Fight Dirty (19 page)

CHAPTER 35

M
organ stared at Deidre, stunned. No way had her cover been blown. Sh
e’d
played the role of sheep perfectly.

Maybe Deidre had meant something else? If so, what?

One way to find out—and to get Morgan herself closer to an exit strategy in case she needed it sooner than anticipated. She glanced around. Who to target? Micah. H
e’d
moved to stand beside her, as if to protect her from the crowd. He might have the answers she needed. She began coughing and choking again, twisting her body away from Deidre. Then she vomited all over Mica
h’s
legs.

Deidre and the Red Shirts jumped back in disgust. Micah bent to support Morga
n’s
heaving body. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t even seem to notice that they were both covered in the foul-smelling remnants of her lunch. She nodded weakly, tried to stand, but fell back against him. He helped her to her feet.

“Clean up. Both of you,” Deidre said. “Everyone else, to the music room.” Escorted by her Red Shirts, she paraded out the doors on the opposite side of the room, followed by the other students, while Micah guided Morgan back the way sh
e’d
entered.

To her surprise the doors to the intake room were unlocked. Good thing because they were fire doors. Not that Morgan cared much about fire safety, but if she did have to make her way through the crawl space above the ceiling, it meant any wall containing fire doors would block her path. If these were routinely left unlocked, it was one less barrier to work around. She could simply climb down from the crawl space and walk right through them.

Micah held the door for her, and Morgan shuffled through, still playing sheep-ish. Somewhere along the way sh
e’d
lost her flip-flops, and her feet squeaked against the gym mats that covered the floor of the intake room.

“You sure you’re okay?” Micah asked.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and nodded. “Yeah. Sorry about that. Hope it didn’t get you in trouble.”

He shrugged. Just one shoulder, more of a backward heaving off a potential burden than an upward motion. “The wome
n’s
showers are over there, behind those cubbyholes.”

It was her first chance to get an uninterrupted view of the intake room in full light. His and hers locker rooms, she realized. With the wall separating them and all the lockers and benches removed, leaving a wide open space between the two shower and toilet areas. Guess whatever ReNew taught, modesty wasn’t an important tenet.

The half walls that partially blocked the view into the shower areas were simple plywood, nailed together to form the cubbyholes that held the ReNew khaki uniforms along with an assortment of underwear and flip-flops. Micah moved behind the wall on the male side of the room; it barely came halfway up his chest.

“You’re lucky,” he said as he stripped off his scrub top. “Usually we only get to shower with the rest of our level group while Red Shirts watch.”

Morgan selected clean underwear and scrubs, this time in her proper size, and moved behind the cubbyholes on her side of the room to the wome
n’s
showers. Typical school locker room: an open area surrounded on three sides with shower nozzles and a central drain. There was no shampoo, only liquid soap in wall-mounted receptacles. She made fast work of cleaning up, wanting more time to check out the space.

There were no towel racks—too easy to use as a weapon—no paper-towel dispensers, either. She used her dirty clothes to dry herself off before changing. Beyond the shower were four toilet stalls, all with their doors removed. Ugh. There was more privacy in prison.

She glanced behind her at the clock over the door leading out to the administration area. Only 6:51? Sh
e’d
been here less than four hours and was already going nuts with the effort it took to stay in character.

Then she spotted one more thing—a camera in the center of the clock. It was behind the glass enclosure, so no microphone; that was good. She made an act of appearing exhausted as she shuffled across the room to slump down on the wall beside the door. Below the clock and out of view of its camera.

She knelt and examined the lock on the door. Nothing she couldn’t handle when the time came. Micah emerged from his shower. H
e’d
already put on pants and was in the act of pulling his top over his head. He had the kind of physique older men worked so hard to maintain: six-pack abs and well-defined back and shoulder muscles. No scars to match the ones on his neck, but bruises in various states of healing glowed yellow-green-purple against his pale skin.

He looked up, spotted her, and smiled. “Feel better?”

She didn’t answer. He joined her, sitting beside her. “The first day is always the worst,” he assured her. “Plus, you came at a bad time. I
t’s
not always like this.”

Morgan pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them like sh
e’d
seen so many of her fathe
r’s
victims do. Trying to become smaller targets. Never worked. But it was a sheeplike posture, and Micah responded to it, placing his arm around her shoulders and letting her lean against him.

“What is this place?” She added a tremor to her voice. “Some kind of cult?”

“No. Not a cult. Just a bunch of kids with nothing to do, bored out of their minds, and a girl in charge who is a little—”

“Crazy?”

“Unstable. She didn’t used to be this bad. Deidr
e’s
been here longer than anyone. Her brother enrolled her when she was twelve.”

“Twelve? But sh
e’s
at least, what, twenty?”

“Nineteen.”

