“That’s the dumbest idea I’ve heard yet!” he’d thundered. “You’re putting yourself right in the path of a murderer!”
“He’ll be in a cage, Dad,” she’d said.
“Haven’t he and his—his
ilk—
hurt you enough?”
“Grant’s not ilk…he’s my fiancé!”
Mesmerized by the flakes of snow that disappeared once they hit the highway, she sighed. How could she stand by and do nothing? If Enzo had something to do with the Russians holding Grant—
anything
—she had to try to get it out of him. Sure, Enzo had stonewalled Marilyn and the FBI agent when they’d interrogated him earlier. But she refused to give up.
When the headlights illuminated a road sign, her heartbeat galloped. Gurnee was only two short miles away.
“If Enzo
is
involved,” Marilyn mused, staring out the passenger window, “this might work.”
Sophie scooted forward. “Really?”
“I thought he didn’t tell you anything,” Jerry said.
Marilyn rubbed her cheek. “He didn’t. But when we showed him those photos…”
“
What
photos?” Sophie demanded.
“Crime scene photos.” Marilyn hesitated. “Of other men likely killed by the Russians. Well, mutilated might be the better word for it, really.”
Sophie collapsed back in her seat.
“Nice job, Mar,” Jerry said.
“Sorry, Sophie. But when we showed those photos…I swear Barberi flinched. Agent Powers didn’t see it, but
I
did. I think Barberi may have experienced a millisecond of emotion there…maybe remorse.”
A millisecond was better than nothing, Sophie thought. Perhaps she could build on that.
Five minutes later, a corrections officer let them through a back entrance to Gurnee State Penitentiary. The first thing she noticed was the assaulting stench. She’d thought Downers Grove had smelled bad, but female prisoners could never compete with this. Her nose burned with imminent tears when she thought of Grant spending more than two years in this wretched place.
Keep it together
. She forced a swallow as her eyes took in the grimy dark stone.
“Let’s see some ID,” the CO ordered. Marilyn and Jerry flipped open their badges, and she offered her Illinois driver’s license. Thank God the words
Registered Offender
no longer appeared on it.
The CO’s eyebrow went to the ceiling as he returned the license. “
You’re
the one talking to Barberi, Ms. Taylor?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s Dr. Taylor,” Marilyn corrected.
Sophie jumped when a loud buzz accompanied the barred door sliding open. Once they were through, the CO pointed and said, “This way to visitation.”
“Oh,” Marilyn said. “We’re not heading to an attorney conference room?”
“That was for you guys,” he explained. “Warden wants Barberi in the cage to talk to the civilian.”
Marilyn nodded.
“The cage is in the visitor’s area,” the CO said. “Let’s go.”
Sophie watched the group walk away from her. “Wait!”
They turned, and Jerry gave her an exasperated look. She cleared her throat. “I want to be in a conference room. I want to speak to Mr. Barberi face to face.”
“Taylor,” Jerry said. “This is a child-killer we’re talking about.”
“Agent Powers and I are trained law-enforcement officers,” added Marilyn. “You’re not. Even though he’ll be chained, it’s too risky to have you in the same room with him.”
She shook her head. “He won’t tell me
anything
from inside a cage. I need to build rapport with him. I need to show him some respect.”
“No can do,” the CO said. “Warden’s orders.”
“Grant’s
life
is on the line!” she shouted. “I cannot meet him as Prisoner Barberi, child-killer. I have to meet him as Mr. Barberi, father to Grant and Logan. Please.”
The CO exchanged glances with Marilyn and Jerry, but nobody said anything.
“I’m a psychologist!” Her cheeks flushed with warmth. “I mean, I was. I know what I’m talking about here. I know Grant’s father.
Please
, Marilyn.”
The detective stared at her then turned to the CO. “Get your warden on the phone, officer.”
“He’s at home. We’re not to disturb him unless it’s an emergency.”
“Then
I’ll
talk to him,” Marilyn said. “Just call him.”
The CO exhaled and pulled out his cell phone.
Jerry came to stand next to Sophie against the wall. “I see you’re still pushing boundaries, Taylor.”
She shrugged wearily. “Sorry. It’s what I do, I guess.” She watched Marilyn accept the cell phone from the CO.
Jerry’s shoulder nudged hers. “Nothing wrong with fighting for the one you love.”
“Thank you” was her soft response. She felt tears well up again and took a long breath to fight them.
“Listen to
me
, Warden Arthur—” Marilyn’s voice cut through the hallway quiet. “I wouldn’t be asking unless it was completely necessary. I know Dr. Taylor—”
“Damn, she’s hot,” Jerry said, smirking as he watched Marilyn pace the linoleum floor.
Sophie actually smiled.
“She’s the feistiest damn gal I’ve ever met. I love watching her in action.”
“Okay,” Marilyn announced, returning the phone to the CO. “We’re good to go for the attorney conference room.”
The CO’s eyes bugged. “What’d you say to him? Could you stay on as our staff representative?”
Marilyn laughed. “Oh, I might’ve mentioned something about exposing prisoner abuse at Gurnee.”
“There’s no abuse
here
,” the CO retorted.
“Really?” Marilyn glanced at Sophie then back at the CO. “Open your eyes, officer. Don’t accept bribes, and don’t trigger your inmates’ trauma reactions by throwing them in the hole for months.”
The CO’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you insinuating?”
“Hey, bud,” Jerry broke in as he pushed himself off the wall. “I think she made herself clear. Let’s get to that conference room now.”
