Something to Die For by Kaye Blue

Sixteen

Angel

It had beenan hour since Lucas had left, and though I told myself to rest, I hadn’t been able to.

Instead, I had paced the outbuilding, sat on the horribly uncomfortable cot, and then finally settled in one of the chairs, staring at the door and willing him to walk through it.

It was easier to focus on that than to think about my mother, my friends, what was happening out there in the world.

What would happen to me if he didn’t come back.

Occasionally, my mind tried to drift, but I kept bringing myself back, reminding myself that giving into panic wouldn’t help anyone.

Still, the seconds seemed to drag, and though I knew it was dangerous to ask for such things, I definitely could have used a distraction.

And it seemed like I was getting my wish.

I stood when the doorknob turned, jumping at the sound of the chair sliding against the floor.

It wasn’t Lucas.

He’d told me three or four hours, and by my count, less than half that had passed.

So I watched, curious and afraid, as the door opened.

Men had been trying to intimidate me all day, all my life, really, but the man who walked through the door did intimidate me, and he didn’t seem to be trying.

He was huge, even larger than Lucas, brown hair that touched his shoulders, light blue eyes, a face that might be handsome if he wasn’t scowling. He stared at me, some emotion I couldn’t name blazing in his eyes.

It might have been disgust, maybe anger. I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t plan on staring at him long enough to figure it out.

Instead, I cleared my throat, wiped my hands on my coat, and called on all the years of experience I had dealing with tough guys, though not as many that looked as tough as him.

“May I help you with something?”

The man didn’t respond, but he did take off the automatic weapon he’d slung over his shoulder and laid it against the wall. Then he stared at me, looked me up and down, that emotion that had been in his eyes before gone, leaving only the scowl on his face.

“You work at the prison.”

It wasn’t a question, but when I shifted, felt the white coat move around me, I remembered that I was still wearing my badge.

“Yeah,” I said, then shrugged. “Or used to.”

He gave no reaction to that and instead stared at my badge then looked back at my face.

“You know the librarian?”

“Bell?” I asked on instinct.

He nodded, then looked away, shifting, something like nervousness in his stance.

“Yes. I’ve known her for years.”

I didn’t ask why he was asking, but I knew the question was hanging there.

Why was this guy, one who appeared to be friends with these people, asking about Bell Roberts, the sweet, friendly librarian who was universally adored by inmates and staff alike? I tried to imagine Bell, who was the nicest person I had ever met, one who somehow earned the respect of hardened murderers, knowing this person.

I couldn’t picture it, but then again her gift was making connections, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she had.

“Was she there today?” he asked.

I shook my head but didn’t say more. At the clouds that I could see gathering in his eyes I continued.

“The warden told her not to come. The prison’s been on lockdown, and he thought it was better if she stayed home.”

His lips tightened as he considered what I said. He seemed to reach some decision, and then said, “Do you—”

Whatever he was going to say was lost on the boom of an explosion.