“Seven years and no one has let her out?” She turned to him. “Does that mean we’ll never get out of here? My parents, my friends, I’ll never see them again?” She forced a pretend sob. “I have to talk to the Reverend, he seemed so nice, I know he’ll understand, this is all a mistake—”

Micah gave a short laugh. “Good luck with that. You won’t be seeing the Rev again—unless he selects you for one-on-one counseling. And tha
t’s
only until he gets what he wants from you. Then you’ll be stuck here with the rest of us.”

Hm
m . . .
she wondered if Bree had been one of the chosen selected to receive Reverend Benjami
n’s
personal attention. Sounded like he might be interested in something more than saving souls. She made a note to find a way to ask about that later, once sh
e’d
gained Mica
h’s
confidence. Right now she needed him feeling strong and protective.

She hugged her knees tighter. “But there must be adults. Guards, teachers, counselors?”

“Nope. Just us chickens caught in the chicken coop. Deidre does her best—sh
e’s
a true believer, actually thinks she can save us all. Sooner or later kids leave. Usually when their parents run out of money. Never before the Rev is sure they won’t talk about what really goes on in here. Except onc
e . . .
” His voice trailed off. “Bree. Deidre hoped sh
e’d
change everything. Somehow got it in her crazy mixed-up mind that Bree would stay here. She was so angry when she found out Bree was leaving. Felt abandoned. You see, Deidre is just as trapped as the rest of us, even though sh
e’s
in charge.”

The way his words gushed out, Morgan wondered when the last time was h
e’d
had any chance to talk to anyone in more than the monosyllabic responses Deidre commanded. It felt as if Micah needed to unburden himself. And Morgan was very happy to hear it all. “If Deidre couldn’t change things after seven years of being here, what made her think this girl Bree could?”

“Bree was supposed to save us all. When her mother came to get her early, she promised sh
e’d
let the people in the outside world know what was happening here. She said sh
e’d
tell our families, tell the cops, whoever it took. She and Deidre were especially close—the
y’d
sit up all night singing together and Bree told Deidre about all the things sh
e’d
missed. I mean, can you imagine spending seven years with no TV or phone, no Internet, nothing but a bunch of mixed-up kids that you had to keep from killing each other? Bree painted a whole new world for Deidre.”

“She gave her hope.” A dangerous thing in Morga
n’s
experience.

“Exactly. But.” His shoulders heaved again. Mica
h’s
shrugs were more expressive than most peopl
e’s
smiles, sh
e’d
noticed. “But, she left and i
t’s
been a month and nothin
g’s
happened. Except for Deidre starting to lose it. For real. I’m worried. Sh
e’s
going to go too far—or lose control of the Red Shirts, which would be even worse. Deidre wants to save our souls, but Red Shirts just want to have fun. Bullying the rest of us is the only entertainment they have.”

Boredom. As dangerous as hope. Especially in people like Morgan. She craved stimulation like a drug, needing more potent doses with each hit. Being locked up with a bunch of sheep, if you were a person with Morga
n’s
proclivities, or worse, her fathe
r’
s
. . .
not a pretty picture. And if Deidre was losing control—

She realized that Micah was watching her again. It was unnerving, the way he allowed every emotion to rest on his face, exposing himself to the world. Inside the commons room h
e’d
been protective of her, worried, and a bit frightened.

Not now. Now he regarded her with curiosity.

“Just who are you, Morgan? The truth.”

“You first,” Morgan countered. “Ho
w’d
you end up here?”

Another shrug, this one nostalgic. “A bunch of us got into a bar over on the North Side. We thought we were so cool, sneaking in with the crowd after a Steelers’ game. Stupid dive bar, they didn’t care how old we were as long as we could pay for our beer. Anyway, there was this guy. He hit a girl. Slapped her so hard it knocked her down.” His breathing edged between clenched teeth at the memory. “No one was doing anything; they all just watched.”

“Except you.”

“Guess I was the only one sober enough—or stupid enough. I told the guy to back away—he was getting ready to kick her while she was down—and next thing I knew he had a broken bottle in his hand and there was blood all over me.”

“He could have killed you.”

“Not like he didn’t try. He got me in a choke hold, cut me, then dropped me to the floor and went on about his business. I don’t know what came over me, some kind of berserker rage or something. I saw the blood, saw the girl crying, saw his smile—he was laughing—and everything else was a blur. I grabbed a cue stick, lunged at him, and he rushed me and—”

“You hit him—did you kill him?”

He touched the scar on his neck. “No. Stupid drunk. He tripped over the girl, fell on the bottle. Didn’t kill him but it cut him up pretty bad, needed more stitches than I did. But I was underage, had a beer, in a bar, holding a deadly weapon in my hands. Worse, the girl testified against me, said I started it, said I was the one who hit her and her boyfriend. Good thing they had video that showed otherwise. So all I got was ninety days for the underage drinking. Just dumb luck this place was next up on the residential treatment program rotation.”

