Nothing To Lose

Richard cut her off. “Doc Bradshaw, you’re up. You ready to go back?”

She rose, aware as always of the time and how limited it was.

She had learned since Hunter’s arrest that life behind bars was ruled by the clock. Inmates talked of marking time, doing time, hard time. Their world revolved around the tick of each passing second.

“Look, I’ve got to go or I’ll miss my chance. Would you mind…that is, um—” she faltered. Oh, this was hard! She would rather be foxtrotting with the sweaty-palmed Troy Oppenheimer who had been the bane of her dance-class days than be forced to grovel to Wyatt McKinnon.

But she had no choice.

“Would you mind waiting for me?” she asked in a rush. “I…I need to talk to you.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise but he nodded. “Of course. I’ll be here when you come out.”

The guard led her to one of the visitor chambers. In the maximum security unit, visits were always non-contact and were carried out in individual rooms separated by a Plexiglas divider.

Hunter was already on the other side of the glass, dressed in the obligatory orange jumpsuit. His dark, wavy hair could use a trim and he had a bruise along his jawline that hadn’t been there the week before.

He looked big and mean and dangerous, and she grieved all over again for the dedicated, passionate cop he had been.

He didn’t smile when he saw her, but she thought perhaps his eyes softened a little. She wanted to believe they did, anyway, though she thought that was probably just more self-delusion.

Every time she visited him, Hunter seemed a little colder, a little more remote. Hard and brittle, like a clay sculpture left to dry too long in the broiling sun.

She was so afraid that one Tuesday she would discover nothing left of him but a crumbled pile of dust.

“What happened to your jaw?” she asked after she sat down and picked up the phone.

That jaw tightened. “Nothing. I slipped in the yard while I was shooting hoops one day.”

He was lying. She had grown up with him, had seen him butting heads with the judge during his rebellious years often enough to recognize the signs. But she also knew he would choke on his own tongue rather than tell her what really happened.

Former cops—especially homicide detectives—didn’t exactly make the most popular prison inmates. She knew there were plenty of other inmates he had helped put behind bars who probably weren’t too thrilled to have Hunter Bradshaw join them in the pen. And though he would never say anything about it, she also knew most of the guards treated him with a contempt and derision reserved for one of their rank who had gone bad.

Oh, how she hated this. She hid her sisterly concern and brought out that smile she had practiced in her car earlier, though it felt cheesier than usual.

“I ran into Wyatt McKinnon out in the visitor waiting room. How often is he coming to talk with you?”

His sigh came over the phone loud and clear. “Don’t start in on this again, Tay.”

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you have that what the hell are you thinking? look on your face.”

“You’re imagining things. Must be the lighting in here.”

“Lighting my ass. I know what you think about McKinnon.”

Don’t be so sure, she wanted to say but held her tongue.

Hunter went on. “He told me you went to see him last week. He said you asked him not to write the story.”

Okay, it had been a lousy idea. She had known it even before she went to the bookstore, but she had never been very good at inaction. When something was wrong in her world, she tried to take steps to fix it.

“It didn’t do much good, did it? He’s still here today.”

“You think I’m crazy to talk to him, don’t you.”

She thought of all her many objections to Wyatt writing a book about the case. Her biggest fear was that it would make life even harder for Hunter here behind bars.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” she answered. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Somebody’s going to write the story. We both know it’s only a matter of time. I’m surprised nobody has done it yet. If not McKinnon, it will be someone else, and frankly, I prefer him to some of the bottom-feeders who’ve tried to get interviews with me. McKinnon talked to me a few times about other cases when I was on the job and actually quoted me correctly. From what I’ve seen of his work, I figure he’ll at least try to be fair. He cared enough to attend the trial, not just rely on court transcripts.”

“That’s true. He was there every day. I wonder why he’s just now writing the story.”

“A few reasons, I suppose. I only decided to talk to him a few months ago and I do know he had to finish another project before he could write this one.” He paused. “Today he told me he would like to talk to you. I’m sure he wants to know what it was like growing up with a vicious killer.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she shot back quickly.

Hunter’s short laugh echoed in the phone. That was why she continued these torturous visits. If she could make him laugh even once, everything was worth it.

“Will you talk to him?”

She sighed. “I already planned to. He’s waiting for me to finish up my visit.”

“Really?”

“Kate seems to think convincing Wyatt McKinnon you’re innocent might help your appeal. I would like to show him all the evidence that was thrown out at trial that proves you could never have killed anyone.”

He shook his head in resignation, but there was a warmth in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in a long while.

“You never did know when to give up the fight, did you. Remember when you brought home that stray mutt and the Judge said under no conditions would that mangy thing ever be allowed in our house? You hid him at Suzie Walker’s house down the street and spent weeks wearing the Judge down.”

She smiled at the memory. “I think what finally did the trick was the ten-page research paper I did—complete with footnotes and annotations—outlining how child development experts believe pets can be beneficial to young minds.”

“That’s funny. I thought it was the amateur ad campaign you shot of you taking care of Rascal down at Suzy Walker’s—feeding him, walking him, teaching him tricks.”

“I miss that dog. You know, he would have died before admitting it but I think the Judge warmed up to Rascal eventually. After you moved out, I even caught him petting him a few times.”

Hunter unbent enough to smile—or as close as he came to a smile these days anyway. Too quickly, though, he sobered. “You’re not going to win this one, Tay. You need to face facts here. God knows, I have. Life is a hell of a lot easier to deal with after you stop holding on to foolish hope.”

“Without hope, what else do you have?”

He didn’t answer, but she saw the truth in the bleakness of his eyes. Nothing. He had nothing. She wouldn’t have thought it possible but her heart cracked apart a little more.

Before she could respond, the guard walked up behind Hunter. “Time’s up,” he said, his features stony.

Oh, she hated time, especially each reminder that it was quickly running out.