“Dangerous.”
Collins gave a dry little grunt. “That’s putting it mildly, especially the tall one, Greek. We’ve had two serious incidents with him in other facilities.
One vigilante killing, one knife in a guard’s back. Barely made it.” Olivia nodded.
“I know. I read it.” “Then keep your eyes open. Segregation is on your watch.
If they make a move, come straight to me.” “Understood, Major.” He left.
Olivia stayed alone. She took a photograph of her father from the desk drawer. Young, in uniform, medals on his chest.
She ran a finger across his face. “You wouldn’t have let them slide, Dad,” she whispered. “Neither will I.”
That evening after lights-out, she made her rounds. Hallway, Unit Three. Cell Nine.
The door was cracked open a few inches. The orderly was airing the place out. Olivia stopped in the shadows.
Inside, voices were low. “She’s tall,” Tank’s voice said, rough and deep. “Not small at all. Long legs too.
You can tell she used to be an athlete.” “Wrestler,” Scalpel answered softly. “It says so in her file. State-level.”
Greek said nothing. Then he spoke one word: “Carter.” Olivia tensed.
They already knew her last name. Three days in. “Sister lives outside Pittsburgh,” Greek went on in that same even tone. “Works at a local accounting firm.
Two kids, boy and girl. We’ve got the address.” Tank gave a low whistle.
“That was fast.” “Not me,” Greek said. “People helped. Reliable people.”
Olivia stepped back so they would not hear her breathing. Her heart was steady, but hard. She turned and kept walking down the hall as if she had heard nothing.
Back in the duty office, she sat down and lit a cigarette. The smoke tasted bitter. Her father had always told her not to smoke.
Smoke in the lungs, weakness in the hands. But sometimes not smoking was worse. Three days later, things were clearer.
Tank started greeting younger officers with that crooked smile that made them look away. Scalpel went to the restroom on the top floor every evening. Supposedly to smoke, but really to look out toward the women’s unit.
Greek hardly moved. He sat on the lower bunk, back straight, hands on his knees. But when Olivia walked by, he lifted his head and looked at her.
Not boldly. Calmly. Like he had already made up his mind. On the fourth morning, she was checking cells. She reached Cell Nine.
The door was open for morning cleanup. Greek stood by the window with his back to her. “Good morning, Officer Carter,” he said without turning around…
