Page 49 of Fighting for Tawny

When the furor died down, Moira asked in a subdued tone, “Is there anything I can say to change your minds? Because I believe you have what it takes to be firefighters.”

Joy and Precious glanced at each other and shook their heads. “No, ma’am.”

“All right, then. I’ll call Warden Stoltz, inform him of your decision, and arrange for transportation back to CIFW.”

“Don’t bother,” Whitcomb declared from his stance near the door. “I’ll take them back to prison. You’ve got five minutes to get your shit together.”

Tawny didn’t like the arrangement, but she couldn’t prevent it. Joy and Precious took his warning seriously and started shoving their meager belongings into their pillowcases.

As Joy passed by Tawny, she grabbed her arm. “If Whitcomb asks you about Colfer, say you don’t know anything else, and Mr. McAdams warned you not to discuss it further. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell Precious, too.”

She nodded and hurried to the truck Whitcomb had driven to fire camp that morning. Everyone followed them, and they shared hugs and wished each other well. As they watched Whitcomb drive away, Joy and Precious stuck their heads out the windows and waved a wild goodbye.

A sense of foreboding descended on Tawny like the shadow of a gray cloud moving across the sky and covering the sun. She shivered and tried to shake the mood away, but it had seeped into her bones. Something wasn’t right. She only hoped Joy and Precious would be okay.

Whitcomb eyed the two women in the rearview mirror. “You’re a pair of lyin’ bitches. You might have fooled the great and powerful Cameron McAdams, but not me. I know you offed Colfer.”

Joy and Precious clutched hands.

“What, no denial?” he taunted them “No snarky comeback?” He paused. “Oh, I see. You’re giving me the silent treatment.”

Whitcomb returned their silence, more frightening and intimidating than his biting sarcasm. When they drove through the electronic gate at CIFW, it slid shut in silent mockery of their brief taste of freedom. Sweat beaded on their foreheads and dripped down their backs and between their breasts, so intense was their mutual fear. As Whitcomb escorted Joy and Precious to Warden Stoltz’s office, they clung to each other, unaware of what awaited them.

Warden Stoltz stood in front of his desk, arms folded across his chest. His navy-colored tie hung loosely around his neck, and the sleeves of his light blue dress shirt were rolled halfway to his elbow. His stern, unforgiving expression did not bode well for them. Whitcomb shoved them into a pair of chairs in front of him.

“I gave you an opportunity to improve yourselves, and you threw it away at the drop of a hat.”

Joy opened her mouth to protest but shut it. She and Precious were on the losing side of this situation, and she suddenly regretted quitting the fire program. There, she felt safer surrounded by people who had her back, especially Tawny, than she did behind these walls, these bars. Her heart beat an erratic rhythm, and she risked glancing at Precious. The terror in her eyes petrified Joy.

“You were dragged to jail under suspicion of murder and committed an infraction that put my reputation and the fire program at risk. If not for Captain Finnigan’s connections, you’d still be in Sheriff O’Grady’s custody, waiting to be charged with homicide.”

The unfairness of it all loosened Joy’s tongue. “We were sent into those hills to find a missing hiker. It wasn’t our decision to split up. That’s on Colfer, God rest his soul. Some homicidal maniac bashed his head in, but it wasn’t me or Precious. Instead of throwing shade at us, you should be lookin’ for the real killer.”

“And I resent you accusin’ us of throwing this opportunity away,” Precious spoke up. “You planned to pull us out anyway, right?”

His lips narrowed into a thin line that in no way resembled a smile. “You’re so right. Not only had I intended to throw you out of the fire program, but now I’m throwing you into solitary for an indeterminate length of time.”

Joy and Precious leaped to their feet with such force that they knocked over their chairs.

“No! You can’t do that!” Joy cried. “We have rights! We have a lawyer, Mr. Cameron McAdams! I demand to call him!”

Warden Stoltz’s mouth broadened into a sinister smile. “Rights? You demand to call your lawyer? I don’t think so.” He waved a hand. “Take them to solitary.”

Precious screamed and tried to bolt. Whitcomb stopped her with one powerful punch to her face. He handcuffed her as she whimpered in pain, then secured Joy’s wrists with another set of handcuffs.

On their way down to the bowels of hell, other inmates gawked at them. When one of their friends intervened and demanded to know why they were being taken to solitary confinement, Whitcomb shoved the woman against the cinder block walls.

“Get out of my fuckin’ way, or you’re next.”

Like frightened cats, Joy and Precious struggled against being forced into those tiny cells. Joy bucked at Whitcomb, twisted and turned and tried to run. Precious bawled and pleaded for mercy. Whitcomb slapped them until they stopped resisting. Joy’s cheeks burned, and her ears rang. Once inside their new prison with solid doors and walls, they slid their hands through a slot so Whitcomb could remove their handcuffs.

“Enjoy your stay, ladies.”

Their broken, bitter sobs echoed down the dimly lit corridor.

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