fifties. His dark hair was barely shot with silver. He was an inch or so shorter than me, broad-shouldered with a muscular build. Blue eyes, but an average blue, nothing outstanding. I supposed he would be considered good-looking for his age, but I found it hard to see that, because I knew who this man was. Not Miguel Santos.
"Did I mention I used to spend summers at Stonehaven?" I said.
His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. "I find that hard to believe, my dear. The Pack does not--"
"They don't like outsiders. A twelve-year-old friend of the family isn't so bad, though, as long as she knows her place and treats them with respect. That's one thing Clay made sure I knew. Treat Stonehaven and everyone in it with respect. I screwed that up once."
"We need to move," the guard whispered.
I continued, "There's this bedroom, see. A locked bedroom. It's the twins' room now, but when I was growing up, it was always locked and when I asked what was in it, everyone changed the subject. So one day I used an unlock spell and broke in. Clay caught me. Gave me proper hell. But he did tell me whose room it was. He didn't really need to, because I saw photos in that room and I figured it out. Do you know who I saw in those photos?"
The man said nothing, but his gaze settled on me and in that gaze I saw something colder than any glower from Josef Nast. It took me a second to find my voice. When I did, I leaned against the bars and whispered, "I saw you. And no, Malcolm, I will not tell Jeremy you are here."
I asked the guard--Curry as he introduced himself--if my mother was down here. He said no, and he didn't know where she was, but that Sean's men were searching for her.
He led us down the corridor into an empty room with chairs and desks and an ancient refrigerator and microwave.
"The guards?" I whispered.
"Only one on duty. He was called from his post."
I arched my brows. "It's that easy?"
"To call him from his post, yes, because even if a prisoner does manage to get out, there's no place to go except up--straight into Nast headquarters."
"Seriously? We're in the basement? How do they hide this?"
"It's not just a basement." Curry opened a door and ushered us into a long hall with rusty pipes overhead. "Do you smell the water? Best construction in the world can't make this place any drier. Ninety-five percent of folks up top don't know these cells exist. Another four percent were told it was closed down twenty years ago. That's what Sean heard, too."
"He never checked?" Adam said. That seemed odd for Sean. At one time, yes, he preferred to bury his head in the sand. That had changed, though.
"He probably did," Curry said. "I know I did. But the old doors are all sealed. They made a new one. A hidden door from the processing room. Prisoners go in to be processed and sent to one of the prison complexes and then . . ."
"They're misplaced," I muttered. "Through a chute in the floor."
"Something like that. Point is--" He opened another door and led us into what looked like a storage room. "The only way out is right through the middle of security central. And there's no way to bribe or disable that many guards."
