“Frankly, I don’t think most of these guys know anything about any special treatment Quinn was giving Jones and Romano,” Wilkins said, referring to the two other inmates they believed had done Quinn’s dirty work. “But I wouldn’t put it past them to claim otherwise if they think it means they’ll get a shortened sentence and an all-expense-paid trip to southern Florida.”

“What about going directly to Jones and Romano? Are they willing to talk?” Rylann asked.

“Not a chance. As soon as I mentioned Quinn’s name, they both demanded to speak to a lawyer. They know exactly why we want to talk to them—the whole prison is buzzing about Quinn being indicted.” Wilkins’s tone turned apologetic. “Sorry I couldn’t come up with more.”

Rylann rocked back in her desk chair. She was disappointed but not surprised. “Like you said, if these guys are so insistent on deals, I couldn’t trust anything they said anyway.”

“Too bad Manuel Gutierrez didn’t know anything. Since he’s already agreed to testify, that would’ve been perfect,” Wilkins said. “What about Kyle Rhodes? I take it the same goes for him?”

“Not sure. I’ve been in court so much recently, I haven’t had the chance to circle back to him yet,” Rylann said.

“I could do the follow-up interview if you like,” Wilkins offered politely. “It’s just that you’ve been the contact person with him thus far…”

“Nope, I’ve got it covered. I’m adding it to my to-do list for the day as we speak.” As Rylann reached for a pen, her second phone line rang—and then her cell phone chimed immediately after that with a text message. She quickly checked the caller ID on both while jotting down a note on her daily calendar.

“You sure?” Wilkins said with a chuckle. “You sound awfully busy right now.”

Sure, she was a little inundated right then. But since she was the one who’d established the relationship with Kyle Rhodes, it would be odd to suddenly send in the FBI to talk to him. Besides, there was no way that Meth Lab Rylann was going to get a reputation in her new office of not pulling her weight. “I’m positive. It’s on the official checklist,” she assured him. “Which means—”

Rylann stopped abruptly when she saw what she’d written amid all the distractions.

Do Kyle Rhodes.

Clearly, she and her subconscious needed to have a talk about that one.

Seventeen

KYLE ALMOST HAD a heart attack when he peered down at the Post-it note his sister had given him.

“This is your password? Clearly, that’s the next thing we need to fix,” he said as he logged on to her laptop. Jordan had asked him to stop by her store to see if he could figure out why her Internet connection had suddenly crashed. Based on her password alone, he was already dreading what he might find.

Standing next to the desk, Jordan gave him a quizzical look. “Mom’s maiden name and the years Grandma and Grandpa Evers were born. Why would anyone ever think of that combination?”

“Or you could just make the password one-two-three-four,” he offered. “Since you’re obviously trying to have your identity stolen.” He pointed, lecturing. “Listen and learn: you need fourteen characters, minimum. Use random letters, not words. Here’s a tip: think of a sentence, and use the first letter in each of those words. Mix it up between upper and lower case. Then pick two numbers that mean something to you—not dates—and stick them somewhere between the letters. Put a punctuation mark at the beginning of the password and then a symbol, like a dollar sign, at the end.”

“Yes, sir.” Jordan grabbed a pen and another Post-it note. “Um, could you repeat everything that came after mixing up the upper and lower case?”

Kyle took the pen from her. “I’ll come up with something for you.” He shooed her off. “Now go away. Sell some wine. I’ll call you if I need someone to push an on-off button.” He thought of one last thing. “By the way, when’s the last time you updated the firmware on your router? Okay, from your blank expression, I’ll mark that down as a big ‘never.’ “

Shortly after she left, his cell phone rang, and Kyle saw that it was Rylann. The two of them had been playing phone tag all afternoon—not that he particularly minded hearing her sexy, throaty voice on his voicemail.

He knew, from the press release the U.S. Attorney’s Office had issued last Friday morning, that the grand jury had indicted Adam Quinn. Since then, there’d been some local media interest in the case—a guard instigating the murder of a federal inmate was exactly the kind of juicy public corruption scandal that Chicago journalists loved to report about—but thankfully, none of the witnesses’ names had been revealed. He was more than happy to stay out of the spotlight as long as possible on this one.

“It appears congratulations are in order, Ms. Pierce,” he said when he answered his phone. “I see you got your indictment. I believe a certain somebody said something about calling me when that happened.”

“I’ve been waiting for a time when I had more than five seconds to talk.”

“Oh.” Kyle rocked back in the desk chair, liking the sound of that. “I’m flattered.”

“Because I also need a favor from you.”

Of course she did. “You know, counselor, I think that card you keep playing—the one that says, ‘Redeemable for old times’ sake’—has officially expired.”