Page 133 of Say Yes to the Death

“Shall we?” Jack asked.

She nodded. Luke placed his hand on the small of her back and walked her to the entrance of the prison.

Jack opened the doors. There was desperation in the stale air. Cheap cleaning supplies mingled with high school gym smell. They were immediately faced with a metal detector. Claire walked through. She had diligently studied the visiting guidelines on the website and purposefully worn a bra without an underwire. She didn’t have time to be aggressively patted down by a handsy guard.

The rest of her crew passed through without incident. A bored-looking guard sat at a desk underneath a flickering fluorescent light.

“Name.” He was so gruff that it didn’t even sound like a question.

Claire identified herself, provided her ID, and signed in. Her heart rate climbed the deeper they went into the prison. They walked down a dimly lit hallway. A guard at another desk met her and escorted her to a small conference room. She turned back to look at Luke as she passed through the door. He nodded at her, and then she was alone.

Claire sat on the edge of a conference chair, gripping the yellow legal pad in front of her like a shield. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. Her foot tapped incessantly, echoing in the small room.

The sound of stilettos came from the hallway. Ugh. She was coming. The dragon lady herself. The door opened, and Rachel Islestorm stalked into the room. She dropped her briefcase onto the table and pulled out an identical yellow legal pad.

“Claire,” she said simply. At least she had gotten her name right this time.

“Rachel,” Claire responded. Neither of them moved to shake hands. Claire sat her notepad down and crossed her arms over her chest.

The door opened again, and Claire flinched. Two uniformed security guards walked in wearing night sticks and stun guns. Each had a stoic expression. There was only one person left to arrive.

Outside, chains clinked together. Her heart rate went from galloping to full-on hummingbird, and the pencil she held snapped in half. She forced herself to breathe. She would not give Barney the satisfaction of dissolving into a full-blown panic attack just because his stupid ass walked down a hallway. Maybe she should have tried some of her stepmother’s hokey lavender oils. Or vodka.

The clinking and shuffling grew closer. Her fingers gripped the conference table as she breathed and tried to rearrange her facial expression.

Finally the shuffling feet dragged themselves around the corner of the doorway, and Claire came face-to-face with the man who stalked, abducted, and tortured her. The prison orange hung from his gaunt frame.

What was that smell? Fresh drywall and a dirt floor? But this prison was old. The memories of that night in the parking garage swamped her. She flinched, expecting the scratch of wedding dress lace against her skin, the burn of her arms bound in rope. The walls were closing in, weren’t they?

She gripped the arms of her chair so tightly that her knuckles ached.

“Claire,” he said with a skeevy smile.

“Bernard.” Her voice didn’t shake. Ha, suck it.

She forced herself to loosen her grip and erase what must have been a pained look from her face. She could do this. He had already failed to kill her once. And she knew more than he thought.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me today,” he said, shooting a glance at his lawyer. “Ah, Rachel. I would introduce you, but I guess you two already know each other?”

So he had hired her because she was Luke’s mom. That was underhanded even for a psychopath.

Rachel grunted and leaned back in her chair. Barney sat next to her, directly across from Claire. He smirked, but it didn’t reach his cold, steely eyes. He trained them on Claire, and a lead fist dropped into her stomach.

Rachel cleared her throat. “Mr. Windsor, as we previously agreed, you’re not to discuss the trial or the event leading up to it.”

Barney gave Rachel a passing glance before turning his dead fish eyes back to Claire.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you here.”

Claire leaned back in her seat, drummed the stub of her pencil against the notepad. “I don’t really care why you asked me here. I’m only here because the FBI strongly suggested it.”

“A pawn, of course. How true to your nature.”

She bristled, leaning forward again. “You know nothing about my nature.”

“Oh, but I do,” Barney said, inspecting his fingernails. “You forget, I watched you for months. I know which orange juice you buy, your favorite ice cream shops, which video game your nephew is currently playing.”

“Mr. Windsor,” Rachel interrupted.

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