Enemy Lover (2 page)

“Don’t waste the energy, Smyth.” Angela threw her shoulders back, commanding herself to show no fear. Where she was going, the predators fed on fear. When word got out who she was and what she’d done, she’d be an instant target. And even though she’d be housed away from the general populace, they could still get to her. And she’d be ready.

She’d get no help from her ex-colleagues. Not after all the dirt that had come out during the trial. They were funny that way. Back in the day, when cops had been allowed to be cops and not PC pansies, the blue shield had protected its own even at a cost to the rank and file. Now? Every prick in the department walked the PC line. The thugs ruled the streets and the cops were screwed, with their hands tied behind their backs.

Just as she’d been totally screwed by that pimp, human trafficker, and all-around piece of shit, Carlos Montes. And her backup? Nowhere to be found. They
should
have been there, but they hadn’t been. When she’d gone after her sergeant and her partner for answers, they’d had none. And then the shit had really hit the fan. There was no love lost between ex-cop, now convicted felon Angela Giacomelli and BCPD.

Angela let out a long, pensive breath as a sudden
wave of guilt, laced with self-directed anger, washed over her. Not for what she’d done. Not because she’d made it easy for them to send her to prison for the rest of her life. But that in the end, she had let down her mom, the only person who had loved her unconditionally. It was her only regret in life.

“C’mon,” Alvarez grumbled, yanking her along. Angela ignored her, keeping her steps deliberately slow, almost casual. She’d get on the damn bus when she got there: in her time. The guard leveled her black eyes on Angela and paused in her step, causing the other guard to yank her forward as if she’d been a rope in a tug-of-war. “You’re not my only prisoner, and just because you used to wear a uniform doesn’t give you special treatment.”

“Where’s the love, Juanita?”

“I got no love for felons.”

Angela smirked. “Yeah? What if that slimeball Montes sold your little girl to the highest bidder?”

Juanita shook her head, refusing to answer. But Angela saw the fury spark in her dark eyes. Alvarez could act like a holy roller, but in the end, she’d do what she had to do, badge or not. Just like Angela had.

“Don’t tell me when he skipped away free as a bird you’d be OK with that.”

“God will be his ultimate judge.”

“God works too slow for me.”

“He might work slow, but His vengeance is mighty. You’ll have lots of time to read all about Him where you’re going.”

“Great, can’t wait,” Angela muttered as she was pushed toward the correctional officer standing like a brick wall in front of the open doors to the prison trans
port. She met his piercing eyes, staring back unwaveringly. She took exception to the calculating glare in his eyes. “You have something to say to me, Officer?” Angela challenged.

A slow half smile twisted his lips. He towered over her five-foot-five-inch frame. Not many men intimidated her, but this one? Maybe. Just a little. He was broad and muscular, and there was something primal about him that made her very aware she was a woman. He looked around to make sure no one of significance was watching and leaned a little toward her. “What if I do?” he taunted.

“Get me out of this hardware and I’ll teach you to keep that mouth of yours shut.”

“End it, Giacomelli,” Alvarez said, pushing her forward. Angela stumbled, the hobble giving her barely a six-inch step, and slammed into the wall of the guard’s chest. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her. She jerked out of his grasp and hissed.

“Don’t touch me!”

Doing the opposite, he spun her around and slammed her, face-first, against the side of the bus. Pressing his big body against her, his fist bore into the small of her back. Angela gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, suddenly feeling suffocated and weak at the knees. Since her assault, she could not stand to be touched by anyone, especially a man.

“You have no rights, prisoner,” he softly said against her ear. “I’m bigger and badder than you, so you decide now how you want this to go down.”

“Let. Go. Of. Me,” she ground out.

“Are you going to play nice?”

“Let go and find out.”

He chuckled, but damned if he didn’t back off, yanking her with him. He spun her back around. Angela caught the surprised look on Alvarez’s and Smyth’s faces. While an unruly prisoner was often at the mercy of the guards, this type of conduct was what lawsuits were made of. Yet they did nothing to stop the guard’s behavior. She glanced at them with a sneer, then looked up at the brute. “So you get off roughing up helpless women?”

He threw his head back and laughed in genuine humor. “There is nothing helpless about you.”

Angela eyed him angrily. She never could stand being the brunt of someone’s humor, however innocently intended. One of her many character flaws.

Alvarez handed him the file folder she had been carrying. “Inmate 24-417-9327, Giacomelli, Angela, Celeste. She’s all yours, Officer”—she squinted at his name tag and looked back up at him—“Brinks. You’re new.”

“I’m filling in for Horner.” He took the file and grabbed Angela by the arm, his fingers biting deep and hard, forbidding resistance.

“Prick,” she hissed and preceded him up the narrow steps she could barely climb, the shackle chain was so short. She glared at the driver sitting in his cage and took umbrage at the soft shove Officer Brinks gave her, pushing her to the back of the bus.

Great. Right next to his cage at the very back of the box.

Once she was seated and locked down, Brinks stalked back to the front of the bus, where he brought in another prisoner, locking her in before going for another. By the
time he was done, six other women were up front, while Angela got the preferred seating in the back.

She looked up and squinted against the struggling ray of sun that filtered through the gray clouds. She lowered her gaze and looked out the window to the concrete sally port. She’d stood in it many times, watching shackled criminals file into this very bus like cattle. Animals being hauled off to the big house. Off to do time for their crime. Too many of them came back, only to repeat the process. No lesson learned.

She would never know if it would be the same for her. It didn’t matter that she’d be up for parole in twenty. Her gut told her: Once she stepped through the prison gate, she wasn’t coming out.