The CO looked at the three of them and seemed to realize he was outnumbered. “Fine.” He led them in a different direction as he radioed for the prisoner to meet them at a revised location.
Sophie hustled to match her step with Marilyn’s. She hoped the squeeze she gave the detective’s hand communicated her gratitude for going to bat for her. Marilyn smiled back and returned the squeeze.
They had to pause every forty yards or so for the CO to unlock another door. While waiting at one stop, Marilyn said, “Don’t mention Ricker Mullens when you’re with Barberi. He seemed to get pissed off when we mentioned Mullens. Focus on the Russians.”
“All right.” Her thoughts raced as they moved ahead. “Marilyn, let me ask you something. How’d you feel when you couldn’t get anything out of Enzo earlier tonight?”
“How’d I
feel?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re still a psychologist, asking a question like that—you can’t deny it.” She sighed. “Well, I guess frustration was what I’d call it.”
“Helplessness?” Sophie asked.
Marilyn nodded.
“Disappointment?”
Another nod.
“Hopelessness?”
“Yes, all that. What’s your point?”
“That would be quite a downer to go home tonight feeling the same way.”
She stopped. “Yes, it would. And I’m still waiting to hear your point.”
She hoped Marilyn couldn’t hear her thundering heartbeat. “In order for Enzo to feel comfortable enough with me—to tell me what he knows about the Russians and Grant…I need him to be…unchained.”
Marilyn placed her hands on her hips and appeared about to unleash holy hell when Jerry popped his head around the corner.
“Hey, you guys coming?”
“Jerry!” Marilyn called. “Sophie wants Barberi unchained when she meets with him!”
“
What?”
Sophie ignored their glares and glided past them to catch up with the CO. Soon the detective and PO sandwiched her, matching her brisk strides. “You’re just like Madsen,” Jerry fumed. “Do you have a death wish?”
“No, I don’t!” she cried. “I’m trying to prevent a death—
Grant’s
. His father won’t hurt me. I know it. I just need to talk to him.”
They arrived at a corridor lined with black metal doors. “Here we are.”
“Officer,” Sophie panted.
Get yourself under control
. “Do any of these rooms have one-way mirrors?”
“Of course.” He gestured to a door. “We’ll use this one.”
She nodded. “And what’s your response time if I need help? If you need to get in there?”
“Couple seconds.” His chest puffed out, straining his black uniform.
“Good. I want Mr. Barberi’s chains removed when he meets with me.”
Jerry snorted. “This is
insane
.”
“Warden will never go for that,” the CO said.
“Marilyn.” Sophie grabbed her elbow. “The warden agreed to us using the conference room. He never specified the prisoner was to be in chains, right?”
The detective shook her head. “Sophie, don’t go there.”
“Your father would never agree to this!” Jerry barked.
“I’m thirty years old.” She stood tall. “This is
my
life, and Grant’s life too. I’ll sign whatever waiver I need to, but Enzo Barberi will
not
wear chains. I will meet my father-in-law without the shame of shackles between us!”
***
“Mr. Barberi.” She swallowed and reached out to shake his hand. “I’m Sophie Taylor.”
Enzo stared at her for a moment, and a sense of wonder seemed to lighten his dark eyes. Then he grasped her palm, slowly curling his coarse fingers around the back of her hand. His touch was rougher than Grant’s, but just as warm.
Sophie realized he probably hadn’t held a woman’s hand for more than twenty years. She also realized, so close to him that she could smell soap and washed denim, that he could easily hurt her: pull her into him, choke her, punch her, slap her—things he’d done to his wife. To Grant and Logan.
But he didn’t do any of those things. Instead he looked down at their joined hands for a moment, then over to her left hand. “That’s quite a rock you got there.”
She glanced down at her engagement ring, sparkling even in the dull prison light.
A male voice boomed from the corner, and Sophie looked up to find a speaker mounted on the ceiling above the one-way mirror. “
Release her hand and sit
down
, Barberi.
”
Enzo paused for a moment, staring into her eyes, then let her go. But he didn’t circle around to the other side of the table like she’d expected. Instead, he held the back of a chair and gestured for her to sit. She took a deep breath as she folded herself into it. If it hadn’t been bolted to the floor, she was relatively certain Enzo would have scooted her closer to the table. And here she’d thought Grant had inherited his exquisite manners from Uncle Joe. She wondered what other surprises were in store for her with this frightening man.
“My son Grant…he bought that for you?” Enzo asked after he sat himself across from her.
It took a second to remember he’d admired her ring. “Yes.”
“He could afford that rock?”
She noticed a look of pride float over his face. “He has a good job.”
His eyes narrowed. “The feds pay him well to ruin men’s lives.”
“No.” Her response came out too harshly, and she took a deep breath. “He sings. He has a lovely voice.” She watched him carefully. “I understand he got his singing talent from you.”
His only response was a guarded stare.
“I suppose you don’t get to sing anymore,” she ventured. “It must be very…sad, living here. All your basic freedoms stripped away.”
“If you were a little shorter, with blue eyes instead of brown, you’d look like Karita.”
She hesitated, thrown off by his change of subject. No wonder he’d been staring. “Thank you,” she finally replied. “I hear Grant’s mother was beautiful.”
“She was.”
She gauged what to say next. “You and Mrs. Barberi did a wonderful job raising Grant.”
That was clearly the last thing he expected to hear.
“I know some of what happened, of course,” she said. “I know there were…
difficult
times when Grant was young. But sometimes adversity like that makes a person grow stronger. Grant has empathy for others like I’ve never seen. You fostered that in him. I know you did the best you could as his father.”