“Where are you?”

“I’m in the freaking john. You can’t go around saying shit like that out loud in public. Kyle Kirsch?”

“Yep.”

“The Kyle Kirsch?”

His synapses must have been misfiring. “I have to go to prison now. Let me know when your software has been updated, and we’ll chat.”

“Okay, wait,” he said just before I hung up, “let me look into the missing-girl case. Don’t do anything rash.”

“Me?” I was only a little offended.

“You stir up more hornets’ nests than a twelve-year-old boy with a baseball bat. You’re like Lois Lane on crack.”

“Well, I never. So, do you have anything else for me?”

“No.”

“Darn.”

“Are you going to stay out of trouble?”

“What? K-shhhhhhh. You’re breaking up.” I hung up before he could say anything else. If I was Lois Lane, then Reyes Farrow was definitely my Superman. I just had to find him before the kryptonite demons finished what they started. The fact that I hadn’t seen him all day did not escape me. Did he die? Was he already gone? The mere thought caused a crushing weight to push against my chest. I breathed in deep, calming breaths as we pulled up to the main gate of the prison.

“According to the write-up in the paper, Janelle York is survived by a sister, but she lives in California now,” Cookie said.

“Wow, that’s a bit far to drive. We’re here to see Neil Gossett,” I told the guard.

He scanned a clipboard, his posture like a soldier at attention. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Sure do,” I said, letting a flirtatious smile slide across my face. “My name is Charlotte Davidson, and this is Cookie Kowalski.”

A grin threatened the corners of his mouth. He was too young to be jaded and too old to be naïve. A darned good age, in my book. “I only have you down, Ms. Davidson. Let me call up,” he said.

I widened my smile, which in my experience could open more doors than an AK-47. He forced his mouth to stay grim, but his eyes smiled right back before he turned and strode to the guardhouse.

“Maybe Janelle’s sister came down for the funeral,” Cook added. “I’ll call the funeral home, try to get the contact information.”

As she typed in a search for the number, the guard walked back to us, the grin still trying to push past the harsh line of his mouth. “You’re clear. If you’ll just follow this road around,” he said, pointing to the right, “it’ll take you right to his building.”

“Thank you.”

Ten minutes later, I found myself once again in the state pen. Well, in Neil Gossett’s office in the state pen, anyway. Cookie stayed in the outside office to do some more research and make a few calls. She was so productive. I heard Neil coming. He greeted Cookie then stopped to speak with Luann, his administrative assistant, the one who met us at the entry and eyed me like I was out to kill her puppy every time I visited. She had pale skin that revealed every bit of her forty-plus years and contrasted starkly with her short black hair and dark eyes. I’d always wondered why she glared at me every time I came in. Never enough to ask, but still. All I got in the way of emotion was distrust, but thinking back to the first time I’d met her, I didn’t even feel that until she found out I was there about Reyes. She seemed almost protective of him, and I suddenly wondered why.

Neil thanked Luann, then started toward his office. He and I went to high school together, but our paths had rarely crossed. Mostly ’cause he was a jerk. Thank goodness prison life had matured him. And because of an incident that happened when Reyes first arrived here ten years ago, which involved the downfall of three of the deadliest gang members the prison population had to offer in about fifteen seconds flat, Neil knew a smidgen about Reyes. Whatever Neil saw left an impression. And he knew just enough about me to believe anything I said, no matter how crazy it sounded. That had not been the case in high school, where I had been called everything from schizoid to Bloody Mary—which was odd ’cause I was rarely covered in blood. But now I could use his newfound faith in my abilities to my advantage, and I was counting on that trust to make my case.

He stepped into the office and cast a knowing glance my way before settling behind his desk. Neil was a balding ex-athlete who still had a fairly nice physique despite his obvious fondness for libation.

“Have you seen him?” he asked, getting right to the point. He was going to be all business for the time being. That worked. And it made sense that he wanted to know where Reyes was, him being the deputy warden of the prison Reyes essentially escaped from and all.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“You mean, you don’t know where he is?” He sounded agitated.

“No.” I tried to sound agitated right back.

He breathed a weary sigh, dropping his deputy warden persona, and his next statement surprised me more than I wanted to admit. “We have to find him, Charley. We can’t let the U.S. marshals get to him first.”

Alarm spiked within me. “What makes you say that?”

“Because it’s Reyes Farrow,” he said, his tone sardonic. “I’ve seen what he’s capable of. I’ve seen what he can do with pure skill. God only knows what he could do with an actual weapon in his hands.” He scrubbed his face with his fingers, then added, “You know better than I do what he’s capable of.”