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"Is anyone meeting you?" Officer Warren asked.
I shook my head. "I don't think so."
However, I couldn't help but study the room just in case. I glanced around the bleak room of white walls, bare except where they were streaked with dark scuff marks. Along the walls were more orange chairs, only a few of which were being used. Their occupants were obviously trying their best to avoid looking at each other as if there was some unspoken pact to respect that each was there not by choice, but by an uncomfortable common link of being connected to someone incarcerated. Some leaned their head back against the wall and closed their eyes; others picked at their fingernails or a wayward thread on their clothing. All appeared bored, probably because cell phones were not allowed, limiting their choice of distraction.
After seeing the surprise envelope earlier, I was almost relieved there weren't any familiar faces. Thank God I didn't see her, even if seeing Mr. McCloskey, my attorney and savior would have been welcome.
One stranger stood out from the rest. I tried not to stare at him, but his appearance held my attention. His jaw was set to one side, and his eyes were narrowed into dark slits. One ankle rested on the knee of his other leg, and only his thumb tapping against his thigh disclosed his level of discomfort or impatience. Even seated in the uncomfortable chair, he was obviously tall. His dark hair was cut short in the back and along the sides. It was longer on top where he’d brushed in straight back, but a few locks dared to ruffle the otherwise neatness of the style. I couldn't help but wonder how much less intimidating he might look if he gave in to the natural wave.
Unlike the other people who were dressed casually in jeans or lounge pants, he was dressed in a charcoal suit with a lighter gray shirt and a dark purple tie. Where I came from most men seldom had an occasion to wear a suit, and when they did they looked about as comfortable as being enclosed in a den of porcupines. But this man looked as if he could have been born in a suit, and I couldn't help but wonder how one reached such a level of confidence. Was it money? Power? Position?
Despite the stern set to his mouth, he was extremely handsome, the kind of handsome one would expect to find on the pages of a fashion magazine or a movie screen. His suit stretched across broad shoulders, and I suspected from the
way it fit he had a mighty fine body underneath his clothes. He was clean shaven, showing off a strong jaw line. Bless me, though, he had long eyelashes and gorgeous dark eyes.
Great. Ten minutes out of the cell, and I'm already lusting after a man like a bitch in heat!
I took an awkward step backward when I realized those eyes were focused on me. His long legs uncrossed and he stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. While I had caused a mere ripple when I entered the room, this man drew a wave of attention as he crossed the room to stand in front of me.
"Madelyn Stone?"
His self-assured tone and appraising glance didn't give me any clues as to whether he was there to help or cause trouble, so I simply nodded. I'd learned long ago it was better not to give more information than asked.
"John McCloskey sent me to meet you." The grimace on his face told me how he felt about it.
I guessed to him, meeting me was about the equivalent of being asked to take out the trash. Well, that was fine; he wasn't the first, and he certainly wouldn't be the last, especially now. Plus, I gave up believing in fairy tales where the heroine was rescued by a handsome, golden prince long ago. I was certainly no princess, and while this man easily checked the 'handsome' box, he looked anything but golden. A dark prince, maybe. Probably a troll in disguise with my luck.
Officer Warren glanced between the two of us. "Good luck," he muttered before hurrying away. I wasn't sure whether he was referring to my future or my ability to deal with the scowling man who was already walking to another door on the opposite side of the room. Unsure of what I was supposed to do, I hesitated.
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Moody held the door. "Coming?" He raised his eyebrow impatiently.
Just on the other side was my freedom. No matter who showed me the way, nothing was going to hold me back. I nodded and started toward the door.
As soon as we stepped outside, I couldn't help but stop and take several breaths of the cool air and observe everything around me. It was like my senses came alive as familiar, but almost forgotten, sounds, scents, and colors surrounded me: car tires swishing through rain puddles; a squirrel chattering angrily at another in a nearby oak tree; the rumble of thunder in the distance; the mixture of ozone and car exhaust; green leaves starting to turn shades of yellow and orange…
Sweet freedom.
To anyone else, I'm sure it was a dreary, early autumn day. But to me, it was glorious. The few people walking on the sidewalk in front of the building went about their business, not even remotely curious about the people or scenes around them. And why would they? They hadn't been locked up in a world made mostly of shades of grays and whites, with orange as the only splash of color until even it faded into the background.
My escort waved his arm impatiently from several feet in front of me. "My car is this way," he grumbled, turning his back and pulling a set of keys out of his pant’s pocket.
What an ass, treating me like I was some puppy who followed its master's cues blindly. I’d been betrayed by people I knew and trusted; if he thought I was getting into a car with a total stranger, he was dumber than a box of hammer handles!
"Hey! Wait a minute." Even from behind, I could see his shoulders heave as if he sucked in and blew out a deep breath.
"What?" he huffed over his shoulder.
"Why should I go with you? I might not have fancy clothes like you, and I may have been somewhat removed from the civilian world for the past few years, but unless things have changed drastically in that time, where I come from, the decent thing to do when 'meeting' someone is to introduce yourself." I crossed my arms and waited.
He turned and stared at me as if really seeing me for the first time. His lip quirked ever so slightly as he took a step toward me. "Indeed. I do humbly apologize for my poor manners, Ms. Stone." He swept into a bow before me. "Holten Andrews, at your service." He straightened up and stepped right up to me. He could barely bite back the smirk that threatened the corners of his lips. "Is that civil enough?"
I scowled at him. If he thought lording his extra six or so inches of height was going to intimidate me, he obviously hadn't spent much time within the walls of the building we'd just left.
"Your manners are only exceeded by your sarcasm," I responded. As soon as the words left my mouth, I almost regretted them. Almost. "I still don't know who you are or why I should trust you."
Easy girl. Dial it back. He might be acting like a prick, but you don't need to make trouble your first few minutes out of prison.
He seemed amused by my observation. "Touché, Ms. Stone. I'm an attorney at McCloskey, Barnes, and Wilson. Mr. McCloskey sends his apologies that he was unable to meet you and sent me in his place."
