Sidney Sheldon & Tilly Bagshawe 3-Book Collection: After the Darkness, Mistress of the Game, Angel of the Dark. Tilly Bagshawe
waved through, if it was waved through, and they drove clear of Bedford, Grace would climb out of the crate and make her way to the rear doors. As soon as the driver stopped at a junction, she would open the door of the truck and jump to freedom.
Easy.
‘It’s not going to work.’
Karen leaned across the table and helped herself to Grace’s watery mashed potatoes. They were at lunch, a few days before the breakout was supposed to take place.
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘Have you thought about what you’re gonna do if you do make it out of here?’
Grace had thought of little else. When she fantasized about her escape, she pictured herself as the hunter, unmasking Lenny’s killer, wreaking her revenge. But the reality was that she would also be hunted down. If she were going to survive, she’d need food, shelter, money and a disguise. She had no idea how she was going to obtain any of them.
‘What about friends on the outside. Is there anybody you can trust? Anyone who’ll cover for you?’
Grace shook her head. ‘No. No one.’
There was one person she trusted. Davey Buccola. Davey was working on new information, checking out the alibis for everyone who’d stayed with Grace and Lenny on Nantucket the day Lenny died. If Grace turned to anyone on the outside, it would be him. But she wasn’t about to tell Karen that.
‘In that case, we need to fix you up with a survival pack from here.’
‘A survival pack?’
‘Sure. You’ll need a new identity. A few new identities, so you can keep moving. Driver’s licenses, credit cards, some cash. You won’t get very far as Grace Brookstein.’
‘Where am I going to get a driver’s license from, Karen? Or a credit card. It’s impossible.’
‘Said the woman who figures she’s going to escape from Bedford Hills! Don’t sweat the small stuff, Grace. Leave that to me.’
Karen had warned Grace that she would need to let ‘a few of the girls’ in on the escape plan in order to get what they needed in such a short space of time. To Grace’s horror, ‘a few of the girls’ turned out to be almost every inmate at Bedford. Forging a credit card and a driver’s license was no mean feat. Karen was forced to corral help from all over the prison. Inmates in the warden’s office, the library, and the computer room typed, Photoshopped and laminated for days, all of them risking their own paroles and futures for a chance to help Grace and be part of the Great Escape. The only people who didn’t know about the plan were the guards and Lisa Halliday.
It was debatable whether Lisa would have snitched on Grace – powerful inmates could attack their rivals with impunity but selling out another prisoner was still considered taboo. Still Karen wasn’t prepared to risk it.
Grace was grateful for everyone’s help, but she was nervous.
‘Too many people know.’
‘They’re not “people,” Karen told her. ‘They’re your friends. You can trust them.’
Trust. It was a word from another life, another planet.
Tuesday morning dawned gray and cold. Grace had barely slept. All night long, the voices haunted her:
Lenny: Whatever happens, Grace, I love you.
John Merrivale: Don’t worry, Grace. Just do what Frank Hammond tells you and you’ll be fine.
Karen: When they catch you, they’ll shoot you, no questions asked.
Grace didn’t touch her oatmeal at breakfast.
‘You need your strength,’ Cora Budds told her. ‘Eat somethin’.’
‘I can’t. I’ll throw up.’
The big black woman narrowed her eyes. ‘I ain’t asking you, Grace. I’m tellin’ you. You better get it together, girl. I’m putting my hide on the line for you today. We all are. Now eat.’
She’s right. I can do this. I have to do it.
Grace ate.
‘Are you sure you’re all right, Grace? Perhaps you should go and lie down.’
It was noon at the children’s center. The delegation of senior prison officials was due to arrive at twelve-thirty. The morning had been spent tidying up desks and toys, putting up fresh artwork, and generally ensuring that the facility looked its very best. If the delegation was impressed, they might raise the budget. Or at least not slash it. Grace had worked diligently as usual, but Sister Agnes was worried about her. Her complexion had been green when she arrived for work this morning. Now it had faded to sickly off-white. A moment ago, reaching up to a high shelf to rearrange some books, she’d become dizzy and almost fainted.
‘I’m fine, Sister.’
‘I don’t think you are fine. The infirmary ought to take a look at you.’
‘No!’ Grace felt her throat go dry with panic. You can’t send me to the infirmary. Not today. What if they keep me all afternoon? She remembered what Cora said to her at breakfast. She had to pull herself together. ‘I’m a little dehydrated, that’s all. Perhaps I could have a glass of water?’
Sister Agnes went to fetch the water. While she was gone Grace pinched her cheeks and took some deep, calming breaths. By the time the nun returned, she looked slightly better.
From the far corner of the room, Lisa Halliday watched the scene with suspicion. ‘What’s up with Lady Brookstein?’ she asked one of the mothers, a young black woman who hadn’t been at Bedford long. ‘She’s been acting weird as shit all morning, even by her standards.’
‘Wouldn’t you be if you was gonna bust out of here?’ said the girl. One look at Lisa’s face told her she’d screwed up big-time. But by then it was too late.
‘What’d you say?’
‘Nothing. I was just … I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s just some crazy rumors.’
Lisa Halliday put her face within an inch of the girl’s. ‘Tell me.’
‘Please. I … I shouldn’ta said nuthin’. Cora’ll kill me.’
‘Tell me everything or I’ll make sure the warden never lets you see your kid again.’
‘Please, Lisa.’
‘You think I can’t do it?’
The girl thought about her son, Tyrone. He was three years old, as cute and chubby as a puppy. He’d be here in a half hour, snuggling up to her, drawing pictures for her to keep in her cell.
She started to talk.
Hannah Denzel knitted her beetle brows into one long, angry caterpillar as she led the VIPs down the hall to the children’s center
‘This way, ladies and gentlemen.’
Denny did not like showing ‘delegations’ around Bedford Hills. Today’s self-important posse of politicians and police officers was as bad as all the others: the do-gooder prison visitors, the priests, the social workers, the therapists, the nuns, the whole goddamn army of meddlesome outsiders who infested her territory twice a year with their clipboards and recommendations. None of them seemed to realize that these women were vermin. That they were at Bedford Hills to be punished, not saved. It made Denny sick.
The group ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ over the children’s center, scattering among the pristine workstations and play areas. Warden McIntosh stood watching them like a proud father. Then his face changed. Grace Brookstein was hovering by one of the bookcases looking pale and ill. Damn