Nicky's chest tightened as she parked the car. This Bernard Brown guy--his mugshot had looked bone-chilling, and Nicky wasn't looking forward to meeting him.

On the flight up, she'd been reviewing his file, getting to know his long history of crimes. He was an active serial killer thirty years ago. The file said there were over a dozen victims. Now, he was a man serving a life sentence in a maximum-security prison.

The world was a better place without him, Nicky reflected. But his murderous ways didn't stop in prison. He'd killed a cellmate once before, fifteen years ago, and was put in isolation for eight years before finally being let back out. Obviously, he ended up killing a cellmate again, so he had been put back in isolation. Nicky couldnt help but think it was a gross lapse in judgement for them to ever think he could be trusted with a cellmate again, but after all those years, they must have made the call.

Ken and Nicky were met at the gate by a guard. He took their weapons and then escorted them inside. Inside the main building, it was bright and clean, but that didn't make Nicky feel any better. There were still bars everywhere, and the guards were watching their every move. Prisons werent her favorite place in the world, and often, when she was in them, she couldnt help but think about the man whod taken her and Rosie all those years ago, and how this was where he belonged. But he was still out there, free. It all made Nickys blood burn.

Nicky glanced at Ken, still silent. "Hope you like being in a maximum-security prison," Nicky said to Ken, trying to break the ice.

"Its just business as usual, he muttered, although he looked as disturbed by their surroundings as she did.

They were led down a corridor, and then left into a small room. A guard took their IDs and then left them alone.

"So, how are we doing this? Ken asked. Are you gonna be in charge of the interrogation?

"It's not an interrogation, per se," she said. "At least, we dont want it to feel like one. We just want to ask him some questions, that's all."

"Right," Ken said.

The guard returned and escorted them into another room that was even smaller, containing just a table and a few chairs. In one of the chairs sat a man who, up until that moment, Nicky had only seen in his mugshot.

Bernard Brown.

He was a large man, in his late sixties, with white hair and a friendly smile. His blue eyes were cold, though. Bernard was dressed in prison scrubs, his hands handcuffed behind his back, and he had a crazed, yet amused look on his face.

"You must be Agent Lyons," Bernard said with a smile. His voice was friendly, too. "I would love to shake your hand, but..."