Falling For The Enemy

It didn’t this time, though. Probably, he knew, because Hayley Morgan wasn’t like most of the other women he’d had dealings with while working for Billy.

Actually, unless his memory was failing, she wasn’t like a single one of them. She was intelligent and cultured and...

And dammit, she appealed to him in a way he couldn’t let any woman appeal to him. A way that was physical, yet dangerously more than that.

There was something about her, some substance or inner strength, that had reached out and grabbed him. As upset and frightened as she’d been, as close to dissolving into tears as he’d known she was, she’d pulled herself together and coped with the situation as best she could.

He liked that strength, liked the way... But hell, there was no point in defining what touched him about her. Since she had to figure he was the scum of the earth, thinking about that was nothing except a waste of time.

At the reception counter, he gave his name and identified himself as William Fitzgerald’s lawyer. The correctional officer checked the appointment log, then buzzed the door unlocked. It led to a small room where another C.O. had him empty his pockets.

“What’s that for?” the officer asked as Sloan set his minirecorder on the table.

“I use it to tape conversations with clients.”

The C.O. picked up the recorder and examined it, removing and then reinserting the cassette before checking that the space for the batteries contained nothing it shouldn’t.

As he put the unit back down, Sloan began to breathe more easily again. It hadn’t happened yet, but there was always the risk that one of these guys would notice the extra switch.

“Face the table and place your hands on it,” the C.O. ordered.

When he did, the man treated him to a thorough pat-down—one of the joys of visiting someone in protective custody.

“I’ll call ahead and have the prisoner brought from his cell,” the C.O. said when he’d finished. “Then I’ll get someone to escort you to the visiting room.”

CHAPTER FOUR

BEYOND THE PUBLIC AREA of the Poquette complex, the stale air was heavy with disinfectant. But even an industrial-strength cleaner couldn’t quite mask the smells of urine, vomit, smoke and body odor. By the time the guard escorted Sloan all the way to the small room used for visits with segregated prisoners, he felt as though he hadn’t showered in a month. Billy was already there, waiting with another guard. The man retreated into the hall when Sloan arrived, ostensibly assuring them of privacy by closing the door, but they were easily visible through its chicken wire window. Plus, Sloan suspected prison officials often listened in to what was being said in the room—despite the fact it would contravene prisoners’ rights. That, of course, was the real reason for his tape recorder.

After setting it on the small table between Billy and him, he pushed both the switch that started the cassette recording and the one to activate the bugdetecting gizmo in the. secret compartment.

Billy sat gazing at the unit, a look in his eyes that told Sloan he was smiling to himself. But why wouldn’t he be? He loved beating the establishment. Any aspect of it. And the tiny detector was state-of-the-art. There wasn’t an electronic listening device in existence it couldn’t pick up on, and if it sensed one within a hundred feet its warning light would start blinking.

They waited a few seconds, but the light didn’t come on. Even so, they’d watch their words and speak mostly in whispers—just in case the guard outside the door had supersensitive hearing.

“Mission accomplished,” Sloan said once he was satisfied that nobody was eavesdropping electronically.

“I know. Brendan phoned last night.”

Sloan nodded, not surprised. Most prisoners weren’t allowed unrestricted access to a phone, but Billy had more than enough money to buy whatever privileges the guards were willing to sell.

He also had enough smarts to carry on conversations that, although they’d sound perfectly innocuous to anyone listening in, were actually full of messages and orders. That was what enabled him to be pretty much still running the Irish Mafia.

His son was the heir apparent, and no dummy himself. But at the moment Brendan’s main job was simply to keep Billy informed and relay his orders to the boys.

Leaning across the table, Billy quietly said, “Does our friend have any good ideas?”

He was referring to Hayley, of course. And asking if, since she’d screwed up their plan, she’d suggested an alternative way of getting him outside the prison.

Other ways certainly existed. They all knew that. But someone like her, on the inside, would know which ones were most likely to succeed at this particular prison. And which one she could be the most help with.

“We haven’t really gotten into that yet,” Sloan said. “Our friend wants something first.”

“Oh?” Billy’s expression suggested that nobody had invited her to negotiate.

“Wants...visiting privileges with her son,” he whispered. “An hour or two an evening.”

For a moment, Billy merely stared across the table. Then he sat back and said, “Fat chance.”

Sloan swore under his breath. He’d known that would be the reaction.

“Getting what you want’s going to take time,” he said. “And our friend’s concerned about the...item’s emotional well-being. And...”

He paused when he saw that Billy was already growing impatient. The man didn’t give a damn about why Hayley wanted to see her son. Or about Max’s mental health. Hell, he never really gave a damn about anyone except himself. So the only thing to do was convince him it would be to his benefit to let Hayley have what she wanted.

“Look, Billy, I’ve given this a lot of thought, and the way I see it, agreeing would be a good idea.”

Billy shook his head. “As long as we’ve got the item, I don’t have to agree to anything.”

“No, you don’t have to.”

“But you think I should? Why?”

“Because as things stand, if our friend cooperates it sure won’t be willingly.”

“If?” Billy repeated with a mean grin. “Like I said, as long as we’ve got the item...”

“You’re right. We can take the cooperation as a given. But say our friend goes along with us, then sees an opportunity, or creates an opportunity, to double-cross us.”

“Not a chance. She’d have too much to lose.”

Sloan told himself he had to do better. “Okay, here’s what’s really worrying me. You know everything we learned about our friend as well as I do. We’re talking someone who takes job responsibilities seriously. Plus, being part of the system, doesn’t look at things the same way most people might. And if you and I are making assumptions that might not exactly apply in these particular circumstances...”

After a glance at the guard, Sloan looked back at Billy and whispered, “Aside from anything else, for all she knows she’ll never see the item again even if she does cooperate. That just might make her try something we’re not expecting.”

Billy hesitated, then said, “You did promise the item would be returned safely, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“But you weren’t convincing enough?”

“I did my best. The problem is that we’re not talking about someone naive. We’re talking someone who knows how often this sort of thing ends badly. So I can’t see why we shouldn’t give a little. It wouldn’t hurt us, and there might be a major benefit.”

“What?”

“It would show you’ve got a heart. And it would be taken as a sign that you sincerely intend to return the item. If our friend is convinced you really will, that’ll practically guarantee cooperation.”

When Sloan stopped speaking, Billy resisted the impulse to say that no way was he letting that bitch anywhere near her kid. Even though he hated the thought of giving in to her, if Sloan figured the idea had merit then he’d better not dismiss it too fast.