Falling For The Enemy. Dawn Stewardson

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СКАЧАТЬ if she didn’t want them to notice her, she needed to do a whole lot more than just pull back her hair. And even the effectiveness of that was spoiled by the tendrils escaping the knot. If they could speak, he knew that right this minute they’d be whispering “Sexy” to him.

      His visual inspection completed, he said, “Excuse me? Dr. Morgan?”

      She glanced up then, her large brown eyes meeting his gaze. They were decidedly sexy, as well.

      “Yes?” Hayley said, doing a three-second once-over of the man with the lazy Louisiana drawl.

      In his mid-to-late thirties, he was well dressed, tall and attractive, with dark hair, an easy smile and eyes a deeper blue than Gulf waters on a sunny day. As he stepped into her office, she couldn’t help thinking they were the kind of eyes women found themselves drowning in if they weren’t careful. And sometimes, she suspected, even if they were.

      “I’m Sloan Reeves,” he said, extending his hand across the desk. “May I have a few minutes of your time?”

      His hand was warm, his handshake firm but not crushing, and she was absurdly aware of his touch.

      When that realization skittered through her mind, she told herself it meant nothing. Her hormones were simply reminding her she was a woman.

      That wasn’t something she exactly forgot, but between her job and Max, she seldom had time to notice men.

      Checking her desk clock, she said, “I have a meeting in twenty minutes, but if you don’t need any longer than that...”

      “I doubt I’ll need even that.” He took a business card from his wallet and handed it to her as he sat down.

      Sloan Reeves, Attorney at Law, it informed her.

      “I’ll come straight to the point,” he said. “I’m here on behalf of William Fitzgerald.”

      “Oh?” And what, she wondered, did the newest executive-suite prisoner at Poquette want from her?

      When she asked, Reeves flashed her another easy smile, then said, “Well, first off, I hope you won’t take any personal offense, but he isn’t happy he was sent to Poquette.”

      “Really.”

      She did her best to conceal her amusement. Fitzgerald should be grateful one of the smaller prisons had had space available for an inmate requiring protective custody. Otherwise he’d have ended up in Angola.

      “What, specifically, does he find wrong with Poquette?”

      Sloan Reeves leaned forward in his chair. “He’s being kept in virtual isolation.”

      Reeves had to be aware of the reason for that, but since he was apparently waiting for an explanation, she said, “Surely he realizes it’s for his own safety. The prison staff can’t assign... celebrity prisoners, for lack of a better term, to the general population cell blocks.”

      “No, of course not. But we both know isolation is brutal. That it almost always leads to deterioration—mental or physical or both.”

      “You’re right, it’s far from ideal. I’m afraid there’s no magic solution, though. Even if Mr. Fitzgerald qualified for a minimum-security facility, we don’t have country-club prisons in Louisiana. He’d be segregated no matter where he was.”

      Reeves nodded slowly. “I guess the basic problem is that he’s a very sociable man. He finds the lack of human interaction difficult to cope with.”

      Rather than respond to that, Hayley merely gazed across her desk at Reeves. He was falling short on his promise to come straight to the point, because he couldn’t possibly be suggesting that Fitzgerald wanted to be moved into general pop. Not unless he’d like to end up graveyard dead, courtesy of some inmate with a shiv.

      After a few seconds, she checked her clock again, assuming Reeves would get the message. He did.

      “Here’s the bottom line. Mr. Fitzgerald wants to be transferred to a prison with a rehabilitation program. Being in one of them would give him both human contact and something to occupy his mind. And inmates in a rehab program shouldn’t be a threat to his safety.”

      “I see,” she said again, still trying to figure out the game. Reeves wasn’t being straight with her, she knew that much.

      The prison psychologists did a psych assessment on each new prisoner, and she’d read her copy of the one on Fitzgerald. He didn’t believe he belonged locked up with a bunch of low-lifes. So even if he did want more human contact, she wasn’t buying that he’d want it with his fellow prisoners.

      As for a rehab program to occupy his mind, it would more likely bore him to death. Besides which, he wasn’t an even remotely viable candidate. The programs were strictly for prisoners nearing the end of their sentences, and she’d bet Reeves knew that. All of which added up to a hidden agenda of some sort.

      Since she had a meeting to get to, she didn’t probe Fitzgerald’s motivations further but simply said, “You know, I rarely have anything to do with transfers. The person you should talk to is Warden Armstrong, at Poquette.”

      “Yes—in fact I have an appointment with him this afternoon to file the request forms. But I wanted to let you know I’ll be asking him to have you do the mental-health assessment.”

      “Oh?” That news made her more concerned about what the hidden agenda might be.

      “It is something you occasionally do, isn’t it? Some of the mandatory evaluations? In this case, give your opinion about whether a transfer might benefit Mr. Fitzgerald?”

      She nodded. Obviously Reeves had done his homework, and it had included checking into her job description. The realization unsettled her. She didn’t like having a stranger poke around for information about her.

      “The staff psychologists at Poquette are more than competent,” she told him. “Why would you request that I assess Mr. Fitzgerald?”

      “Because of your position. Because your signature on a transfer recommendation would carry more weight.”

      “You’re assuming I’d recommend it.”

      “I’m hoping you will.”

      “Well... Look, there’s a fundamental problem here. The rehab programs are solely for prisoners close to their release dates, and with Mr. Fitzgerald not meeting that criterion...”

      Reeves gave her a slow shrug. “I think I’ll be able to get around that by emphasizing his need for more human contact. You see, the way I look at it, there’s an Eighth Amendment violation involved.”

      “A what?”

      “I feel that his being kept in isolation constitutes cruel and unusual punishment.”

      Hayley almost groaned. Sloan Reeves had things figured upside down and inside out.

      “After you’ve talked with Mr. Fitzgerald,” he said, “I’m sure you’ll recommend a change of scenery to improve his mental health. If you don’t... Well, I’m sure you will.” СКАЧАТЬ