Dumb luck? He was the one wh
o’d
rushed in, decided it was his responsibility to defend a woman he didn’t even know. She had met other Norms like this—in fact, her life suddenly seemed full of them, saints and martyrs intent on showing her the light as they tried to take responsibility for every wrong in the world and set it right. Nick, Andre, Luc
y . . .
not Jenna. Jenna barely took responsibility for her own actions and always had her own agenda, a lot like Morgan that way. And now, Micah.

He was only a kid. She had to stop him before his hero complex earned him an early grave.

“Where do you draw the line, Micah? Or are you God, all-knowing, the Holy Father taking the worl
d’s
sins onto His shoulders?”

He rolled his eyes, but his shoulders still slumped in anguish. “You’re thinking of the Son, not the Father.”

“Right, the guy who ended up nailed to a cross. That what you’re aiming for?”

He was silent. Morgan waited.

“I just want to live my life without regrets,” he finally said.

Exactly what she wanted. No regrets, like the blood on her hands ending with her locked up in a cag
e . . .
or a prison. She glanced around and laughed. Off to a helluva good start.

He jerked his head up. “Are you laughing at me? Ending up in this hellhole protecting a woman who didn’t want or need it?”

“No. I’m laughing at myself.” She wrapped her arm around his, drawing his body back to her until their sides touched. Usually she didn’t like people in her space, but somehow she didn’t mind with Micah. And it wasn’t because sh
e’d
already cataloged his vulnerabilities and was confident that she could kill him before he could hurt her.

For once—for the only time she could remember—it was because she simply wanted another warm body next to hers.

But then he slid his arm free of hers. She sucked in her breath, disappointment chilling her, waiting for him to reject her, abandon her.

Instead he pressed his body closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, holding her to him. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

Morgan said nothing. If he only knew.

“Now you know my sob story,” he said. “Your turn. Why are you here, Morgan?”

She lowered her face, avoiding his scrutiny. Debated on maintaining her cover. But if he could help her get out of here faste
r . . .
She followed her impulse to trust him, looked up, and met his gaze.

“I’m here because BreeAnna Greene is dead.”

CHAPTER 36

B
ree is—” Micah couldn’t finish his thought. His chest felt hollowed out, as if an Arctic wind had swept through him, snatching up his heart and leaving nothing but ice in its place. “No. She can’t be.”

The ice dropped deep into his gut while his throat closed with anger. He wanted to hit something; he wanted to hit someone. He wanted Morgan to take back her words, to say it wasn’t so, to tell him she was a liar. He wanted to leap up and rip the clock from the wall above him, tear it apart, and turn back time.

He wanted so many things as tears filmed his vision, sparking rainbows in the glare of the overhead lights. Most of all, he wanted none of this to be real, because even if that meant that Bree wasn’t real, that she was just some crazy messed-up hallucination, then she wouldn’t be dead. Gone forever.

“What—how—why—” Single syllables were all he could manage.

Morgan didn’t move to comfort him but neither did she move away. Instead she simply watched, staring at him with that unnerving expression that was no expression at all. As if she wore a mask labeled “Teenage Girl.”

Not at all like Bree. Bre
e’s
face was a constant symphony, changing faster than clouds rolling in before a storm or butterflies swirling in a summer breeze. H
e’d
drawn her in his mind so many times, and yet, h
e’d
never really been able to capture her. Had hoped maybe someday he could try again in perso
n . . .
“What happened?”

“She hung herself. The same night she left here.” Morga
n’s
tone was as chilled as her words.

“No. Bree would never—” Again he stopped himself. His shoulders heaved so hard and fast he felt as if he was going to be sick. Suddenly his heart returned, pounding fast like thunder in his head, and he felt flushed.

“No. She was going to save us. She wouldn’t kill herself.” He pivoted on his knees, facing Morgan, gripping her shoulders tight. Wanted to shake the truth from her but stopped himself. “Bree did not kill herself.”

Morgan kept staring at him. No fear despite his hands on her body, able to bash her head against the wall or throttle her or do anything. Or do nothing. He dropped his hands, looked at them as if they belonged to a stranger.

“Okay,” Morgan said, more like talking to herself than to him. “Maybe she didn’t. But she died. Less than twelve hours after leaving here. And it looked like suicide. Who would want her dead? Did something happen while she was here? Something more than—” She waved her hand at the doors on the opposite side of the room, the ones leading to the commons room. “Did Deidre break her?”

Micah shook his head back and forth, whipping his vision until the world blurred. “Bree never broke. Not for Deidre, not for the Rev. Never.”

“But they tried?”

“Deidre did at first. But something happened—” He stopped, staring into the ceiling, hands dangling uselessly between his knees. How to explain, how to possibly explain what life was like here? How could this strange girl from the outside ever understand?

