“You’re a decent human being who’s risking her life to do the right thing.”
She raised her head, her gaze searching his. “Or maybe I’m here because…” Another sigh shuddered out of her. “Because every time you look at me, every time you touch me, I forget about doing the right thing.” She grabbed the breast pocket of her coat where the Lockdown logo was silk-screened into the fabric. “This logo, this uniform, used to mean something to me. It used to mean everything to me. I’ve thrown it all away—”
“Emily, we’re in a high-adrenaline situation. We’ve been under an incredible amount of stress for over thirty-six hours—”
“This isn’t about adrenaline or stress or even the amount of time we’ve spent together.”
“No, but those things can complicate an already complicated situation. Especially when the chemistry between two people is right.”
“Or maybe history is repeating itself.”
“What are you talking about?”
She surprised him by laughing, but it was a bitter sound. A sound he didn’t like coming from her. “Maybe I really am like my father.”
He didn’t know anything about her father. But Zack saw clearly the rise of emotion in her face. He saw it in the way her hands had begun to shake. He heard it in the tremor in her voice. And he knew that whatever she was about to tell him was deeply painful for her.
“What does this have to do with your father?” he asked.
“You mean you don’t know about the infamous Adam Monroe?”
Zack waited, sensing she needed to talk, know ing he was going to have to push to get her to open up. He glanced in the rearview mirror, watching for flashing lights or a car following too closely or for too long. Snowflakes had begun to fall from the gray sky, but he didn’t think it was going to storm.
He waited for her to speak. When she didn’t, he said softly, “Talk to me, Emily. Tell me what happened to your father.”
“He was a corrections officer for the state of Idaho,” she began. “He worked his way up through the ranks all the way to lieutenant. He was good at what he did. He was professional and respected. When I was fifteen, he was transferred to the Balpost Correctional Facility for women. There had been some problems at the prison and they sent my father there to implement some new policies and procedures and straighten things out.” She looked down at her hands and sighed. “He was there for only six months when the problems began. I was too young to fully understand what was going on. But I heard the phone calls. I heard arguments between him and my mother. I saw the articles in the local paper, the reports on the local news. I heard the whispers behind my back when I was at school.”
“What happened?”
“My father…became involved with a female inmate.”
Shock and compassion rippled through him. And finally he understood why she’d been so very reluctant to believe him, to trust him. “I’m sorry.”
“I was too young to understand all the implica tions. Both of my parents tried to shield me from most of it. But I knew he’d done something…reprehensible.”
“Something like that is tough for a fifteen-year-old girl to grasp.”
“It was a terrible time for my family,” she said. “There was a lot of arguing. Phone calls in the middle of the night. Visits from the police. My mother was furious. She said he shamed us. He shamed his profession.”
“How did it happen? I mean, were there mitigating circumstances? A question of this female inmate’s guilt? What?”
“I don’t know. He never told us.”
“You mean he didn’t defend himself? Wasn’t there some kind of formal hearing or charges filed against him? Did he lose his job?”
“He didn’t live long enough to tell us what had happened.”
“I’m sorry.” Zack looked away from the road to stare at her, his mind reeling, his heart hurting for the fifteen-year-old girl she’d been. “How did it happen?”
“He committed suicide.”
“Aw, man. Emily…”
“It was a long time ago.” She lifted one shoulder, let it fall. “It was tough. But I worked through it. I’m okay now.”
He grimaced, knowing she was not. “What happened to the female inmate?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who was she?”
“Her name was Shanna James. I’ve seen photographs, and she was very beautiful and very young. Just ten years older than I was at the time.” She smiled, but it was humorless, brittle. “She’d been in prison for two years when they met. She had been convicted of murdering her husband.”
“Nice.”
“From what I was able to piece together, she targeted my father. Used every enticement in the book, including her body.” She closed her eyes, as if the pain of what she was about to say was too much to bear. “He sacrificed everything to be with her. His career. His family. His very life. I hate to say it, but I think he was actually in love with her.”