Page 50 of In Hiding

9.

Lying on his bunk, Erik Christensen could smell rain in the air. It drifted in through the vents, bringing with it a freshness much needed within the walls of the prison. He stared up at the ceiling, his mind once again turning to Kat. Not knowing where she was tormented his soul, but it was for the best. That way, the information couldn’t be pulled from him by any means.

Not that he knew quite how he’d hold up if it came to torture. He’d never had to endure the cruelty some men inflicted on others, which was precisely why he’d told her to disappear. She was safer that way, but it didn’t stop him pondering where she would have gone. Somewhere warm, he expected, and far, far away. Somewhere Mitchell wouldn’t think to look. Maybe out west. He’d always heard Perth was a great place to live.

“Dane.”

His eyes flicked toward the door where a hulking silhouette loomed. “Muscat.”

“You have a visitor.”

Erik sat up slowly. “You must be confused. I don’t get visitors.”

Had Kat risked everything to come to him?

The guard, Steve Muscat, chuckled low and mean. He’d only been in the job a couple of months and already he’d built a reputation. Safe to say, Erik didn’t like him.

No one did.

“Get up.”

In no position to argue, Erik obeyed and rose. He dwarfed Muscat as he neared and the baton in the warden’s hands hinted he understood how dangerous Erik could be. It wouldn’t come to that. Erik would make sure of it. There was too much at stake and jeopardizing his application for parole was as good as signing Kat’s death certificate.

“Who?”

“Fucked if I know.” The sigh said he couldn’t care less, either.

Three guards accompanied Muscat. Erik followed two while two brought up the rear. It was overkill but it served a purpose. If Mitchell saw the guards thought it necessary, it’d keep him at bay a little longer and for that, Erik was grateful.

They moved through the prison, waiting at access points to be buzzed through. When they reached the visitor center, they continued down a corridor. The unfamiliar process raised Erik’s hackles and dumped adrenaline into his veins. It was usual to meet out in public, not in a private room. Awareness coursed through his body, keeping his mind alert for something out of the ordinary. They stopped at a closed door.

“Hands.”

Erik presented his hands. Muscat slapped on a pair of cuffs. His gut screamed at him to refuse the visitor and return to the safety of his cell, but it was too late. Behind Muscat, the door opened and the guard behind gave Erik a shove. He half fell, half stumbled into the room where two men sat at a metal table bolted to the floor. The strangers stood. One was about his age, the other was much older.

“They won’t be necessary,” the older man spoke, eyeing the shackles. “You can remove the cuffs.”

Muscat shook his head. “Not on my watch.”

“Remove them, or I speak to your supervisor.”

Erik could hear Muscat grind his teeth. If looks could kill... Erik braced himself as the restraints were removed.

“You have fifteen minutes.”

The older man walked toward them with a cunning smile. “I was granted thirty and I will use each and every one of them. Thank you, Mr...” he leaned forward and squinted to read the guard’s badge, “Muscat. That will be all.”

Three of the guards left through the door though one remained behind, as per protocol. Unbelievably, the older visitor shook his head.

“You, too.”

“But, Sir?”

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