“We were too late,” Culligan said.

“What do you mean, too late?” Barrett’s reflexive thought was that Lambert must be dead, perhaps knifed in a gang fight, if such a thing went on in women’s prison. It would be a terrible tragedy, of course, but a cleaner solution than the one Tony Low proposed.

Culligan took a swig from the flash and swallowed hard. “She was bailed out before we got there.”

“What?” Barrett gasped. This was even more shocking than a shiv in the shower. “Who the hell by?” His hands went numb when Culligan told him. “I’m heading in now,” he said. He fumbled to disconnect and called Marcia next. “Get me Harrington on the phone. And send the chopper for me. ASAP.”

“Oh, sure,” Courtney cried as he ran to pack a bag. “Abandon us. Again.”

Chapter 25

Shay!” a voice called from the other side of the parking lot. “Over here!”

My head swiveled that way. A man was leaning out of the rear passenger door of the silver Mercedes. He had a full head of gray hair that ruffled in the breeze and a gleam of a smile in a sun-bronzed face. He waved an exuberant arm. “Shay!” he called again.

I stopped and stared. I knew him. He was the notorious class-action lawyer, the bane of corporate counsel across the country. Once my opponent, now my savior. Mark Ivins.

He stood braced against the door with a big welcoming smile. I glanced behind me at Lester and Culligan. They were staring at Ivins, too, with shock and resentment on their faces. I walked slowly toward the Mercedes. “Mr. Ivins?”

“Mark. Please.”

“Am I to understand that you’ve posted my bail?”

He nodded. “I’m only sorry I didn’t learn about all this sooner. It makes me sick to think you’ve been in here for—what? Two months?”

In the front seat, the driver was still staring straight ahead, but the woman in the passenger seat twisted around to watch us. “I don’t understand,” I said.

“Let’s talk in the car, shall we?”

I hesitated. He’d posted my bail. He was offering me a ride, but I didn’t have a destination to give him. “I—I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“I’ve arranged your accommodations.” He put an easy hand on my elbow. “You’ll be comfortable there until you’re back on your feet.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let’s talk in the car,” he said again.

I threw one last look back as Lester got behind the wheel of the SUV and slammed the door.

I ducked into the Mercedes. The upholstery was soft and supple, like the dewy complexion of a young girl. It had that new-car smell, and also in the air were the scents of the woman’s perfume and some dark-roast high-grade coffee. Luxury smells. I sank into the seat.

Ivins got in beside me, and the driver put the car in gear as the front-seat woman turned all the way around to smile at me. She was about my age, a beauty, with chiseled cheekbones and long dark hair as shiny as a sheet of black ice over asphalt.