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“This means they know something about my dad’s case. They know my dad is innocent, and they don’t want me digging around and getting his conviction overturned. Because if that happens, somebody might actually look into the case again and find the real killer!”
“You know, Luna, when someone receives a death threat, the appropriate response is to go inside, call the police, and be scared.”
But she didn’t look scared at all. She even hopped—freaking hopped—as she went inside her house.
And that’s when a chilling thought settled in: she wasn’t just working her ass off to get her father’s case overturned. She was letting it blind her, dangerously so. Although Luna was in there, calling the police right now, she wasn’t having the appropriate emotional response, the one that sparked self-preservation when faced with danger.
Which meant keeping Luna Payne alive was going to be a lot harder than I thought.
CHAPTER13
Luna
“Dad.” I breathed a sigh of relief to finally see him, but as he plopped down in the seat across from me, a pang of hurt stabbed my heart at the sight of his face. One of his eyes was swollen with an angry shade of purple and blue while his lip was split and puffy. And that was just what I could see through the smudged, fingerprint-streaked glass partition that divided us.
The harsh glare of fluorescent lighting reflected unnaturally off the cold steel tables bolted to the floor, and a faint, acrid scent of industrial cleaning solutions hung heavily in the space, where hushed conversations were interspersed with the authoritative voices of the guards.
“What happened?” I asked.
“It was nothing.”
“You’re sitting funny.”
“I’m fine.”
“Your ribs hurt, don’t they?”
“They’ll heal. Just bruises.”
“Did someone attack you?” Because now that I’d had more time to digest that letter, what if the prison was wrong? What if the target of the fightwasmy father?
“No, honey, fights in prisons happen all the time.”
“You need to be honest with me.”
“I am being honest. My cellmate was the one getting attacked over a territorial dispute. It had nothing to do with me. I was just trying to protect him and took a few hits while doing so. That’s all.”
I searched the depths of his eyes, looking for any hints of deception, but only found the familiar, sincere gaze I’d always known. But this fight was a grim reminder of just how dangerous prisons could be.
Case in point, the guys at the far end of Joliet Prison’s visitor room were staring at me—out of anger or sexual desire, I couldn’t be sure. Either way, Sean would be berating himself for agreeing to lend me his van today to visit my dad, unaccompanied.
With my car still awaiting an estimate in the shop, I had to do some serious convincing for Sean to let me come alone, but he had a podcast to record today, and I reminded him that a prison had guards everywhere. It was safer than most places, really. Plus, other than asking to borrow his vehicle, my visiting my dad wasn’t his decision. I’d take public transportation if I had to.
I needed to see that Dad was okay.
And he was, as okay as he could be in this godforsaken place.
Prison had aged him—not just the time he had spent physically in there. The emotional and psychological impact of living behind bars in an institution left their marks. Deep lines etched into the pale skin of his face, prematurely sagging near his jawline and above his eyelids. His green eyes had dulled in color, and the whites of his eyes had darkened into an ivory. His hair was almost all silver now. He looked seventy-seven, not fifty-seven years of age.
I hated that he saw very little daylight. I hated that he had no control over his diet or nutrition. When I was a child, my dad had a muscular, tan, athletic frame. He jogged a lot, and he walked everywhere since we didn’t have a car. But now, his bones were starting to poke through his emaciated body. Some prisoners spent a lot of time working out, but with how solemn he seemed during our visits, I suspected my dad was too depressed to bother.
“I heard there was a murder at the courthouse,” Dad said.
Crap. It always amazed me how quickly intel floated through prison.
“Heard you were there when it happened,” he added.
“It was that Vigilante.” I swallowed. “He killed Dominic.”