She pushed back into the stiff, torn cushion. The panic that had seized her earlier began to snake up from her belly. She swallowed hard and took deep cleansing breaths. The bus smelled like piss and shit, and there was no air circulating. A short, harsh wave of nausea rolled through her. Her stomach tightened and a dry heave spasmed. Her back clenched in pain from the tightness and she tried to puke, but nothing, not even bile, came up. Closing her eyes, Angela hung her head between her knees, trying to get her bearings. She took a deep breath. The stench of the bus was too much.

She jerked up and fought another heave, but this time she did puke. She spit the yellow bile onto the floor next to a dried loogey. Turning her head, she wiped her mouth on the shoulder of her jumpsuit. Angela caught the contemptuous stare of one of the prisoners seated several rows ahead on her left. The woman spit, then grinned, showing off her four teeth. She made a smack
ing sound, then slurped, eyeing Angela up and down. “I haven’t had fresh meat like you in a long time.”

“I hope you like a little AIDS and a few cankers to go with it,” Angela said, staring down the Amazon.

Brinks coughed beside her where he was messing around with his equipment.

“Welcome to the club, sweet cheeks,” the woman said.

“Shut up and turn around, Wolinski,” Brinks bit off.

The woman shot him a glare and turned, but not before she blew Angela a kiss.

“Stay out of my business,” Angela said to the guard.

He looked up from stowing away the files on each prisoner in a metal box in his cage. His deep green eyes glittered in amusement. “You’re going to need a friend where you’re going. You might want to think twice about being nice to me.”

Angela scowled, warning him off. “I don’t play well with others. Leave me alone.”

He ignored her and walked toward the front of the bus.

Closing her eyes, Angela leaned her head back on the hard headrest and took in several deep breaths, trying to get a handle on herself. She was scared. There, she’d admitted it, scared shitless actually, and no one, not one single person, gave a damn about where she was headed.

She kept her eyes closed when the automatic-locking, heavy-gauge metal door closed around the driver. The hiss of the air release from the bus doors, followed by the heavy cling of it locking them all in, jarred her drawn nerves.

This was it.

No more jail. No more court. No more, nothing. She was going away. To Prison. Angela wondered if she’d survive.

Heavy footsteps thudded toward her. Officer Friendly. The whoosh of air his body disturbed as he walked past her into his own cage brushed across her cheeks. His clean, citrusy scent was welcome in the dank stink of the bus. She kept her eyes closed. The sound of the jump seat creaking with his weight sitting upon it, followed by the lock and load click of his shotgun, triggered another wave of nausea.
Fuck.

“All secure,” he miked to the driver.

Over the bus radio, the driver said, “Transport fifty-two, 10-49 Jessup Women’s Facility with seven on board, starting mileage, 24,766.”

“10-4, T-fifty-two, starting 24,766 at 1517 hours,” Dispatch cleared.

The bus lurched forward and so did Angela’s life.

The bus slammed to an abrupt halt. Angela’s eyes flew open, and immediately her intuition told her something was wrong. She jerked her head back and craned her neck, staring at Brinks through narrowed eyes. He grinned.

Sonofabitch!

“What the hell are you doing?” she quietly demanded.

“What’s the problem?” Brinks miked to the driver as he looked over his shoulder behind the bus. Angela craned her neck farther around, straining her muscles to look in the same direction. A black panel van idled several feet behind them. Brinks gave a shallow nod to the van’s driver and received the same gesture in return. Then he turned back, giving the bus driver all of his attention.

Scenarios careened in Angela’s brain. A breakout? Hostages? She looked up at the driver. His head moved back and forth as he leaned forward over the steering wheel in an attempt to see what was causing the delay. Angela scooted as far to the edge of her seat as she could. A new fear treaded disruptively across her tightly held composure. She did not want to die.
Keep your cool, Ange.

“Looks like a backup ahead. Traffic’s at a standstill,” the bus driver miked back.

Angela and Brinks turned at the sound of the van door opening behind them. Brinks gave the all clear sign to the two men who emerged from the van, completely blacked out head to toe.

“What the hell’s going on?” Giacomelli hoarsely demanded. Brinks ignored her and set the shotgun down butt first against the rear emergency door. With all eyes forward except hers, he pulled up his right pant leg and grabbed a small canister strapped there.

Angela watched in shock and awe as he pulled it out with his right hand and, with his left, pulled the pin.

“Bomb!” Angela screamed to get the driver’s attention. The driver jerked around in his seat, his eyes on Brinks, who remained unflappable. Brinks unlocked the security door and rolled the bomb down the aisle to the main passenger area. Angela shoved her head between her knees and braced for impact. Just as it exploded with a bang and she realized she hadn’t caught any shrapnel, she popped up in her seat, only to be stayed by her shackles. Frustrated by her inability to react, she glanced at the cage. Brinks turned, pulled down the back of the jump seat, and extracted a hidden gas mask, which he quickly placed over his face. The hiss of the released noxious gas infiltrated her senses. Ignoring the screams of the passengers and the driver’s frantic calls, Brinks turned to Angela. Dreadful realization grabbed hold of her and would not let go.
She
was the target. Holy hell, her face would be splattered on every post office wall from here to California.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded as she was overcome with a fit of coughs.

He grinned under the mask and said, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

Wildly, Angela scanned the perimeter of the bus. The driver was down and she could see only the slumped shoulders of the other passengers. Brinks opened the rear emergency door, where the two masked men now stood. After opening the security door to his cage, he entered the passenger compartment as smoke billowed out the open door. He hurried toward Angela, who tried holding her breath to stave off the fumes of the sleeping gas. The dark hole of unconsciousness shimmered on the fringes of her mind. As Brinks bent to unshackle her, Angela was powerless to stop him. Her last conscious thought was of him slinging her limp body over his hard shoulder.