I thought about calling Diana, but I wasn’t ready to hear her bitching. She’d be more pissed about that fact that I hadn’t come to her sooner, and then she’d tell me to quit. I didn’t need to hear that right now. What I did need was someone higher up… someone with some pull, and I had an idea of where I might find that.

The boys in the police station patted me on the back with smiles and a few even gave me hugs. I was always welcomed there since my dad was somewhat of a legend in their ranks. Charlie looked up with a smile when I stepped into his office. That smile melted from his face when I began to tell him about all the crap that was going down at Fulton.

“Do you know what it means to be green-lighted, Lyla? Do you have any idea how much shit you’re into?”

The vein throbbed on the side of his neck with his anger. It was then that I thought that maybe going to Charlie wasn’t such a great idea.

“I want you out of there,” he said in a rage. “And I’m posting armed officers outside your house.”

I put my hands up, trying to stop him, but he kept going.

“I can’t believe the shit storm this has stirred up. The case has been opened all of three days and look what’s happening. I knew this was a bad idea.” He sat down, his face red with fury. Sinking his face into his hands, he sighed. “Your father would haunt me if anything ever happened to you.” His voice softened, and he leaned back in his chair. “No arguments, Lyla. You’re quitting.”

Listening intently, I sat silent. Going to Charlie was a terrible idea.

I left his office feeling worse than I did before. Nothing was accomplished, and when I crawled into bed, I passed out knowing the following day at work was going to be hell. I’d never been someone who gave up easily. I wasn’t about to start now.

THE LAST DAY before my four-day break always seemed to stretch on. A minute felt like an hour, an hour felt like a day. Every time I looked at the clock, it seemed as if it were taunting me, the hands playing tricks on my mind and never actually moving. It dragged to the point of madness.

Every time the door buzzed, I held my breath and hoped that it was Christopher coming to see me. After all, he was the main reason I was still working at Fulton in the first place. But no matter how many times I looked for him, he never came. I supposed that was a good thing since that last thing I wanted was for him to get hurt, but still, I wanted to see his face.

I brought my lunch in a Ziploc bag and allowed the guards to search me. I made them search my pockets, too, just in case someone tried to pull some shit. I was careful. After eating my lunch, I threw away the plastic. I checked my pockets every hour to make sure nothing had been slipped into them. I felt crazy, but working at a max pen would do that to you, I supposed.

By the time afternoon rolled around, I was done with intake, doses, and paperwork and left with nothing to do but read a few of the magazines that were lying around medical. Instead, I found myself staring into space and watching Douglas pout from the other side of the room. He seemed fidgety and on edge.

“A penny for your thoughts,” I offered as I noticed he was daydreaming.

“Hmm?” He smiled and stood up straighter.

“Are you okay?” I asked, worried.

“Yeah, I just have a lot on my mind.” He shrugged. “Family stuff.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He grinned at me and nodded. “Are you okay here? I need to take a leak.”

I didn’t even respond. Instead, I waved him away. There were no inmates in the infirmary, and Dr. Giles had left early for once. I’d noticed him slowing down a bit, but I didn’t say anything. More than likely it was because he worked all the freaking time.

I read over my magazine, letting the rest of my shift go by. Yawning loudly, I stretched my arms above my head and adjusted in my seat. As I was putting my arms down, something went around my neck, jerking me back and cutting off my oxygen.

My fingers flew to my throat, grasping for whatever it was choking me, but it was so tight I couldn’t even get my finger in between what felt like plastic tubing and my skin. Choking sounds spewed past my lips, and then I was pulled to the ground and staring up at my culprit.

Miguel Cortez.

He was Jose Alvarez’s right-hand man. I’d taken care of him a few times, patching up his cuts and bruises.

He stared down at me, his dark hair falling into his face and covering the single tear drop tattooed beneath his eyes. Sweat glistened above his brow, and he licked at his lips as his face turned colors with his struggle to choke me.

I looked up at him, darkness dancing around the edges of my vision, and begged him with my eyes to let me live, but apparently, the money was more important. He jerked, the plastic tube cutting into neck, and I knew I had seconds left.