Page 9 of The Heir
"I don't know. I think they told me, but I don't quite remember." I shake my head. "I was… preoccupied."
"You don't say." Stacy plops down on the bunk beside me and throws her arm around my shoulder. "Honestly, I'm impressed. You really seem like you're taking this all in stride."
I shrug and drop my head into my hands. I'm so fucking tired. "Nothing else I can do now, is there?"
Stacy giggles and tosses herself back, sprawling on the twin-sized bunk. "There's always something to do."
"Wait, what do you mean?"
"You're a woman ofmeans, aren't you? Businessman husband, vacation homes, right?" She cocks her head tothe side with a wicked grin. "There are always spaces between bars, if you catch my drift."
My eyebrows rocket up to my hairline—at least, that's what it feels like. Escape. Jesus, I'm an idiot. Why have I just been lying back and taking it? Maybe the botched attempt with Ella knocked me on my ass, metaphorically speaking. Holy shit. Ofcourse,I could escape. I just need to get a message to Dante. Holy shit.
"What do you know?" I drop my voice to a whisper. "How? What?"
"Noteveryonewho works here loves their job, girl." She winks. "Just watch. Listen. Observe. You'll figure it out."
I'm still riding the high of Stacy's sneaky suggestions when Mr. Vetter drags me back into court for sentencing. Maybe my years of TV watching didn't prepare me adequately, but I really thought these processes took more than a handful of months. But no, I'm sitting back in court, not even a week after my guilty verdict. Waiting for the judge to tell me what I already know.
Except my mind won't focus on the proceedings. I keep going over the guards' faces and names, their attitudes and demeanors, mentally sorting them intohelpful or harmful. I only catch a few words of my own sentencing. Life in prison, no chance of parole for thirty years, blah blah blah. Mr. Vetter elbows me when he catches me smiling blithely.
"Fix your face," he hisses under his breath. Try as I might, I can't. It'll be in the papers, of course—the murderess smiling at her own demise. I'll be branded insane. A crazy bitch. But like, who cares? If I know Dante—and I know I do—he won't stand by this.
As casually as possible, I stretch my arms up and out like I'm yawning, chancing a peek behind me. There he is. There's my man, sitting just behind the partition, watching me intently. I fake another yawn and wink at him. Recognition flashes in his eyes, and he stifles a smirk. Goddamn, my husband ishot.
And just like that, a pang of guilt jolts through me to my core. That sexy as sin man married me, promised me the world, and I smashed it to pieces. If I'd kept a handle on myself, if I hadn't convinced Helena to take me out to the range, we wouldn't be in this mess. What is this all costing him? What about my hospital stay? He's rich, of course, but everyone has a financial limit.
The smile falls from my face as self-deprecating thoughts race through my mind. Through it all, he's come to court for me. He got slapped with contempt of court for me. He professed his love for me when the jury read their verdict. It seems impossible thatsomeone like him wouldactuallylove me, but… maybe, just maybe, I could start to believe him.
I feel his eyes on me through the whole sentencing ordeal—through the judge announcing I'll be extradited to Illinois to stand trial again. Illinois, however, doesn't seem to be chomping at the bit to get its claws in me. I won't be transferred for another few months. But I still won't get to go home. No, I'll still be remanded to custody without bail.
That's fine. That's all fine. It gives me the chance to figure out how the hell I'm going to escape. I know I can trust Stacy, but who else? My new mission is to figure out which guards hate their jobs and get them onmyside.
"Seriously, fix your face." Mr. Vetter elbows me again. "You look like you're happy about this."
"Sorry," I mumble and fix my attention back on the judge. Folding my hands together in front of my mouth, I hide my smile. I'll absolutely get the fuck out of this.
Without a looming court date, all the days run together in jail. Stacy's still here, though. We chat about whatever magazine she gets her hands on or play cards. One of the guards she's friendly with passed her a deck abouta week ago, and I'm the reigning champion of Go Fish. Plus, I'm the queen of commissary. Dante keeps my books full, and I treat Stacy whenever she mentions wanting snacks. It's the least I can do, really.
"Where's your toothbrush?" Stacy asks, throwing down her (losing) hand of cards.
"Where it always is. Why?" I snatch up the cards and start to shuffle them.
"They're probably going to let you mingle with the rest of us long-timers soon. It's always nice to have protection."
"Protection?"
"Oh my god, you absolute baby." Stacy leans in and whispers to my ear, "Scrape the handle against the wall. Your bed. Anything harder than plastic, and make yourself a shiv."
"I don't think that's a good idea," I blurt out, dealing our hands again. "Sharp objects and I have a… complicated history."
"Your funeral, girl." Stacy snatches up her cards and arranges them carefully. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
A shiv. A shank? I thought that was only necessary in real prison, not jail. God, movies failed me again. The more I think about it, though, she's right. Itwouldbe nice to have something, you know, if anything were to happen. And if I spy an opening in the jail's defenses,literally anything, it could be a massive help in Operation: Get the Fuck Out.
"Lights out in five, ladies," a male guard announces at our door. Stacy looks up and grins, tossing her hair around.
"Of course, sir," she purrs. My eyes nearly bug out of my head. What the fuck? Is that her boyfriend—no, he's a cop. Ex-boyfriend, I mean. I wait until he's a few cells down before I turn back to her.
