“Very efficient of you.” Dr. Walker nodded approvingly.
Josiah shrugged. “Dr. Pollinger’s sudden retirement left us a bit in the lurch. I’ve been doing my best but we are very grateful to have your help.”
Dr. Walker nodded as he moved across the room and sank down in the chair before the computer.
Josiah looked at Briar as Dr. Walker started clicking at the keyboard. “I thought you might like to explore the unit. Familiarize yourself with the supplies.” He offered her a key that dangled off a rubber coil around his wrist. “Here you go. We keep all supplies locked.”
She nodded. That made sense. She had an image of some scary yet faceless inmate overpowering her and getting the key that doubtlessly gave him access to all manner of things that could be used as weapons. Syringes, scissors, surgical tape. And then there were drugs, of course. A glance to where Murphy sat near the door, his eyelids drooping to half--mast, didn’t help eliminate the image.
“Thank you,” she murmured, turning for the cabinets lining the walls. “I’ll take a look.”
Josiah spoke quietly behind her. “They always put the older COs on duty in here. Murphy is one breath from retirement.” Apparently he hadn’t missed the direction of her concerned gaze.
“Not very comforting,” she murmured, her sister’s innumerable warnings ringing in her ears.
“Don’t worry. We never see much action in here. When we get inmates, they’re sick or injured. They want relief and aren’t likely to bite the hand giving it to them. Even the appointments this afternoon . . . they’ve been waiting eagerly to see the doctor for weeks. And the more dangerous inmates that come from seg are always in restraints. Even if they wanted to cause trouble, they can’t.”
“What’s seg?”
“Oh, that’s what we call segregation.”
She nodded, thinking about his words and deciding that she was acting like a wimp. She needed to get over her fears. Turning, she unlocked the mesh glass cabinets and began exploring the supplies. They were well--stocked. “Dr. Pollinger’s retirement caught y’all by surprise, then?”
“Yeah. He wasn’t planning to retire for another five years. No one blames him, of course. The stroke just made him decide to move things along faster.”
“Life’s too short,” she agreed. “Hopefully he’s recuperating and enjoying himself.”
“Last I heard, he’s improving his golf swing in Plano.”
“Good for him.”
“That’s right. The rest of us schlubs gotta put in our time.” He grinned good--naturedly.
“Well, hopefully you’ll find a replacement soon.” And then she could stop coming here.
“At this prison?” He snorted. “Not likely. We’re eighty miles outside Sweet Hill and five hours from anywhere that serves decent sushi. It’s practically the end of civilization. The Texas Badlands aren’t exactly where a doctor wants to work. But at least we have you two coming in once a week. That should help.”
Unease trickled through her. When Dr. Walker asked for volunteers, he made it sound like this arrangement would be temporary. A -couple of weeks of making the hour and a half trip to Devil’s Rock, at the most. She wouldn’t have volunteered if she thought this was a permanent arrangement. She didn’t get a nursing degree so she could work in a prison, after all. Bless those who did, like Josiah Martinez, but she didn’t have it in her for this kind of thing.
She worked in a doctor’s office in a small town where the biggest thing to happen was the arrival of Starbucks last year. If she wanted more excitement, she could move to Forth Worth or Houston or Austin and take a job at one of the hospitals there. On any given day, the most extreme thing she saw was a broken arm. On the scariest day, a case of meningitis.
So what are you doing here?
“Guess we better roll through those protocols,” Josiah announced, clapping his hands lightly and rubbing them together.
Banishing that internal voice that sounded a lot like her sister, Briar forced a smile and paid attention as the LVN started explaining what to do in the event of scary--not--going--to--happen--in--a--million--years--situations. At least she hoped so.
TWO
“DROP THE BISCUIT, asshole, or the next thing in your mouth will be my fist.”
Knox tightened his hold around the other inmate’s neck the barest amount. Not enough to kill him or even knock him out, but he knew the bastard had to be seeing spots.
“Fuck you,” the guy wheezed.
Christ. He thought he was beyond this shit. He had spent the first year in here tasting blood. Every day, he fought. Protecting his back and his brother’s had been priority number one. Still. Here he was. Throwing down over a biscuit.
It hadn’t taken long for Knox to realize he and North needed allies, so he’d played the game. Made those allies—-and kept them. For eight years he’d kept them. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have to fight anymore. He still had to crack a few skulls now and then just to hold his place in the pecking order.