The yapping of inmates in the common area kicked at his concentration, breaking his thoughts apart before they could form. On top of everything else, a voice in his head barked like an angry dog, the words You’re fucked ricocheting off the cinder blocks that surrounded him.

He took a seat on the edge of his bunk, squeezed the thin mattress in his fists, and clenched his jaw to hold back a wail. Gavin Spencer had walked into the Hennepin County Adult Detention Center with a perfect blueprint for his escape, a lifeline to freedom that he had formulated as he waited for the detectives to show up.

Jails were designed to stop men from breaking out through barriers of stone and steel. Gavin’s strategy looked beyond the walls. In the end, his captors would be the ones to escort him out. His plan had been playing out exactly as he had anticipated, until he came face-to-face with Lila Nash, a contingency that had never crossed his mind.

What the hell was she doing in court—an attorney, no less? She had been a wasted party girl, someone he had always imagined would drink her way to a stripper pole. He had dismissed her as fodder, a first draft that he could wad up and throw away, but there she was—a prosecutor.

Had she recognized him? The thought of growing old in prison—surrounded by troglodytes and sodomites—suddenly filled Gavin with a dread so strong that he nearly lost his ability to breathe.

Slow it down. Settle. Gavin moved to the floor of his cell, closed his eyes, and tipped his head down to concentrate. He needed to control the panic, calm the flurry of thoughts banging around his head.

She’d frozen at the sound of his voice. That had to mean something, but what? If Lila remembered him, could they put a case together after all this time? What do they have? No DNA. No trace evidence. They have a victim with no memory. When he laid the chips on the table, they added up to nothing—not yet, at least. They would need time to put it together, and Gavin could use that time to bring this new threat to an end. He was Gavin Spencer, for God’s sake, a scalpel in a drawer full of meat cleavers. He would find a way.

And just like that, Gavin’s heart rate began to slow, his lucidity returning. He stepped out of his panic, a butterfly freed of its chrysalis. He had time—not much, but enough. The plan remained the plan; he would just have to speed things up. He would fix the mistake he’d made eight years ago, but he had to get out to do it. How long did he have before they put him in the backseat of Lila Nash’s car, too?

The race was on.

Chapter 25

Chapter 25