Chapter Twelve
“Sign here,” said the prison guard, then slid a tray through the window. “You’ll have to check your gun and personal effects.”
Mark signed his name and slid the book over to Billy Jo so she could sign hers as well. He unclipped his holstered gun and tossed it in the tray along with his keys. Billy Jo had left her bag locked in his Jeep after the two-hour drive since the ferry docked, and he thought she had feigned sleep for most of the way.
He didn’t know why she seemed suddenly so quiet, so off.
The door buzzed and a guard opened it, and he wondered whether a person could ever get used to the sounds of a prison, the concrete, the bars, the loud buzzing. He motioned for Billy Jo to go first, aware that the chief had apparently made good on his word and reached out to the
