CHAPTER ELEVEN
True to their plan, directly after breakfast, a corrections officer corralled Mia as they waited to file into their cells and told her she had thirty minutes to prepare herself for the trip to the new prison, her home for the next thirty years or more.
Good.
She’d spent all night awake, staring at those sixty-four springs above her, planning. She couldn’t count on David’s help. She needed to do something on her own. If she could somehow get out, she could do this. Hightail her way back to Dallas and find Chloe and intercept Wilson Andrews before he carried out his plan.
But what she needed to think about first was . . . getting out.
Somehow.
She didn’t have much to prepare. All she had to pack was a photograph of her family, taken last Christmas, a bible they let ever
