“It took me nearly an hour to shovel the sidewalk this morning,” Jordan said.
Kyle brushed his neck-length dark blond hair off his face. “See? That’s one of the positives of being in prison. No shoveling.”
Her brother had long ago set the rules regarding their visits. Jokes about being in prison were expected and encouraged, sympathy was not. Which was good for both of them, considering her family had never done particularly well with the mushy and sentimental stuff.
“You live in a penthouse condo and haven’t shoveled snow for years,” she pointed out.
“A deliberate choice I made because of the trauma of my youth,” Kyle said. “Remember how Dad used to make me shovel the whole block every time it snowed? I was eight when he came up with that plan—barely taller than the shovel.”
“And I got to stay inside making hot chocolate with Mom.” Jordan waved off the retort she saw coming. “Hey, it was good for you—it built character.” She paused for a moment, taking in their steel-barred surroundings. “Maybe Dad should’ve made you shovel the next block over, too.”
“That’s cute.”
“I thought so.”
An inmate shouted at them from across the room. “Hey, Sawyer!
Sawyer!
When are you gonna introduce me to your sister?”
An annoyed look crossed Kyle’s face as he ignored the voice.
“Yo! Sawyer!” The inmate was quickly silenced by the approach of an armed guard.
Jordan made no attempt to hide her grin. “I think someone’s trying to get your attention.”
“I don’t answer to that name,” Kyle growled.
“Maybe if you would just cut your hair,” she offered faux-sympathetically.
“
Fuck
Josh Holloway,” he nearly shouted in frustration. “I’ve worn my hair like this for years.”
“Getting a little loud over here, Sawyer,” a guard warned as he passed by their table.
Jordan watched, amused, as her brother simmered at a low boil. “But the hair worked for Sawyer, because they were roughing it on the island. Although I think there had to have been some sort of salon or spa in the Others’ camp. I mean, they performed surgeries on people; I would assume they could’ve rustled up a decent pair of scissors for a haircut somewhere—”
“I swear if you don’t let this drop, I’ll ban you from my visitation list.”
She laughed at the likelihood of
that
ever happening. “You’ve been stuck to me like gum on the bottom of my shoe since birth. What would you do without my charming wit to cheer you up every week?”
She peered up as an inmate in his midthirties stopped at their table. As soon as he spoke, she recognized the voice of the man who’d been yelling across the room.
“So you’re the sister.” He looked her over appraisingly and smiled, managing to look harmless enough despite the black snake tattoo coiled around his right forearm. “Help me out with an introduction, Sawyer—let’s do this proper.”
A guard called over from across the room. “I’m not telling you again, Puchalski. No talking to the other guests.” With a regretful look over his shoulder, the inmate shuffled off.
Jordan turned back to Kyle. “I take it Dad was here on Monday?” Unless something urgent came up, her father was as regular a visitor to MCC as she was.
“Sounds like business is better. I think the fallout is finally subsiding,” Kyle said, referring to the fact that their father’s company had not surprisingly taken a hit the previous financial quarter. Strange, how people tended to get ticked off when the vice president of a computer software corporation—and the CEO’s son—was indicted and imprisoned for hacking.
Jordan was about to answer when Kyle turned in his chair to get more comfortable. She noticed something—a faded yellow bruise along the left side of his jaw. She looked down at the table and saw the telltale cuts on the knuckles of his right hand. “You got in another fight.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me. Let me see that.” She reached out and touched his chin to get a better look.
“Jordan, you know you can’t—”
Just like that, the guard stood beside their table. He frowned at Jordan. “Sorry, ma’am, no contact.”
She pulled back her hand. “Sorry.” She took a deep, steadying breath. Normally, she handled the whole prison routine as well as could be expected, but every once in a while it got to be a bit much. Like when she couldn’t even check to see if her brother was hurt.
“What happened this time?” she asked Kyle after the guard left.
“Just some talk that got out of hand,” he said dismissively. “Some people have nothing better to do around here than run off at the mouth.”
“Kyle, you’re smarter than that.”
“That’s what Mom said to me when I came home after fighting Robbie Wilmer in the sixth grade. My first black eye.”
“Well, since Mom’s not here, you need to hear it from someone else.”
“I’m not trying to get in trouble, Jordo.” Kyle looked her in the eyes. “But this isn’t Jane Addams Elementary School. There are different rules here, and if I want to survive the next fourteen months, I’ve got to play by them.”
How tempted she was right then to tell him about the deal she’d made with the FBI.
Not another fourteen months. Just one more week
. But she kept her mouth shut. “Did the fight get you in trouble again with the guards?”
“A little disciplinary segregation never hurt anyone. You were about to say something else right then.”
He really did know her too well. “I was going to yell at you some more, but decided it would be a wasted effort.”
“Why do I think there’s something you’re not telling me?”
“Because you . . . have a lot of time on your hands these days so you look for mysteries where there are none?” she suggested.
“Or maybe I’m just really insightful. And if you’re hiding something from me, Jordo, I’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks for the warning, Mr. Insightful. If only you could use your ‘insight’ to keep yourself out of prison from now on,
that
would be helpful.”
Kyle squeezed her hand. “Aw, I’m so glad you came, sis. You have no idea how much I enjoy these little visits of ours. Ah . . . crap.”
The guard was back at their table.
Kyle took his hand off hers. “I know, I know. No contact.”
Jordan peered up at the guard. “What’s with all the rules? You’d think we were in prison or something.”
The guard’s stoic face remained unchanged as he turned and walked away.
Jordan turned to Kyle. “Seriously, I don’t even get a smile for that? Tough crowd.”
