“Deception is my specialty.” His smile was self-deprecating. “I’m a good liar.”
“I guess you’d have to be to survive a place like Bitterroot for four months.”
“It was the longest four months of my life.”
Something uncomfortable and all too human flashed in his eyes, and for the first time Emily realized just how brutal such an assignment would have been. She’d been a corrections officer long enough to know what kinds of things went on inside the concrete walls of the prison. Even for a strong man like Zack Devlin the violence and hopelessness would have been formidable.
“It must have been rough,” she said.
“I’ve had better assignments.”
“Which cell block were you assigned?”
“2-W.”
Because of her gender, she’d never been assigned there, but she knew of 2-W by reputation. It was the cell block where only the most violent and dangerous of offenders were sent. “How did you get assigned to Cell Block 2-W?”
He shot her a wry smile. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have a smart mouth.”
“I’ve noticed.”
He rolled a shoulder. “I mouthed off to the wrong corrections officer. He saw to it that I got transferred. Then he made it his mission in life to make sure I was as miserable as possible.”
The inmates of Cell Block 2-W were only allowed out of their cells for three hours a day. Two or sometimes three men were forced to live in a cramped twelve-by-six-foot cell. The cells were searched for contraband often and without warning and at all times of the day and night. The inmates were routinely taken to the infirmary or shower room and strip-searched for drugs or weapons. Only the most vigorous officers worked Cell Block 2-W. They were the officers who liked their jobs just a little too much. The officers who didn’t mind getting into a tussle with a convict. Even if the convict didn’t deserve it.
“I couldn’t imagine living under those conditions,” she said.
“I knew what I was getting into.”
“But if what you say about Lockdown, Inc. is true, you could have been killed.”
“I’m good at what I do, Emily. MIDNIGHT is careful with their agents.” He glanced down at his arm where the GPS device had been removed and laughed. “Besides, the luck of the Irish is in my genes.”
“Why did you agree to such an assignment?” she asked.
Zack had asked himself the same question a thousand times in the last four hellish months. Times when he’d been torn from his bunk at three o’clock in the morning and watched while six corrections officers tore apart the cell looking for contraband. Times when he’d been stripped naked and searched if only for the added humiliation.
Zack had never come up with a good answer for why he’d agreed. Maybe because it was his first real mission since Alisa’s death. Maybe deep down inside he thought he had something to atone for.
“It’s what I do.” He said the words after a too-long pause, but he could tell by the expression on Emily’s face that she realized there was more to the story. But it was a story Zack didn’t want to tell. Especially to a woman whose safety was on his shoulders.
“It seems irresponsible for an agency to send an operative into such a potentially dangerous situation.”
“Life is about risk sometimes, Emily. Some of us like it that way. We like it because it makes us feel alive when nothing else even comes close.”
At some point they had stopped walking. Zack was facing her. There was just enough light for him to see her features. Her expression was thoughtful and perplexed. He knew the timing couldn’t be more wrong, but he liked looking at her. He liked being close to her, talking to her. Even though they were standing in the middle of nowhere about to do something insanely dangerous, he was sorely tempted to take the moment a step further. More than anything, he wanted to lean forward and press his mouth against hers the way he had back at the prison. Even with the armed corrections officer pressing down on them, that taste of her mouth had made him ache in a way he hadn’t for a very long time. Made him feel like a man. Like a human being with needs that hadn’t been met for what seemed like a lifetime.
“Are you a thrill seeker?” he asked.
“No,” she said quickly.
She trembled when he cupped the side of her face with his hand. “Why are you so jumpy?” he whispered.
“I don’t like it when you touch me like that.”
He couldn’t help it. He smiled. “Or maybe you do and you just don’t have the guts to admit it.”
She started to turn away, but he grasped her arm and unzipped her coat. Before she could stop him, he set his hand just below her left breast, close enough so that he could feel the weight of it against his fingers. “Your heart is pounding, Emily.”
“I’m…angry,” she said.