Mike smiled, finally able to speak truth to this asshole. “Know this, Woods. You’ll get your payback, and you’ll know I was the one who made it happen.”

*   *   *

“Agent Martinez said to give you anything you wanted.” The prison guard with the shaved head cued up the footage on the computer, two camera angles, side by side. “Here’s your happy couple,” he said, letting the video play.

“No audio?”

The guard shook his head. “Blame the ACLU.”

The cubicle dividers blocked most of Caitlin’s visit with Woods, but Mike caught a glimpse of her face when she exited.

Her hand went up to her eyes, blocking her nose and lips, and stayed there until she left the frame, like a celebrity avoiding the paparazzi outside a rehab center.

“Could you play that at half speed?”

The kid turned, revealed his impressionable twenty-year-old face. “You want the whole thing?”

“Just the walkout.”

“Okay. What’s that like, working for a Martinez?”

“How do you mean?”

“We don’t get a lot of ezes or itas around here, not on this side of the bars.”

Mike didn’t bite. “You gonna hit ‘Play’?”

The footage played in slo-mo. Still hard to get a good glimpse—almost like Caitlin didn’t want the camera to see her face.

“Freeze it there.”

Mike stared at the image. Caitlin’s hand froze right below her lips on its path to her eyes. “Can I get a copy of this?”

“I’ll get you a file.”

Mike didn’t know everything about Bergman. They weren’t lovers, didn’t share hopes and dreams, talk about God, or exchange Christmas cards, but Woods’s words didn’t make sense.

“Thick-ass makeup.”

Mike had only seen Caitlin wear makeup when she’d been a TV reporter, and then, only because someone else applied it. She certainly never wore bright pink lipstick. But then, he’d never seen her cry either. He pointed to the upper-right corner of the screen, a bright yellow height strip along the doorjamb.

“Is that thing accurate?”

The guard leaned in. “Far as I know.”

Mike shook his head. He didn’t know Caitlin’s measurements, but he’d have noticed if she was five feet ten.

The guard handed him a thumb drive. “This is the whole visit. Anything else I can help with?”

Mike pocketed the drive. “Who’s Woods been scrapping with?”

“Big turf war between the Aryans and the beaners in the last two months.”

Mike nodded, headed for the door.

The guard followed. “Hey, Agent, maybe you’ll clue me in, since we’re both in law enforcement. From what I saw, it didn’t look like Woods said anything useful, either to her or you.”