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I nod and scoot to the end of mybed—I'm using the term loosely. "Would you like to sit?"
He gives me an appreciative but professional smile. Lowering himself next to me, he scans me up and down. "I was assured you were checked out earlier this morning, and both of you are well?"
I wring my hands in my lap before placing them on my belly. "Yes, the doctor said everything is fine."
He nods and pulls out a notepad. He asks me more questions about how I was treated, and I tell him that they didn'tmistreatme. I wasn't coddled, but they also didn't abuse their power, if that's what he's fishing for. He writes down my answers and then some more. I try to get a glimpse of the novel he's jotting down, but no dice. He's had practice on how to position himself and obscure his handwriting—I wonder if he will be able to decipher it himself later. Jaxon is also cautious about how he phrases things, and I notice him glancing toward the door several times.
"Marcus did the right thing," he suddenly states, and my head whips in his direction. He holds my gaze steadily, and without saying a word, he conveys how serious the situation is. Marcus took my blade. He told me to stay quiet. Is my knife the evidence? My stomach hardens, and my mouth goes dry. No! I want to demand more details, more information, but another glance by my attorney toward the entrance to my current living quarters stops me.
What's going on? Is someone listening? He cannot leave me hanging.
"The evidence they have is pretty conclusive." He studies me as he speaks. "However…" He pauses, glancing down at his notes. "We received new information this morning."
"Information?" I whisper. What's with the riddles?
"Yes. That's all I can say at the moment." Putting his notes back into his messenger bag, Jaxon leans forward, propping his elbows on his thighs—almost too casually.
So not attorney-like.
We sit in silence until I ask the question burning on my tongue. "Have you seen Wes?"
He turns his head sideways. "No, I came straight here, but I do know he's at the station. Been here since yesterday."
Yesterday?
I don't deserve this man.
Jaxon gives me a small smile and pats my knee. "From what I gathered, your friends will camp out here until we get in front of the judge."
"Friends?" Who else—?
He huffs out a laugh. "I don't know all the names. Oatis is pretty annoyed by the number of people, though. It seems he thought this would be a cut-and-dry case for him. He didn't expect your…connections."
A flutter in my chest gives me hope, but then I remember that he said the evidence is conclusive.
"Can I see Wes?"
"Unfortunately not. I'm sorry." He is genuinely apologetic, then he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a card. Holding it out, he says, "This is my direct line. Call me anytime. I will be back tomorrow to check on you."
Jaxon gets up, and I want to scream at him not to leave me. He has almost reached the door when I blurt out, "Is Jaxon your first or last name?"
He glances over his shoulder. "Neither."
With that, he's gone. What the fuck?
I peer down at the card I'm clutching in my hand. All it contains is a phone number. I'm starting to believe this is all a cruel joke.
The foodin this place is surprisingly edible, but then again, I've lived on a lot worse—or nothing at all. They leave me alone. I get to use the bathroom whenever I need it, but I try to hold it for as long as possible. This tiny room makes me feel safer than being in the company of the police officer on duty, which has changed several times since my arrival.
After Jaxon left, I sat cross-legged on the cot, rubbing circles on my belly, which equally soothed my baby and me. I was too exhausted to keep pacing. Going over every word of my wannabe attorney has left me with emotional whiplash. He gave me some of the information I needed. At the same time, he gave me nothing at all. What were my chances of getting out of here? Would I deliver my baby in jail? Trials could take months.
I rub my hands over my arms, trying to chase away the cold chill the realization brought on. I need a distraction. I'm not tired, but there is also nothing to do. In the end, I count every speck of dust on the walls and ceiling, but with no window, I have no sense of time. I go by my internal clock, aka Nugget, so when she settles down, I decide it is time for me to get some rest as well.
I'm happy.Wes and I are hiking at the reservoir, swinging our daughter between us. She giggles, and seeing the sparkle in her eyes makes my heart explode. The scene switches to the local park by the university. Wes is chasing her across the playground. Their laughter drifts over to me, and I smile. I'm about to call out to them when clouds roll in at an unusual speed—almost like fast-forwarding a video—and cover the sky. I reach out. I want to warn them to come back, but Wes and my little girl vanish in front of me like a mirage. No! The park suddenly turns to ash, and I spin in a circle. What's happening? Where are they? Come back. Breathing becomes harder, and I cover my mouth. The ash begins to rise around me and form walls. I try to run in the direction I last saw my family but slam against a solid barrier. I'm in a prison cell. Alone. Let me out. I can't breathe. I need my daughter. I need Wes. I cry out, but no one answers. I scream and scream for Wes and our daughter until my voice is hoarse—
"Miss Turner,"someone barks. I jerk upright, heart thrashing in my chest. Cold sweat covers my face, and my clothes stick to my body. I shield my eyes against the light, but then I recognize Agent O-Hole standing in the door next to Jaxon.
It was a dream. It was just a bad dream.
