The Summit

He swirled the brandy in his glass and took a drink, then felt the liquid burn down his throat and the slight relaxation of his muscles. He tried not to think of Autumn Sommers, but her heart-shaped face and deep green eyes popped into his head.

Who the hell are you? he thought, his mind beginning to churn with questions again.

And what the hell do you want?

“You have got to be kidding.” Terri eyed her across the small round table at Starbucks.

“I’m not kidding. I called the prison directly. They told me Gerald Meeks was recently moved to the Federal Correctional Institution in Sheridan, Oregon. Apparently, the guy’s been a model prisoner. Sheridan is just south of Portland, so it’s not all that far. I spoke to a man named Deavers and he submitted my name to Meeks requesting a visit. Apparently, Meeks agreed to see me.”

“I can’t believe this. You’re telling me this guy Meeks agreed to meet with Seattle’s resident psychic?”

“I’m not a psychic. I’m not anything except a woman stuck with a dream that won’t go away. And Meeks thinks he’s meeting with a friend of the McKenzie family who’s trying to help them gain some kind of closure. That’s what I told Mr. Deavers.”

“Cute…like you’re the family’s personal shrink or something. You’d better hope Ben McKenzie doesn’t get wind of this.”

Autumn swallowed, remembering the dark rage on McKenzie’s face when she had mentioned his daughter’s name.

“I guess Meeks doesn’t get many visitors. Mr. Deavers thinks that’s the reason he agreed to see me.”

“When are you going?”

“I’m driving down to Sheridan early Saturday morning. It’s about sixty miles south of Portland. I’m meeting with Meeks late in the afternoon.”

“I thought you and Josh were supposed to go climbing.”

“I had to cancel. I think Josh found someone else to go with him.”

Terri pinned her with a disbelieving stare. “So you’re actually going into a federal prison to see this guy.”

Autumn nodded. “On the way back, I’m spending the night in Portland with Sandy Harrison. You remember—my roommate in college? I’ll be driving back to Seattle on Sunday.”

Terri sipped her latte through the hole in the plastic lid of her cup. “I’ve heard those places are pretty awful.”

Autumn suppressed a shiver. “I don’t even want to know.” Going into a federal penitentiary wasn’t going to be any picnic but Autumn was determined to find out if Meeks knew anything about the McKenzie girl. “I have to do this, Terri. If I come up empty-handed, I’ll let the whole thing drop.”

Terri cast her a look that said what a crock of bull. She knew Autumn could be a real bloodhound when she was set on something. This was a major something.

“Call me when you get back,” Terri said, rising from her chair. “I’ll worry until you do.”

“I’ll let you know how it goes.” Autumn grabbed her paper cup in one hand and slung her small brown leather purse over her shoulder with the other. “Wish me luck.”

Terri nodded. “I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

Six

According to plan, very early Saturday morning, Autumn pulled her red Ford Escape out of its narrow space in the garage beneath her apartment building and drove the small SUV toward the Freeway 5 on-ramp, heading for Portland. The traffic wasn’t that bad. Most people left the city on Friday night and she was getting out of town long before the Saturday shoppers hit the road.

It was a four-hour drive to Portland. Once she got there, she turned onto Highway 18 for the sixty-mile drive to the Sheridan correctional facility. On the seat beside her sat four pages—single-spaced—of visitor regulations.

Autumn had read them thoroughly, making sure not to wear anything khaki—expressively forbidden since the prisoners wore khaki pants and shirts—or anything metal on her person.

Her nerves began to build as she drove into the lot in front of the tile-roofed main building, parked in a visitor’s space, got out and locked her SUV. Then she took a deep breath and headed for the entrance marked Visitors. Inside the lobby, security cameras were everywhere, watching every inch of the building.

Autumn walked to the information counter and a woman in a white uniform shirt and pants walked over at her approach.

“Name, please.”

“Autumn Sommers…with an ‘O’.”

The guard, a bulky matron with heavy breasts and short black hair, looked down at the pages on her clipboard. “Your name’s on the list. You’re here on a special pass to see Gerald Meeks?”

“That’s right.”

“You’ll still have to go through security check-in just like any other visitor.”

“I was told I would.”

“Follow me.”

The matron led her along a linoleum floor waxed to a polished sheen, toward a door that led to the check-in area. There were even more cameras inside and three male guards who looked as if they took their jobs in deadly earnest.

Visiting hours ended at three o’clock and it was almost two now, so most of the inmate visitors had already checked in. Still there were a couple of beefy guys dressed like bikers with stringy hair and tattoos in line behind a heavyset Hispanic woman who was accompanied by a chubby girl of about fourteen.

As Autumn took her place at the rear of the line, the bikers’ attention swung from the girl and they eyed her as if they had just been served a fresh piece of meat. Autumn’s nose wrinkled at the sour smell of body odor and the foul breath of the man standing beside her, his lecherous gaze creeping rudely over her breasts.

“Nice tits,” he said to his buddy.

“Nice ass,” the other man said.

“Keep a civil tongue,” ordered the guard, “or you won’t be seeing your good-for-nothing brother.”

The men said no more but the curl of their lips and their heavy-lidded gazes made it clear what they were thinking. Wishing she were anywhere but in that room, Autumn fixed her attention on the guard and set her purse on the conveyor belt that carried it beneath an X-ray machine like the ones at the airports. She was asked to remove her shoes and jacket, which also went through the machine.

She had read in the regulations that visitors were subject to random drug tests and prayed she wouldn’t be chosen. But she only had to walk through a metal detector—which thankfully didn’t go off—and make her way to the opposite end of the conveyor belt.

“First door to your left down the hall,” said one of the guards as she picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder.

Eager to escape, she walked out the exit door, made a left and spotted a door with a small window in it. When she opened the door, she saw that it wasn’t the main visiting area, but a narrow room that accommodated only four inmates at a time. It was set up much the way she had seen on TV, with the prisoner seated on one side of the glass and the visitor on the other.

Three of the four spaces were currently in use. An obese woman with dirty, coarse black hair sat on one of the stools talking to a huge, dark-skinned man with earrings in both ears. There was a skinny white guy talking to his girlfriend, who looked like she was on drugs but couldn’t be because they wouldn’t have let her in.

The third guy was talking to a man in a cheap striped suit who seemed to be trying to conduct some sort of business, though Autumn couldn’t imagine what. The entire scene was depressing and she began to think coming here was the worst idea she’d ever had.

Then the door on the opposite side of the glass swung open and Gerald Meeks walked in. He was wearing the khaki inmate’s uniform and looked exactly like his picture—thin to the point of being gaunt with hollow, sunken eyes. His hair was a faded brown, not blond like the man in her dreams.

He took a seat across from her. When he looked into her face, Autumn shivered.

“Take it easy, lady. You’re way too old to interest me.”