Page 2 of Fighting for Tawny

Early the next morning, Dr. Sadler examined Tawny and told her that a guard was waiting to escort her to the warden’s office.

“What does he want with me?”

“I don’t know. But want my advice? Play nice and watch your attitude.”

Tawny nodded, and Dr. Sadler let the guard into her cubicle. She climbed from the bed, and the guard handcuffed her.

“Is that necessary?” Dr. Sadler asked.

“Warden Stoltz’s orders.”

Tawny noted the concern in Dr. Sadler’s eyes and understood it. Being handcuffed left her in a vulnerable position, easy to become a victim of assault. But the guard had handcuffed her in the front, and she knew how to defend herself if necessary. She’d trained with Justice and Jiena for several weeks to prepare for eventualities like this.

She smiled at the doctor. “I’ll be okay, Doc.”

Outside the infirmary, the guard apologized. “I’m sorry, Tawny, but I have my orders.”

Like a computer, Tawny pulled information about Terrence Pomeroy from a file in her brain. Thirty-five years old. A former cop who’d quit the force after nearly being killed at a routine traffic stop. Married with three kids, a dog, and a modest home with a white picket fence. Good father and husband. Clean record. She wanted to trust him, but Jiena and Justice had drilled into her head that trusting anyone would be a fatal mistake.

“Not trusting Hutch almost cost you your twin Jadah,” Tawny had argued.

“And I regret it. But I had my freedom. You won’t.” End of discussion.

“No hard feelings, right, Terry, my man?”

She expected to be disciplined for her impertinence. A slap across the face or a punch to her broken ribs. Instead, he replied, “Don’t try that smart-aleck shit with anyone else, or you’ll pay for it.”

“And we both know how I’ll pay for it, don’t we, Terry?”

His face darkened with anger from the insult. Everyone knew which guards to avoid, the ones you never wanted to catch you alone, but Terrence Pomeroy wasn’t one of them. Tawny had witnessed his professionalism and acts of kindness to help some of the women, but now he shoved her forward with unnecessary roughness, which caused pain to radiate through her. She bit back the cry rising in her throat and blinked away the water filling her eyes.

“Shut your mouth, Westfall. Let’s go.”

She wanted to apologize, but in this place, contriteness equaled weakness. Remaining strong and unbreakable had to be her primary focus as she navigated the system every day.

The warden’s office was a good distance from the infirmary, almost to the other side of the campus in the administrative building. Tawny had memorized the blueprints of the prison. She knew every corridor, every cell, every unit, and every area. More importantly, she knew how to maneuver through the duct system to get to the laundry facilities, where an inmate had the best chance of escape by hiding in a large canvas laundry bag. The guards stopped this by thoroughly searching every bag before it left the facility, but Tawny had learned how to avoid detection.

The warden’s aide, whose position had been approved by the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation, sat at a small wooden desk outside Stoltz’s office. Tawny’s brain clicked with details. Wendy Corrigan. One hundred ten pounds. Twenty-two years old. Bachelor’s Degree in Criminal Justice. Enrolled in law school courses online. Working as an aide at CIFW to get real-life experience in the justice system and to pay for law school. Described as smart and savvy, though in Tawny’s opinion, too young and inexperienced to be in an environment like this. Smiling at Tawny, for instance, was a mistake. Maybe she thought the inmates needed to see that friendly, reassuring smile, but it made her vulnerable to deceit and trickery.

Wendy’s smile faded when Tawny shot her with a menacing look. “Warden Stoltz is expecting you, Tawny.”

Tawny noticed that the inmates were always addressed by their first names, the prison philosophy being to remind them of their identities and their humanity. It didn’t work when they were often treated without any regard for their humanity by certain guards.

She braced herself to meet Warden Stoltz. Since she’d gone undercover, two more women had vanished, and one died of an overdose. At least, that was the rumor. Tawny had wanted to question Dr. Sadler about it, but until yesterday, she’d been closemouthed. Or better yet, now that she and Yolanda were “blood sisters,” Tawny might be able to persuade her to confide in her.

Wendy opened the door, and Tawny and Pomeroy stepped across the threshold. The office was a comfortable size but sparsely furnished with an L-shaped desk, a laptop and printer, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and two hard chairs. An artificial plant in one corner softened the austerity of the space.

Warden Stoltz offered a charming smile. With his bald head, athletic build, and dark, beady eyes, he reminded Tawny somewhat of the old TV actor, Telly Savalas. He did not inspire trust, though that was his goal. Pomeroy shoved her into the nearest chair.

“Uncuff Tawny,” he ordered, still with a smile on his face, shining with oil from his pores.

“Warden, I don’t think?—”

“Uncuff her and give us some privacy.”

Pomeroy pursed his lips, clearly uncomfortable with the warden’s command. As he obeyed, he murmured to Tawny, “Don’t do anything stupid.” Straightening up, he turned toward the warden. “I’ll be right outside, Warden.”

The warden nodded. Pomeroy left and shut the door behind him. The soft click sounded as loud as a firecracker. When he and Tawny were alone, he dropped all pretense of charm.

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