Free Justice by Jennifer Harlow Page A

calm, which either means he knows he’s caught or is too dumb to know what we’re hinting at. From the rest of the interview, I glean it’s the latter. Did Ryder take advantage of that? Would he trust his escape to this man? The famous gut says no.
    “ Did James Ryder pay you to help him escape? ” Conover asks.
    The guard’s face twists into a look of disgust. “ No, sir. That guy scares me. I didn’t even like looking in his cell. He has acid for blood or something. ”
    I believe him. We’ll double check, but he’s not our accomplice. “ Did any of the other guards like him? ”
    “ I don’t think so, ” the giant answers.
    The door swings open, and the Warden pokes his made up face in. Make-up on men is unnatural somehow. “ I need you for the press conference, ” he says.
    Great. “ On my way. ”
    The warden glances at the guard, lips pursed in annoyance for whatever reason, before walking out again. I wonder if the guy ever smiles. Probably only when he’s ripping into people. I’ve encountered his type way too many times not to know the signs. If he did ever smile, he won’t be doing it again for quite awhile.
    “ Officer Leon, thank you for your time. If we have any follow-up questions, we’ll contact you, ” I say with a smile.
    “ How long until you think you’ll find him? Will he come back here if you do? ” he asks, noticeably scared.
    “ I have no idea. ”
    “ Oh. I hope he doesn’t. Can I go now? ”
    “ Sure, ” Conover says.
    Leon leaves without another word, off to guard the rest of the freaks. I don’t care how much it pays, if I had four kids there’s no way in hell I’d even come within a mile of this place. Hope after all this Office Leon comes to the same conclusion.
    “ He didn’t do it, ” Conover says.
    I stand, and toss on my suit jacket. “ Nope. But we’ll treat him as a suspect until we have proof otherwise. ” I pull down my vest. “ How do I look? ”
    He eyes me up and down. “ Good. Any idea what they want you to say? ”
    “ The usual. ‘No comment’ or ‘We can’t release that information.’ While I’m gone, I want you to keep culling through the fan letters. I’m sure it’s a dead end, but better safe than sorry. This shouldn’t take that long. ”
    Warden Myers waits at the end of the hall, arms folded. Not a man who likes to be kept waiting, even for a minute. Up close I can see the pancake make-up covering his entire face with a hint of blush on the cheeks. I probably should have done some touch–up, but it’s too late now. Don’t want to keep my adoring audience waiting.
    “ This your first press conference? ” I ask as we walk toward the front of the prison along with his secretary and another guard.
    “ Yes, ” he replies gruffly.
    “ Do you have a prepared statement? ”
    “ Of course, ” he snaps. “ I’ll do the talking. You’re just there to back me up. ” He already has flop sweat and shaking hands. I’d be nervous too if I were him. Right now I’m walking beside a scapegoat about to be slaughtered on national television, and he knows it.
    “ It’s your show, ” I say.
    He ignores me the rest of the walk. Instead he rehearses his statement. Not that it matters what he’s going to say. He’s already been tried and convicted in the court of public opinion. The jackals are amassed in the parking lot, twelve deep with their vans and equipment scattered around. It’s not just the locals either. No, our blunder will be broadcast worldwide through BNN and LBC, among others. Now I really wish I’d put on make-up.
    The sacrificial altar, or podium with several microphones attached, waits for us just outside the glass doors. Two guards standing watch by the door nod at us for solidarity. We nod back. The warden takes a deep breath, and then his trembling hand opens the door. He’s probably a good poker player. His face remains expressionless as he walks up to the microphones with me and the guard a few inches