Kyle looked around at the inmates in orange jumpsuits and armed guards. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
She caught his eye and smiled. But she was more careful this time not to let her thoughts show.
Just one more week, Kyle. Hang in there.
Five
“SO HOW’S KYLE
doing?”
Jordan poured three glasses of wine and handed one each to Melinda and Corinne. “You know Kyle. He says he’s fine.” She set the wine bottle off to the side and picked up the third glass for herself. “But judging from the bruise on his face and the cuts on his hands, I’d say that his definition of ‘fine’ differs from mine.”
She and her two friends had met at DeVine Cellars after the store closed, and were seated at a table near the racks of sparkling wine and champagne. As per their usual routine, Jordan provided the wine, and Melinda and Corinne brought dinner and dessert.
“He got in another fight?” Melinda asked. “What’s the deal with this prison? Don’t they have any guards there, or are the inmates running the asylum?”
Corinne was a bit more tactful. “Can’t they separate Kyle from the guys giving him a hard time?”
“Kyle says he doesn’t want special treatment. He thinks it will go away if he doesn’t back down, like it’s some kind of rite of passage. He told me that if these guys were ‘serious’ about hurting him, they’d use a weapon.” Jordan swirled her glass, letting the wine open up. “I can’t believe the current upside of my thirty-three-year-old brother’s life is that his fights don’t involve
weapons
.”
She saw the concern on Melinda and Corinne’s faces. “Sorry. Enough about me and my family problems. Let’s talk about something else. What’s going on with you guys?”
As they ate, the three of them chatted about work. Both Melinda and Corinne were teachers: Corinne worked at a public high school in the one of the poorest districts in the city and Melinda taught musical theater at Northwestern University, where the three of them had gone to undergrad.
Melinda took another sip of her wine and tipped her glass to Jordan. “This is really good. You said it’s a merlot?”
“From South Australia. A 2008 Marquis Phillips.”
“I like how fruit forward it is.”
Jordan was impressed. “Look at you, breaking out the wine terminology.” She dabbed her eyes with a napkin, feigning tears. “It’s like seeing a child take her first steps. I’m so proud.”
Melinda threw a napkin at her. “Just remind me to grab a bottle before I go. I want Pete to try it. He still won’t touch merlot because of
Sideways
.”
Jordan heard it all the time. Poor merlot had been disparaged in the film and still hadn’t fully recovered its reputation. “I’ll straighten Pete out the next time I see him.”
“That reminds me—the five of us are still on for dinner next Saturday, right?” Corinne asked.
“Yep. But first let’s talk about this weekend. Any special plans for Valentine’s Day, Jordan?” Melinda asked.
Jordan paused midsip at the question.
This weekend? No special plans, really. Just helping the FBI infiltrate the lair of a wealthy restaurateur who launders money for a notorious drug cartel. You?
Corinne chimed in. “Isn’t this the weekend of Xander Eckhart’s party?”
“Yes.” Jordan held her breath in a silent plea.
Don’t ask if I’m bringing anyone. Don’t ask if I’m bringing anyone
.
“So are you bringing anyone?” Melinda asked.
Foiled.
Having realized there was a distinct possibility the subject would come up, Jordan had spent some time running through potential answers to this very question. She had decided that being casual was the best approach. “Oh, there’s this guy I met a few days ago, and I was thinking about asking him.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I’ll just go by myself, who knows.”
Melinda put down her forkful of gnocchi, zoning in on this like a heat-seeking missile to its target. “What guy you met a few days ago? And why is this the first we’re hearing of him?”
“Because I just met him a few days ago.”
Corinne rubbed her hands together, eager for the details. “So? Tell us. How’d you meet him?”
“What does he do?” Melinda asked.
“Nice, Melinda. You’re so shallow.” Corinne turned back to Jordan. “Is he hot?”
Of course, Jordan had known there would be questions. The three of them had been friends since college and still saw each other regularly despite busy schedules, and this was what they did. Before Corinne had gotten married, they talked about her now-husband, Charles. The same was true of Melinda and her soon-to-be-fiancé, Pete. So Jordan knew that she, in turn, was expected to give up the goods in similar circumstances. But she also knew that she really didn’t want to lie to her friends.
With that in mind, she’d come up with a backup plan in the event the conversation went this way. Having no choice, she resorted to the strategy she had used in sticky situations ever since she was five years old, when she’d set her Western Barbie’s hair on fire while trying to give her a suntan on the family-room lamp.
Blame it on Kyle.
I’d like to thank the Academy . . .
“Sure, I’ll tell you all about this new guy. We met the other day and he’s . . . um . . .” She paused, then ran her hands through her hair and exhaled dramatically. “Sorry. Do you mind if we talk about this later? After seeing Kyle today with the bruise on his face, I feel guilty rattling on about Xander’s party. Like I’m not taking my brother’s incarceration seriously enough.” She bit her lip, feeling guilty about the lie.
So sorry, girls. But this has to stay my secret for now
.
Her diversion worked like a charm. Perhaps one of the few benefits of having a convicted felon of a brother known as the Twitter Terrorist was that she would never lack for non sequiturs in extracting herself from unwanted conversation.
Corinne reached out and squeezed her hand. “No one has stood by Kyle’s side more than you, Jordan. But we understand. We can talk about this some other time. And try not to worry—Kyle can handle himself. He’s a big boy.”
“Oh, he definitely is that,” Melinda said with a gleam in her eye.
Jordan smiled. “Thanks, Corinne.” She turned to Melinda, thoroughly skeeved out. “And,
eww
—Kyle?”