Page 7 of Hidden Truths

“Your wife who had brain surgery?”

Max’s rare fury roared to life. He slid a long, slow look at Korthauer. “One wonders why you’re so anxious that I not have the meeting I flew and drove one thousand miles to have.”

“Surely one thousand miles is an exaggeration,” Warden Arbuckle said.

Max slid the same hard look at him. “I repeat—I didn’t come this far for nothing. I want to see Mara Philippi in person. I have other connections who would settle the issue.” He pulled out his phone and looked. He had no bars; his phone was virtually useless.

“We have a dampening field over the prison,” Warden Arbuckle explained. “We can’t allow the prisoners to make contact with anyone outside.”

“But no, we don’t want you to use your contacts.” Korthauer sighed and gave way. “We misunderstood.”

Max didn’t call her a liar.

She continued, “We didn’t prepare for this today. Is it possible for you to come back tomorrow?”

“I can wait right here while you make whatever preparations you have to for me to see Mara Philippi.”

Warden Arbuckle and Korthauer exchanged meaningful looks.

Max did not like the looks or the fact they felt they should wordlessly consult.

“Korthauer, can we bring Philippi to the glass wall?” Warden Arbuckle asked. “She can’t touch him there.”

“We’ll have to cancel visiting hours, clear everyone else out.” Korthauer clenched her teeth.

Warden Arbuckle donned his stern, concerned expression.

Korthauer said, “Mr. Di Luca, we’ve got to keep you and everyone else safe. Mara Philippi is a dangerous felon. How about this evening? While we arrange the visit, you can get dinner and come back.”

“All right.” Max was damned well not going to spend more time than necessary in McFelonville visiting a prison.

Warden Arbuckle sighed in relief. “May I suggest the Desert Diner? They’re on Elm, a little out of the way, but no place is too far in McFarrellville, and they do have the best finger steaks in town.”

That there was more than one place for finger steaks in McFarrellville said a lot. “I’ll be back at…?”

“Six thirty,” Arbuckle said. “Don’t be late.”

Max headed for the door, tired, irked and hopeful he had made it clear that hewouldsee Mara Philippi.

As he reached the corridor, Assistant Warden Korthauer caught up with him and walked with him to the exit. “You do understand we’re the premier federal prison in the incarceration and treatment of serial killers. We have to be vigilant.”

Max inclined his head. “You do understand my wife is dying and I don’t have time for this kind of prevarication. I need to get back, to assure her Mara Philippi is in fact behind bars.” Even if he had believed that, this game Arbuckle and Korthauer were playing persuaded him they had something to hide.

“I thought your wife was unconscious.”

“She can hear me.” He believed that with his whole heart.

“Right. I’m sorry for your impending loss.” Assistant Warden Korthauer turned to the guard at the outer door. “Would you escort Mr. Di Luca to his car?”

“Sure.” The guard headed into the parking lot. “Which one’s yours?”

“The silver Maxima. Why do you have to walk me to the car?” When Max arrived, no one had walked him from the parking lot to the door.

“Because Korthauer said so. She’s my boss, and I don’t argue with that woman.”

“Fair enough.” But…hmm. Max got into the car and drove down to Elm Street, and the Desert Diner, where he had the finger steaks, coleslaw, fries and iced tea. Arbuckle was right—good food.

A glance at his phone told him he had an hour to get back to the prison.

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