Lifting the corpse off her to try to get to Colby.
Colby’s looking mockingly at her. “You’ll never be done with me, Kendra.”
She could hear Lynch cursing beneath her ear. “Stop shaking. You’ll never have to see the bastard again.”
She hadn’t realized she was shaking. She tried to control herself. But she wasn’t ready to let him go yet. He was pouring strength and warmth into her as he always did. Just a few more minutes …
It was more like five when she said, “You can let me go now.”
“No, I can’t. You’re stuck with me. I’m not going to let Griffin see you like this. He’d enjoy it too much.”
She didn’t want Griffin to see her like this either. She was becoming better by the moment, but she had to be entirely herself before she faced him. “Griffin didn’t say one word while I was in that room with Colby.”
“He probably thought that he might get what he wanted if he left it up to a confrontation between the two of you. You were holding your own.”
“Not toward the end.”
“Colby didn’t see it.” His lips brushed her forehead. “But I couldn’t stand any more. So I broke it up.”
And she was glad he had. Colby would not have done anything but torment her. He had made it clear why he’d ‘summoned’ her. “I think … he’s even more evil than when I knew him before. I didn’t think that possible. Yet he’s changed somehow.”
“Perhaps you blocked him out.”
She shook her head. “He’s changed. There’s something … new.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about him any longer. He dies Monday, and you don’t have to see him again.”
She drew a deep breath and shook her head. “You heard him. I’m never going to be done with him.” She pushed him away. “And all your promises won’t change that.” She straightened. “They wouldn’t anyway. This is between Colby and me. That’s how it’s been from the beginning. You have nothing to do with it, Lynch.”
“Not true.” He paused. “And that was only a threat to intimidate you.”
“No, it wasn’t. He meant every word. I don’t know how he means to follow through, but that’s his intention.” She moistened her lips. “And it will be soon. He would want to see it happen.” She ran a hand through her hair to straighten it. “Now let’s go and find Griffin and the others. Colby was pretty much a waste of time except that it’s almost a sure thing that Myatt was in contact with him.” She moved down the hall toward the interrogation room. “We have to find out how that contact was made.”
“Wait.” He hurried to catch up with her. “I expected to have at least another ten minutes or so helping to bolster and raise your spirits. What a disappointment.”
“You’ll recover.” She paused, then said, “You did bolster me. I … wasn’t myself. Thank you, Lynch.”
“My pleasure.” He smiled. “You’re very, very welcome. But I prefer you to be the Kendra I know. That other ‘self’ scared the hell out of me.”
“Me, too.” She looked away and her pace quickened. “Me, too, Lynch.”
San Quentin State Penitentiary
East Gate
BOBBY CHATSWORTH SHOVED THE MICROPHONE into the protestor’s face. “Tell us why you’re here. Why this inmate, why this prison?”
The young woman with the poster froze. Dammit, she looked like a deer caught in the headlights.
Lily Holt shook her head. She and Bobby had just taped one of the most riveting interviews in British television history, but Bobby was insisting on grabbing a few more lame sound bites from the crowd outside. Oh, well. It was his show. She was only the producer.
The protestor nervously stumbled through her anti-death-penalty tirade, missing every opportunity to make a cogent point. When she finished, Bobby thanked her and stepped away with his camera operator and soundman.
“That was terrible,” Lily said quietly. “Why did you choose her?”
Bobby smiled impishly. “Are you joking? That was brilliant.”
“No. Your interview with Colby was brilliant. I still have goose bumps. There was one moment there I might have actually peed myself a little. But that woman was rubbish.”
“Could you ask for a better counterpoint? The intelligent articulate condemned man juxtaposed with the all-heart-no-brains do-gooder? See what I’m going for?”
Lily nodded. She didn’t like it, but she got it.
Bobby Chatsworth had made a name for himself as an “activist reporter” on a second-tier satellite news network in the UK, and his extreme positions gave him an engaged audience both on his network berth and video-streaming sites. His red beard, bushy eyebrows, and trademark round spectacles made him ripe for parody on comedy shows and political cartoons, but that only served to grow his audience. He’d recently been advocating the return of the death penalty in England, and in Eric Colby, he had found a terrifying poster boy for his cause.