His two other cellmates weren’t occupying their small space when Harry sat on his bunk and opened the paper. He skipped the front page and the financials and went straight to the Entertainment section. He blew out a sigh when he saw them. A wedding party with bride, groom, and a handful of attendants. In the groom’s arms was a toddler, smiling for the camera. Harry’s gaze landed on a young woman in a wheelchair as his thumb stroked the picture. If only he could make her whole.

Regret clogged his throat.

A buzzer sounded in the building, signaling the end of their free time. Less than a minute later, Lester and Ricardo returned to the cell.

Lester had bunked with Harry for a couple of years. He was quiet most of the time, except when he stopped taking his meds and ran on the manic side of his personality. Like Harry, Lester was doing time for fraud. He’d been caught stealing the identity of unsuspecting small business owners and cleaning out their accounts. He wasn’t violent, which worked well with Harry.

Ricardo had joined their room only a few months earlier. He was built like a linebacker, so Harry kept his distance. The man said very little unless it was with his fist. Harry didn’t trust him and could only guess what he was in for. In the early days of Harry’s imprisonment, the violent felons weren’t kept in the same cell blocks with those like him. Budget cuts and a lack of state funding for the prison system forced all offenders in with each other.

Harry was no slouch. He stood at over six-feet tall and never missed a meal. He wasn’t a fool, however, and never thought for a minute he’d stand a chance in a fistfight with Ricardo.

“Whatcha got, Harry?” Lester asked as he squeezed between the tiny space beside the bunks. “Oh, are those your girls?” Lester had seen other pictures and knew some of Harry’s story.

“Yeah.”

“The baby is getting big.”

Ricardo slid a glance over his shoulder and took in the page. “I thought your daughter was already married.”

“She is.”

On the top of the page, the article said the couple was renewing their wedding vows. Harry pointed to the title and let the reporter’s words do the job of explaining what the picture depicted.

Ricardo started to turn away, and then stopped himself to take a closer look.

Harry felt the need to pull the paper aside but refrained himself.

“Friends of the bride?” Ricardo asked, pointing to the others in the picture.

“I guess,” Harry said, not knowing any of the people in the pictures personally. He recognized the names, but not the faces.

When Ricardo turned away, Harry carefully folded the paper and placed it in his stash with the others.

Chapter Ten

Carter was running on five hours sleep in the past three days. What he truly needed was a big bed and six hours of silence so his body could feel normal again.

That was asking too much.

He had two messages on his personal cell phone. One from Roger in New York telling him to call him back when he could manage a secure line, and the other from detective Dean asking for a few minutes of Carter’s time.

After a few frustrating attempts of connecting with his buddy on the East Coast, Carter gave up and drove himself to the police station where Dean and his partner James worked.

Although Carter attempted to avoid an audience by driving himself, as he walked into the police station several sets of eyes shifted his way.

Carter glanced over the heads in the room searching for one of the two cops he’d seen escort Eliza from the hotel a few short days ago.

“Looking for someone in particular, counselor?”

Used to the title, Carter answered quickly. “Dean Brown?”

“Down that hall. First door on the right.”

Carter nodded his thanks and walked past a few sets of eyes. Before he rounded the corner, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Impulse had him opening his messages. Blake’s name popped on the screen with a short note. We need to talk. Drinks tonight?

Carter sent a quick yes and a promise to call then slipped the phone back into his suit pocket.

The smaller office housed six desks and a handful of detectives. Dean and James were sitting across from each other at the far end of the room. Both of their heads snapped up when one of the other detectives greeted him. “I didn’t know we were on the campaign trail,” came one snarky comment, followed by a laugh.

“I’m here to see—”

“Billings,” Dean interrupted. “Nice of you to come.”

The other detectives stood aside as Dean and his partner walked to Carter’s side. They shook hands with cordial smiles. “We haven’t formally met. This is my partner James Fletcher and I’m Dean—”

“Brown. I know.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“You wanted to see me.”

James shifted onto the balls of his feet and nodded toward the hall.

“How about a cup of coffee?” Dean offered. “Guaranteed to rot your gut and keep you awake for the next twelve hours.”

“Sounds good.” Carter followed them out of the busy office and down another hall. They stopped at a coffee pot that looked as if it was last cleaned sometime back when Prince was singing about 1999. They filled a couple of Styrofoam cups. From there they found a secluded room Carter recognized as one where interrogations took place. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was there for some sort of official questioning. Thought he knew he’d done nothing wrong, these two did remove Eliza from his side a short time ago. He couldn’t be too careful.

The door behind them shut, and Carter wasted little time. “Do I need a lawyer?”

Dean glanced at James and James at Dean. “No,” James said as he pulled out a chair and offered it to him.

After sitting, Carter attempted the coffee. The bitter taste slid down his throat like a slug and threatened to come back up. Not only was it bad, it was cold.

“You’re not here. Not officially, anyway.” Dean sat on the edge of the table and crossed his arms over his chest.

“There are a dozen cops in the other room who saw me walk in. If this was supposed to be in private you should have informed me.”

“Not private, just not official. If we met outside of the station and someone saw us, it would broach more speculation. My guess is the media loves to follow you around town with cameras shoved in your face.”

Carter couldn’t argue with that. “So why am I here?”

“What is the nature of your relationship with Eliza Havens?”