Page 4 of The Vigilante's Lover
I reach for the book and rub my thumb along the spine. I can feel the small form of the dart thrower underneath the material.
“Careful where you point that thing,” Sam whispers.
I give him the barest nod, then walk back to the guard. Out of the corner of my eye I see Sam, dressed in the simple navy coveralls of a custodian, reposition himself. A click in my ear tells me he’s rerouted the cameras in the room. I hold the book out to the guard, spine up. He looks at me, a question on his lips, and I press on the cover.
The man gives a small grunt of annoyance and reaches up to his neck. His eyes widen in surprise as his fingers brush the small bit of metal embedded in his skin. I can see the alarm in his expression, but it fades as the drug kicks in and he slumps to the side. I grab him before he can hit the floor and ease him down under the desk.
My fingers fly over his uniform. By the time Sam has joined me, I have the guard’s shirt off. Sam already has his own coveralls unfastened, revealing a thin bag. I finish undressing the guard as Sam opens the bag and allows its contents to blossom forth. A pale gray suit. I shuck my prison orange, and Sam peels off his coveralls.
“You never cease to amaze, Sam.” I finger the tailored suit. The fine cloth feels like heaven.
“Thank Colette for that one.” He grabs the guard’s uniform and dresses quickly.
“I’ll be sure to give her my best when I see her.” I pull the suit on with practiced efficiency. The fit is impeccable, and I almost feel normal again. Almost.
“That should be in about five minutes, except someone decided tochitchat with a guard,” Sam grumbles.
“I’ve cut things closer than this in the past. We’ll be fine.”
Sam stuffs the custodian coveralls into the bag as I drop my prison suit on top of the unconscious guard.
Now for the unpleasant part. Sam instructs me to tilt my head. My neck flashes with pain as he extracts the tracking chip all inmates have implanted under their skin.
“You still bleed like the rest of us,” Sam says and hands me a first-aid patch.
The cool analgesic calms the wound and stems the flow of blood. I straighten my collar to hide it.
Sam tucks the tracking chip into the guard’s sock and pulls the incriminating dart from his neck. We then carry his body into the stacks.
“You ready for the walk?” Sam asks. “The paperwork isn’t going to match up, so the exit might be tricky.”
“We’ll be all right,” I say. “New man on duty at the gate.” This was one reason I chose today for the break.
Together we walk to the library door, which pops open with the badge on Sam’s stolen uniform. Beyond lies empty hallway.
“I couldn’t cut off the mood system. It’s Vigilante,” Sam says.
I nod in acknowledgment. We head down the hall, attracting attention with every step. There aren’t a lot of sharp suits in prison. Above us, each conduct screen scans us for pulse rate, body temperature, and respiration. We’re heading toward the exit with the identification of a person who isn’t supposed to even arrive for another three months.
This is where things might get hairy.
4: Mia
Three quick short knocks at the door can only be Shirley, a neighbor from down the road. I shove the prison letter under a book on the desk and rush to the front door.
The dang thing always sticks when the weather turns cool. The autumn air teases the flyaway tendrils around my forehead as Shirley gives a little wave on the porch.
“Brought you a potpie,” she says, holding up a small casserole dish.
I step back so she can pass me to head to the kitchen. Shirley is like everyone else in this small town, weathered, friendly, and nosy to a fault. I follow her through the house, glancing at the hidden letter like its naughty contents might announce themselves.
Shirley slides her dish into the oven and sets the temperature to warm. “You can eat it when you like,” she says pleasantly. Her face is pink cheeked, cherubic, and dimpled. Her gray hair is a mass of curls that she keeps up at Patsy’s Beauty Parlor, same as she has since the 1980s. You can see exactly where the little rods line up to produce the waves.
She brushes her hands together. “Starting to feel right like fall outthere. You been out today?” Her question is innocent, but I know she’s worried that I haven’t been going anywhere.
“I stopped by the store for some milk this morning,” I say.
She nods and starts moving past me again. “Can’t stay for a chat today. Rowdy got fixed this afternoon and he’s howling like we’ve cut off his…” She pauses. “Well, I guess we did.”
