Page 11 of Fighting for Tawny

Jo interrupted their conversation. “C’mon, T! We need you! We’re getting our asses kicked!”

Tawny grinned and left the bleachers without another word to Bette.

From the privacy of his office, Stoltz observed the basketball game playing out in the exercise yard on the closed-circuit video feed. Inmate Tawny Westfall captured his attention. Her athleticism impressed him as she dribbled, passed the ball, or sank baskets. When two of the women started pushing each other after one of them cost her team some points, Tawny stepped between them and kept the confrontation from escalating into a fistfight. The game resumed without another incident.

“Ginger is a leader,” Whitcomb remarked. “And a great fighter. She’ll be hard to control.”

“I’m not worried. Tawny Westfall will fall in line. She’s smart enough to know what’s good for her. We’ll get her in so deep that there won’t be any way out.”

“And when she’s outlived her usefulness?”

Stoltz watched Tawny hug her teammates after they scored the winning basket. “Then her fate is sealed.”

“Tawny is a beautiful woman. She doesn’t carry herself like the others. She’s special. It would be a shame to eliminate her.”

Whitcomb’s admiration for Tawny bothered Stoltz. He switched the video feed to other cameras in the complex. “Take off your blinders, Whitcomb. Tawny Westfall is a convict just like all the others. She deserves what happens to her.” His eyes narrowed in speculation. “If you touch her and put us in jeopardy, I’ll make sure you pay for it.”

Stoltz moved away from his desk and crossed his arms. “Now, what did you discover about this so-called lawyer representing Tawny?”

They knew better than to use a form of communication that could leave a trail, so Whitcomb removed a set of Polaroids from an envelope and spread them on Stoltz’s desk. The photos revealed a small, one-story clapboard house on the outskirts of Chino. Its weather-beaten facade—paint peeling off faded wooden boards, a screen door hanging lopsided, dirty windows sporting spider webs—indicated a lack of prosperity. A single sign that read TK Winchester, Esq., swung in the wind on rusty hinges. An old Impala sat in the back of the house.

“Ever hear of this guy?” Stoltz inquired.

“Not a guy. It’s a woman. Early thirties. I checked into her before I pretended to be a client. She runs a fly-by-night firm if you can even call it that. TK Winchester works out of one room that, as you can see, looks like a tornado hit it. Files and trash are everywhere. I took these pictures when she went to get me a bottle of water. She appeared busy, but not a single person called while I was there. I don’t think she has the intelligence or the resources to argue an appeal on Ginger’s behalf.”

Stoltz studied a picture of the messy office and one of TK Winchester that Whitcomb pulled from the internet. With her round face accentuated by black plastic-framed glasses, she reminded him of an owl with a sheepish expression rather than an intelligent one. But he wasn’t foolish enough to believe appearances couldn’t be deceiving. “What story did you give her?”

“The usual BS. I was in some legal trouble and needed advice. Kept it vague. I didn’t want to stay too long in case I raised suspicion.”

“And you walked away with the impression that TK Winchester isn’t a threat?” Stoltz harbored serious doubts.

Whitcomb nodded. “Yeah. Ginger probably hooked up with her through Google. TK Winchester isn’t making big bucks.”

“No? She’s putting money in Tawny’s commissary account.”

“A lot?”

“Just enough to cover the basics with a little extra.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it or TK Winchester. I’d worry about Ginger.”

Stoltz snorted. “I’ll take your warning under advisement.”

He sent Whitcomb back to his duty station. Stoltz took the photos into his private bathroom and set a match to them in the sink. After they burned to ashes, he washed them down the drain.

Stoltz used the toilet, flushed, and washed his hands. He took a paper towel and patted the shine from his head and face. Forbidden images of Tawny Westfall flooded his mind. He envisioned her stepping out of a shower stall, wrapped in a towel, water dripping from her flaming red hair. Sitting at a table in a classroom and looking serious and studious with Andee. Laughing during mealtime, her perfect, pearly white teeth flashing in amusement. Facing him, her incredible hazel eyes staring at him with unflinching bravado and daring brazenness. No. Whitcomb was wrong. Tawny Westfall wasn’t merely beautiful. She was a fucking goddess. A goddess who would never succumb to him.

Lust consumed him. His breathing grew ragged, conjuring images of Tawny lying naked, willing but helpless on his bed, writhing beneath him and begging him to take her hard and fast. He’d teach her a few tricks he’d learned, too, the kind of tricks designed to make her scream in the anguish of both pleasure and pain, scream his name over and over, “Mickey…Mickey…!”

The buzzing of the landline phone on his desk prevented the inevitable conclusion to his fantasy, and his eyes flew open. Sweat glistened on his face again, and he rinsed it off with water. When he reached his phone, he yanked the receiver from the cradle and viciously punched the insistent flashing red button.

“What is it?” he snapped, annoyed by Wendy’s untimely interruption of his fantasy. Stoltz hated his perky, unwanted, and unnecessary aide. He suspected the DOC planted her as a spy after that nasty business in a South Florida prison. He’d been fortunate that the network relocated him to California at just the right time; otherwise, he might be six feet under. The network wasn’t responsible for the previous warden’s sudden departure, but it moved with haste to ensure his appointment to the position. It, the organization that had recruited him for his potential, had long desired to gain a foothold in California, and now it had one. As long as no one cared about the missing women, everyone involved would continue to amass great wealth. And he needed it with two greedy ex-wives and their spoiled brats he’d never wanted in the first place.

“It’s time for rounds,” Wendy reminded him.

Her unflappable attitude in the face of Stoltz’s annoyance further annoyed him. He’d love to make her disappear, but a woman like her would cause the kind of uproar that would expose the network and bring about its downfall. It had witnessed the demise of too many organizations in the recent past.

“Yes, I know!” Stoltz slammed the receiver into its slot. He shrugged into his suit jacket and straightened his tie before heading off to perform the mundane duty.

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