Raine drew a shaky breath and forced herself to release her death grip on the passenger armrest in Callum’s SUV. It had barely taken him four hours to make the drive from Gatlinburg, Tennessee, to the prison off Highway 36 in Jackson, Georgia. That included going through a drive-through for a couple of breakfast sandwiches. It would have taken her at least five, without the sandwiches.
He finally slowed and pulled into line behind a chase car and one of many white-and-red prison buses being escorted toward the gates. His driving had her reliving her childhood fear of roller coasters. At least now he couldn’t speed. And they were no longer flying around dangerous curves through the mountains.
“Are you certain your friend has made it possible for us to see my brother? My next allowed visit with Joey isn’t until the day of his... The last day of his incarceration. You’re not even on his approved visitor list. Only immediate family, his lawyers or select media are normally allowed to see him.”
“Reid is high up in the Georgia Department of Corrections. I don’t really know what all he does for them, but he assured me he’ll get an exception, and that I’ll be on the list before we reach the checkpoint.”
“He might not have had enough time to make that miracle happen. Does he realize how fast you drive?”
He grinned. “Sorry I made you nervous. I don’t normally drive so crazy, but I didn’t want us to miss this opportunity.”
His easy apology, which seemed legit based on his tone, knocked her off-kilter again. Most men she knew would have been aggravated that she dared criticize their driving, even offhandedly. They certainly wouldn’t have been amused, or apologized.
She glanced out the side window, toward the high chain-link fences topped with razor wire that surrounded the prison like a moat around a castle. “The red tape your friend will have to cut for us to see Joey spur of the moment like this is enormous. Visits are supposed to be planned and approved way in advance and they’re severely limited or I’d be here much more often. This breaks every policy the prison has, especially for visiting death row inmates. Whatever you did to make him owe you a favor must have been something incredibly significant. Especially to visit on a Tuesday.”
His smile faded. “It was. What’s special about Tuesday? Reid didn’t mention that as a potential problem when I spoke to him.”
She wondered about the tension in him in regard to the favor, but didn’t feel it was appropriate to pry. “UDS prisoners, Under Death Sentence, are only allowed visitors on Saturdays, Sundays or state holidays. I’ve never been here on a Tuesday because of that. Tuesdays and Thursdays are intake days at Jackson Prison.”
“Jackson Prison? That’s not the name of—”
She waved her hand in the air. “That’s what the prisoners, and family, call this place. It rolls off the tongue easier than Georgia Diagnostic and Classification Prison.”
A hint of his smile returned. “So it does. I’m guessing intake day, judging by the name and all these buses and chase cars, is when they bring in the new prisoners.”
“And ship some out, yes. This is the hub for all the prisons in Georgia. You go here first, from all around the state. Buses will be loading and unloading all day. The experts here evaluate each inmate’s health, mental status, classify how dangerous they are, whether they need to be in PC, population levels at the other prisons—”
“PC. Protective custody?”
“Yes, to keep them safe from other inmates for various reasons.”
“Like if a cop goes to prison?”
“That or, say, someone was convicted of murdering a child. I’m sure you already know that those types of convicts wouldn’t last an hour in the general population. Once the prisoner has been assessed, they’re assigned to their camp—their prison—and are shipped back out. It takes two to three weeks for each inmate to be processed and classified. But the bringing in of new men and shipping classified ones out to their new homes happens twice a week. Normally, for security reasons, they won’t allow visitors to death row inmates on those days. Honestly, I’ll be amazed if we reach the checkpoint and they allow us through. It’s just not done.”
His lack of concern was proven out as soon as the guards outside the crash fence checked both of their IDs. They were immediately waved forward.
When they stopped behind another gate, two men with mirrors extended on long poles checked under the SUV. Whether they were searching for bombs or some kind of contraband, she had no idea. But experience told her they’d do the same thing when she and Callum left, this time to ensure that a prisoner hadn’t somehow managed to take a ride to freedom on their undercarriage.
They were directed where to park, in one of the few spots not close to one of the buses. They’d also been instructed not to unlock or open their doors until a guard arrived to escort them, which was the exact opposite of how most of her visits went. She was usually told not to sit in her car for any length of time. She was supposed to immediately exit and head to the building. But today, probably because it was Tuesday and their visit wasn’t according to protocol, they had to wait. After setting her ID in the middle console, she stuffed her purse under the front seat.
“You don’t want to take your purse inside?”
“Not allowed,” she said. “They won’t let you bring anything inside except your keys and ID. You should stow your phone, gun, change, whatever you’ve got in your pockets.”
She didn’t bother to admit she had her gun in her purse. He’d probably take it from her if he realized she was carrying it around. Faith had given it back to her after she’d promised never to pull it on anyone again unless her life was in danger. How Faith had managed to get it, Raine had no idea. But she was grateful. She might not like guns, or know much about them. But now that she’d bought one, she intended to keep it handy—especially if she had to go into some rough neighborhoods to try to get evidence to help her brother.
