The face of a man who’d killed his wife in his own garage.
Gabrielle stifled a shudder. “I don’t care what he’s done,” she said, remembering her ideals. “It’s not up to me to punish him.”
“I’m not punishing him. I’m just letting him pick on someone his own size.”
“Four to one is hardly a fair fight.”
The muscles of Hansen’s arm flexed as he rubbed the top of his blond flattop, studying her. What he lacked in height he tried to compensate for in the weight room, which made him appear almost square. “You think his wife would want him to have a pleasant stay here?”
“I don’t have to answer that. The government dictates what his stay is like, not me. Or you,” she added.
He chuckled bitterly, finally seeming to accept that he wasn’t going to convince her. “Damn bleeding heart liberal, that’s what you are. It’s a shame what people like you have done to this country. Prisoners are treated like guests at the taxpayer hotel while we work like slaves to keep food on the table.”
“What good does it do to behave like them?” she asked. “Just because we work with depraved men doesn’t mean we have to lose our humanity.”
“You think I’ve lost my humanity, Officer Hadley?”
Gabrielle hesitated but, in the end, her natural frankness won out. “I don’t think what you did back there was right. And I sure as hell don’t think you should have denied Randall Tucker a doctor. He’s obviously hurt. We should send him to the health center.”
“Let me tell you something, little lady. Randall Tucker is fine. He can take two men easily, and I’ve seen him take three. Far as I know, today’s the first time he’s ever been beat. He’s been fighting since he came here and he’ll continue to fight until he dies, or his appeal is finally heard and the judge overturns his sentence. But he’s already been denied twice, so I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for that. He’s tougher than nails and stronger than a bull. He’s a survivor.”
Hansen put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “And you know what? So am I. I’ve been workin’ here since college, nearly fifteen years, and I’ll be workin’ here in fifteen more. It’s only the weak who have to worry, the young, the old—” he cocked an eyebrow at her “—the fairer sex. At least those who don’t mind their own business and keep to their place.”
Indignant, Gabrielle shot out of her chair. “I don’t appreciate the implication, Sergeant Hansen.”
He sat back, laced thick fingers behind his head and smiled. “The implication? I’m not implying anything. I’m just reminding you of some basic facts, Officer Hadley. You lack the upper-body strength of a good prison officer. You lack a killer’s instinct. I don’t think you got it in you to do this job. Bottom line, you might need a lot of support from your fellow corrections officers, so you’d better be careful not to piss them off.”
Or? The word hung in the air, but Gabrielle refused to say it. She was afraid she’d pushed Hansen too far already. The tentative relationship that had developed between them over her first two days had degenerated into open hostility, and she needed her job. She pictured herself trying to break up a fight like the one this afternoon and having him and his henchmen, as Randall Tucker had referred to them, hold back, stalling several minutes before coming to her aid. She could be seriously injured.
She could be seriously killed.
She hadn’t come to Florence to wage any wars against the powers that be. She’d come for other reasons, personal reasons. Her job was just that—a job, nothing more, nothing less.
“So, no doctor for Tucker?” she asked.
He shook his head in obvious disgust. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”
Gabrielle returned his cold stare without speaking.
“No doctor,” he said at last.
“Then can I take a first-aid kit and see if he’s okay? There’s a cut above his eye that looks like it needs stitches. It should be cleaned, at least. And I’m pretty sure he’s broken a bone or two in his hand.”
“If you want to nurse Mr. Wife-Killer, you can do it on your own time, once your shift ends,” Hansen growled. “But if he attacks you, don’t expect me—or anyone else—to come running.”
CHAPTER TWO
GABRIELLE CLUTCHED the first-aid kit in one sweaty hand and moved purposefully down the aisle toward Randall Tucker’s cell. Roddy and Brinkman, another officer, flanked her, walking a few steps behind. Worried about the possible repercussions should something happen to her while she was visiting Tucker, Hansen had finally relented and told the two officers to accompany her. But it was time to go home, and Roddy and Brinkman weren’t any happier about her errand than Hansen had been.
Could she count on them? The fear that she couldn’t kept her eyes focused straight ahead and her chin held high while, inside, her heart thumped louder with each step.
Randall Tucker killed his own wife. Hansen’s words seemed to echo through the cavernous cell block, and with them, his promise. If he attacks you, don’t expect me—or anyone else—to come running…come running…come running.
Locked down because of the fight and with an hour still to wait before dinner, many of the convicts were listless and bored. They lingered near the front of their cells, tattooed arms dangling through the bars as they hollered back and forth to each other or simply stared at nothing, sullen and withdrawn.
Unfortunately, Gabrielle’s passing seemed to be just the thing to relieve the tedium.
“Hey, fine-lookin’ mama, let’s get it on!” someone called after her as small plastic mirrors began to spring up so the men could see her.
“Shut up, ho, she’s lookin’ fo’ a real man, a man like me,” came a shout two cells further down. “Come on, baby, lemme take you for the ride of your life.”
“Look at those tits,” a third man groaned. “What I wouldn’t give for five minutes with those—”
Previously, Roddy and Brinkman and the other officers had put an end to the taunts and catcalls the prisoners flung her way by threatening them with no recreation and only a sack lunch for meals. The fact that they said nothing now, did nothing, told Gabrielle they were as angry as she’d thought. They didn’t like her interfering and wanted her to know it. But now that she’d taken a stand, she needed to see it through—or Randall Tucker would receive no help, and she would have ruined her relationship with Sergeant Hansen for nothing.
In five minutes she’d be done with Tucker, she told herself. Then she’d be on her way home to Allie.
“Come back and give me some love. I got nothin’ but love for you, baby, nothin’ but love.”
Smooching sounds followed her on the rest of her walk to Tucker’s cell. When she reached it, she found him shirtless, hunched over the small stainless-steel sink in the back corner, trying to rinse the dried blood from his hair. Fortunately, all inmates in central unit lived alone.
Singularly intent on cleaning up, Tucker didn’t seem to notice
