Chapter 1
Gillian Priest felt a cool shiver slide down her spine like a trickle of ice water the moment the tall chain-link gate closed behind her. But she shrugged it off. Now wasn’t the time to let herself get freaked out. Not even a little bit. They’d smell her fear.
New job. New set of prisoners to prove she was a bigger badass than any of them.
A work crew was busy laying sod in the strip of grass between the outer fence and the one surrounding the main building. Not one of the men paused to give her a direct glance.
She knew because she gave them the same sort of look as she strode by—out of the corners of her eyes, sussing them out to see how well they played the game and how well the officer watching over them controlled the situation. She nodded to him, received a cool downward jerk of his chin, noted the muscled frame, the breadth of his shoulders, and the shine off his shaved head. His dark sunglasses hid his expression; his lips remained in a straight line.
She didn’t expect a welcome, not in front of his charges. Perhaps she’d never get one. Her time at the Bentonville unit had been spent playing the hard-ass with prisoners until they’d gotten the message she didn’t accept any crap as well as dodging lewd comments from her fellow officers.
A woman who worked in a men’s prison learned to take it because no matter how hard she might try to deny she didn’t like watching men piss, shit, shower, and dress left her motives for working in a hellhole like this open for interpretation. And everyone there, prisoner and staff alike, was eventually brought down to their base, animalistic selves.
Gillian understood it. She’d tried to fight the perceptions and learned the hard way.
New prison. Fresh start. She’d settle for that and make damn sure she stepped out on the right foot this time.
She wouldn’t make any waves. Would keep her head down, her eyes sharpened on everyone and everything around her.
She waited patiently while the gate to the inner yard was buzzed open, and then shoved it inward. A man dressed in khaki slacks and a white dress shirt opened the door into the main building and waved her forward. “Officer Priest?” he shouted.
Like he didn’t already know? The grapevine inside had likely already passed every word written in her personnel jacket along, savoring the story, committing her official photo to memory.
She was fresh meat. Only she wore corporal’s stripes now, so they’d hold back slightly on the hazing. They’d wait to see what she was made of.
She held out her hand. “Yes sir, and you are?”
His hand clasped hers firmly, pumped once and dropped. “Deputy Warden Kalicek.” Ice-blue eyes raked her frame once, and then narrowed on her expression.
She’d kept it clear of emotion. Set in non-committal straight lines. “I’m ready for duty. “
“You’ve already been briefed. I’m teaming you up with Officer Hedron. You passed him in the yard. As soon as his crew finishes up, he’ll meet you in the control room in Housing Three.”
She nodded. “Until then?”
“I’ll take you there. Introduce you to McPhee. He’s at the console today.” He turned and headed down the long corridor, his dress shoes tapping on the linoleum.
Gillian drew a long breath, relieved she’d be getting straight into the action again. Three months out had put a dent in her confidence. As she followed him down the corridor, empty except for the porter gliding a buffer across the pristine waxed floor, she ignored the hairs rising, prickling at the back of her neck.
A week from now, the nausea would be gone and the bile in her stomach would no longer burn the back of her throat. For now, she’d settle for the fact her hands were as steady as her glare. The sight of the porter’s white jumpsuit hadn’t caused her as much as a skip of nerves.
A week from now, the Caddo River Unit would prove to be just another job.
* * *
McPhee craned his head to give her another sullen glare. Closing in on retirement, the old corrections officer’s face appeared grizzled although his skin was freshly shaven. Must have been the rough texture of his cheeks and chin from too much sun. The man hadn’t stopped talking about the fishing at the nearby lake, the hunting in the woods behind his property, or his new passion four-wheeling.
Gillian cringed, wondering what other redneck subject he’d drone on and on about. Not that she really minded or wasn’t used to it by now. Her own brother had been an avid outdoorsman. But she was restless and wanted to walk the floor, let the prisoners get a look at her while she took their measure.
Hedron had yet to show up, and she was stuck watching prisoners milling in the barracks below through reinforced glass windows until he got there and walked her through the unit.
“We been short-handed for months now. Musta been why they hired you,” McPhee muttered.
She didn’t take offense. She preferred plain talk to the kind that shot arrows at her back. “I’m trained,” she said, keeping her comment short and uninflected.
McPhee’s beady brown eyes narrowed. “What’s a pretty little girl like you doin’ workin’ in a place like this, anyway?”
She raised a brow and shot him a challenging glare. “What are you doing here?”
“Workin’ on a second retirement.” He leaned back in his chair, his expression turning sly. “Be careful one of these boys doesn’t try to flip you, pretty as you are.”
Gillian crossed her arms over her chest and rested her butt against the edge of the console. “If I’m so pretty, what makes you think I’d stoop to fuck one of those losers?”
His mouth opened, and then sawed shut. “Just givin’ you a friendly warnin’.” His eyes narrowed farther, and he tilted his head toward the floor. “There’s demons in some of those boys,” he whispered.
“Appreciate the warning,” she murmured. “But I can take care of myself.”
The last thing she wanted was for any of her fellow guards thinking they had to go out of their way to protect her. That kind of distraction led to someone getting hurt.