After emptying the change from his pockets and locking his wallet and pistol in the glove box, he sat back. There was no smile this time as he studied her. “How many times have you been through this routine?”
“Close to fifty, I’d guess. I visit every time I can get it approved. Death row inmates don’t get the same monthly visits others get. Sometimes I’m allowed in once a quarter, other times only twice a year. It’s ridiculous how stingy they are in allowing me to see him.”
“I imagine the security is a nightmare for... I think you called them UDS prisoners earlier?”
She nodded.
“Security for them has to be especially rigorous. And the Georgia prison system is grossly understaffed these days. Some stats I’ve heard is that they have up to seventy percent of their job openings unfilled. There are several lawsuits and federal investigations pending because of it.”
“Are you defending them to me? Seriously?” She crossed her arms in agitation.
He slowly shook his head, seeming sincere. “Not at all. What you’re going through isn’t something I could ever understand. But I can empathize with your frustration. I was making a lame attempt to reduce your frustration by explaining some of the logistical reasons behind those delays.”
She lowered her arms. “Thank you, I guess. I mean, I appreciate that you were trying to reason things out. And I do understand the demands on the prison staff to allow the visits. But it seems to me that if someone is at the mercy of the state and is going to be murdered by the state, they should make every attempt at allowing that person’s family to see them and try to bring comfort under such horrible circumstances.”
“I imagine it’s difficult to balance respect for the prisoner’s rights and consideration of the victim, and their family. The state doesn’t want it to look as if they’re coddling prisoners. That would be an insult to the victims.”
“Yes, well, I’d agree with that except that my brother is one of the victims. He’s innocent.”
His jaw tightened, punctuating his feelings on the matter, even after hearing her side of her brother’s case during the ride here. But he respected her feelings enough not to argue the point any longer, for which she was grateful.
Although her brain agreed with everything he’d said, her heart rebelled because she didn’t feel her brother should be lumped in with other convicts. He was innocent. And although she felt enormous empathy for the victim’s family, having met with them herself many times over the years, it was a tight line to walk. The Claremonts deserved justice for their daughter, Alicia. But not at the expense of murdering a man who had nothing to do with her death.
“Looks like the cavalry is here to escort us to safety.” Callum motioned toward a group of four burly guards heading toward his SUV.
As he reached for the door handle to get out, she put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t. Wait for them to direct you to open the door. Do one thing wrong, don’t follow instructions in even the smallest way, and they’ll immediately cancel the visit and send us packing. They run Jackson Prison like a military installation, with zero tolerance for mistakes.”
She hated the bitterness in her voice but couldn’t quite hide it. She’d been brutally punished by not being able to see her brother on no less than five visits because of some small or imagined infringement of the prison’s strict rules. One time she’d forgotten she had cash in her pocket and that was enough to have her turned away when they searched her inside the visitor lobby. Sometimes she wondered if the guards had any feelings at all. Or maybe it was just their stubborn belief in “the system” that made them assume that her brother was truly guilty and therefore his sister must be trash like him.
A guard stopped outside each of their doors and motioned for them to get out. The other two guards stood with their backs to them, watching the “yard” with an intensity that had her beginning to feel something she rarely felt when coming to this place.
Fear.
She glanced around the crowded parking area, at the dozens of shackled prisoners standing in lines outside each bus. Normally when she arrived there weren’t any convicts out here. There were so many today that she couldn’t count them. And many were looking right at her, as if they’d lunge toward the SUV if given a chance, in a desperate bid for freedom.
“Follow the footprints, go, go, go,” the lead guard told them.
She glanced down, a shiver of dread going through her when she realized they were being directed to follow the painted footprints on the asphalt that the prisoners normally walked when entering the prison. Knowing that Joey had once come in on those same buses, shackled head to toe like an animal, and that he’d taken this same path, had her beginning to shake. They were going to kill him, murder him, in less than two weeks. The next time she came here he’d be mere hours from death.
An arm settled around her shoulders. “It’s okay,” a kind, deep voice whispered. Callum’s voice. “Lean on me. You can close your eyes if you want. Just put one foot in front of the other. I’ve got you.”
She selfishly longed to do exactly that, lean on him, close her eyes. She wanted to put her fears, her frustrations, into this strong man’s keeping and let him carry her burdens on his broad shoulders. But that wasn’t fair to Joey. There was no one for him to lean on, no one to ease his burdens. And she wasn’t a helpless damsel in distress. She’d been fighting the good fight in every way that she could since the day he’d been arrested, fifteen years ago. Giving up now wasn’t an option. She had to be strong, see this through. For Joey.
Smiling her thanks, she gently moved his arm. Then she straightened her shoulders and followed in her condemned brother’s footsteps.