“What happened, Micah? Did someone hurt Bree?”

“No. Just the opposite. Bree saved us. From ourselves.”

Jenna stared up at Robert Green
e’s
fury-filled face. He wanted her to feel intimidated, dwarfed by his larger body, trapped in her chair. To hell with that.

Andre stepped toward her, ready to tackle Greene, but she waved him off. She met Green
e’s
gaze calmly and said, “Maybe if you and your wife are done keeping secrets, we can do our job and find out who killed your daughter.”

Silence as he glared down at her. Finally he turned away. “It was Benjamin. You know it was.”

“No sir.” She leaned back, kept her voice calm. He stood, looking away from her, shoulders hunched. “We can suspect anyone—well, anyone except you, your wife, and her former lover since apparently you alibi each other—but we need proof.”

“I don’t care about proof.” He grabbed Care
n’s
arm and yanked her to her feet. “You. This is all your fault. You took her there, to that place.”

He shook her like a rag doll. She made a sound between a sob and a screech. Andre moved to intervene, placing his hand on Green
e’s
shoulder and wrenching him away from his wife. Caren fell back onto the love seat as Greene raised his fists, ready to attack Andre.

Andre backed off—not in surrender but to give himself space to maneuver. Jenna knew from the way he held his body that he was restraining himself from giving Greene the fight Greene so obviously wanted.

She pushed to her feet, ready to step between the two men, but it was Nick who defused the situation. He touched Green
e’s
elbow—a simple, nonthreatening touch—and brought the ma
n’s
attention to bear on him.

“Your little girl didn’t kill herself, Mr. Greene,” Nick said in a low tone, each word rocking Greene like a blow. “Maybe you could sit down and help us find out who did?”

Greene wavered, hands bunched into fists, but then his face lost focus and he sank onto the love seat beside his wife. Caren immediately draped her arms around his shoulders as Greene ignored her, burying his face in his hands, shoulders heaving. “My baby, my poor baby,” he moaned. “I wasn’t here for her. She was all alone.”

Jenna gave him a few minutes of self-pity. Hoped it might soften his need to control the investigation and let her finally do her job without interference. She waved Andre and Nick back and crouched beside him.

“Mr. Greene, is there any way someone associated with your lawsuits could have come here that night?” She couched her words carefully in order to not expose the fact that Greene was using his daughte
r’s
assault to blackmail a federal judge.

He shook his head, still staring at the floor. “No. Like you said earlier, why would they? I still have all the leverage I nee
d . . .
” His voice choked, and he paused to swallow. “With BreeAnna gone.”

“BreeAnna opened the door that night. Would she have done that for a stranger?”

Caren answered. “No. Never. Even if it was a police officer, she wouldn’t have opened the door without seeing some kind of identification.”

“So it was someone she knew.”

Greene finally raised his head to meet her gaze. “It was Benjamin. Had to be.”

“Why?” The simple question was impossible to answer.

“I don’t know. I don’t care. It was him. I know it.” He shook free of Care
n’s
clingy arms. “Good thing I already have someone on the inside.”

Jenna stood. “Who?”

He stood as well, facing her. This time he was calm, but despite that, Andre still stepped closer, ready to defend Jenna. “After our discussion this afternoon, I knew I couldn’t trust you to get the job done. So I hired your associate.”

“Morgan? You paid Morgan to go undercover at ReNew.”

“Why not? We were all set up to do it until you got cold feet.” His smirk returned. “I even paid extra for an expedited pickup, same as how they took BreeAnna.”

Jenna rocked back on her heels, speechless.

“You sent men to grab Morgan?” Andre demanded. “Do you have any idea—”

No. Of course, Greene didn’t. Damn it. Totally her fault, she knew who, what Morgan was.

“Relax. I followed them to the school, she was fine.”

“She was fine,” Nick echoed. “Despite being jumped and dragged into a van.” He was trying to reassure her and Andre, Jenna knew.

“Of course, she was fine,” Greene said. “We walked in together. My point is, we now have eyes and ears in place at ReNew. Thanks to me.”

“When?” Jenna asked.

“A few hours ago. How are we going to listen in?” Greene was eager now.

Jenna took a breath, tried in vain to decide exactly when sh
e’d
totally lost control of the situation. “You and your wife obviously have a lot to discuss,” she said, using her voice of command.

Greene bristled at that, but Nick took the hint. “I’ll stay.”

“Good. Andre, you and I are heading back to the office to monitor those transmitters.” Technically they could listen to the bugs from any smartphone or computer, but she needed to get out of this house, away from Greene and his manipulations.

“I want to hear—” Greene protested.

“You’ve done enough for today, Mr. Greene,” Jenna said.

Before he could argue, Andre brushed past him, inserting his body between Greene and Jenna as they walked out.