Page 89 of Captured Heart

19. Katelyn

Istare at myself in the mirror one last time. The reflection staring back at me doesn’t feel like me at all. My hair is pulled back into a neat bun, the sleek strands so tight they almost hurt. The navy blue pencil skirt and matching blazer are crisp, professional, a stark contrast to the chaos inside me. I adjust the non-prescription glasses on my face and take a deep breath. If I’m going to play the part of Wendy Carmichael, I need to look it.

I grab my purse but opt to leave my phone at home. It’s too risky to bring it. The last thing I need is for anyone to trace this visit back to me.

The Uber ride feels endless, every turn tightening the coil of nerves in my stomach. When the driver finally pulls up to the prison, the imposing gray building looms over me like a fortress. My palms are sweaty as I step out and approach the entrance.

At the front desk, I keep my head down as I speak to the guard. “Wendy Carmichael,” I say, keeping my voice low so he doesn’t hear how nervous I am. “I’m an investigator for the prosecutor’s office. I’m here to speak with Aleksandras Kazlauskas.”

The guard squints at me for a moment before nodding. “Detective Collins informed us of your visit. Follow me.”

I clutch my purse tightly, my heels clicking against the concrete floor as he escorts me down a maze of sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors. I keep my head down and walk behind him to shield my face from any cameras they may have. Weventure to a quiet place, and it’s so secluded I start to wonder if they use this room to forcefully extract information out of prisoners. No one would even hear their screams.

I push the thought out of my mind. My imagination will run wild if I don’t put a stop to it. The guard stops in front of a door, pulling out a set of keys.

“This is the room,” he says, unlocking it. “I’ll bring the prisoner in shortly.”

I step inside, scanning the small, unremarkable space. No cameras. No windows. Just a table and two chairs. My heart pounds as I sit down, waiting.

When the door opens again, Alex steps inside, his wrists and ankles bound in heavy cuffs. I haven’t seen him in six weeks, and he looks the same, yet different. His hair’s grown out slightly, his jaw more shadowed than before. The stark orange of his two-piece prison uniform—a button-down top and loose pants—contrasts sharply against the cold, gray walls of the room.

The fabric pulls slightly across his broad shoulders as he moves, every step restrained by the weight of the chains. His eyes lock onto mine, and his jaw clenches. Hard.

The guard shoves him into the chair and hands me the key to the door. “Knock when you’re done,” he says before stepping out.

I wait until the door closes, then lock it behind him.

Once we’re alone, every ounce of control I’ve managed to cling to shatters. I want to run up to him, throw my arms around him, and hug him tight. But I dare not move. His steely gaze keeps me firmly in place.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is sharp, hostile, the anger rolling off him in waves.

I notice how his eyes discreetly move around the room, and I know what he’s looking for. “There are no cameras in here.”

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t be here. I told you to stay the hell away from me.”

This isn’t exactly how I envisioned he’d react to seeing me. I thought he’d be...happy. Swallowing my nervousness, I ready myself to face his wrath. “I wanted to see you. To make sure you’re okay.”

He scoffs. “You wanted to see me? Great. You’ve seen me. I’m fine. Now turn around, walk out that door, and forget you ever came.”

“No.”

“You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t some game. You can’t just show up like this. Do you realize Victor’s in the same fucking building? If he finds out you were here—”

The sentence stops midway when his rage overwhelms him. He’s seething now, so livid he can’t even look at me. He runs a rough hand over his tightened jaw, his hands balling into hard fists.

“I took precautions.”

That statement was meant to ease his worry, but it only aggravates him more.

“I don’t give a shit what you did. You. Shouldn’t. Be. Here!” His voice rises, his frustration bubbling over. “Why did you come?”

“I came because...I want you to testify against Victor.”

He doesn’t even think about it. “No.”

“Alex—”

“I said no.” His tone is unyielding. “It’s too dangerous.”

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