“Hey, Miss Lane,” he called with a grin as she set off with her things across the room. “I enjoyed today.”

“Me too,” she answered, mirroring his smile. “Oh, and Carter …” She turned back to him while the guard opened the door. “The name’s Peaches.”

9

Carter was anxious. He was anxious and nervous and dammit, where the hell was Peaches?

He was sitting in a nicer room than normal, alongside Jack and his rat-faced attorney. Diane, his case manager, was due in fifteen minutes and Peaches still hadn’t arrived. She was definitely in; Jack had told him so when he’d asked indifferently of her whereabouts. He hadn’t been able to ignore the way Jack eyed him. That shit made him nervous.

The door opened and Carter’s leg ceased its bouncing when Peaches entered. She was stunning in a pale blue top and black pencil skirt. Her hair was up in a loose twist and Carter immediately wanted to unfasten it and grab a handful, just so he could smell it, to see if it still smelled of the sweet peaches he remembered.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she told Jack while glancing at Carter.

He caught the look and smiled. Jack cleared his throat at his side and Carter’s face dropped instantly. Shit. Jack was aware of there being “something” between the two of them, and had asked frequently about Peaches ever since his stupid ass had passed out. It was only a matter of time before Jack would figure it all out.

He’d have to be more careful. He knew he’d been a lot calmer around her. Where Peaches was concerned, his temper had been under control and, as positive a thing as that was, it could prove to be very dangerous. With that thought, he slouched in his seat, averting his eyes from her, and went to work picking at the cuticle on his right thumb.

As if on goddamn cue, Ward entered the room, followed by Diane. She was a striking woman in her mid-thirties, with large dark eyes and brown hair that rested just under her shoulder blades in deep waves.

Ward began by making the introductions to Peaches, who blushed wonderfully when Diane praised her on the work she’d done. Diane walked over to Carter’s table and, without a word, pulled out all the necessary papers. She took a seat opposite Carter and began writing at the top of the application form.

“How are you?” she asked him. “You look well.”

“I’m just dandy,” he answered in his usual blasé, cocky tone.

Diane ignored it. “The parole board is convening in six weeks. Your hearing will be then. But I have a few concerns regarding some instances that may have an impact on your application.”

Carter bristled.

“I have evidence here,” Diane stated while she held up another form, “that you’ve shown aggressive behavior toward other inmates, staff, including Miss Lane and Mr. Ward, and have threatened guards while in their charge.”

“That’s because one of them assaulted me,” Carter fumed. “Damn near broke my wrist!”

“Wes,” Jack warned with an imperceptible shake of his head.

“I’ll be sure to look into that,” Diane assured Carter, making a note in her diary. “But, regardless,” she continued, lifting her head, “you have far more negatives than positives at this point. The question is, what are you doing to counteract these incidents?”

“As you know,” Jack said after a moment of tense silence during which Carter pretended that his right shoe was the most fascinating item on the planet, “Wes has been working with Miss Lane on a three-day timetable, studying English literature.”

“Yes, I do know this,” Diane answered. “How have the sessions been, Miss Lane?”

Peaches smiled. “They’ve been excellent. Carter’s worked well. He’s engaged and has many perceptive ideas about the topics we’ve discussed.”

Diane made a quick note. “I understand that Carter and you had a couple of, shall we say, run-ins when you first started.”

Peaches crossed her legs. “That’s correct.”

“But not anymore?”

“No. Carter and I have come to an understanding in terms of his conduct during the sessions. Carter’s attitude has been positive and cooperative. It’s clear that he wants to learn and do well.”

“That’s great, Carter,” Diane said with a nod.

“But?” he and Jack said in unison.

“But the board members aren’t stupid. They’re aware that your attending these sessions could be a way of simply scoring points with them.”

“With all due respect,” Jack interrupted, “isn’t that the point?”

“Yes, of course,” Diane concurred. “But Carter needs to show that he’s doing it because he wants to and views everything he learns as useful in the long term.” She turned to Carter. “That’s what parole is all about, Carter: the long term.” She fixed him with a sharp stare. “I have to be honest. Despite your eligibility date, the board may see your past conduct as your way of not observing the rules of this institution.”

Carter’s gaze flickered to Peaches, disappointment radiating through him.

“How long-term are we talking?” Carter’s lawyer asked as he scribbled on a yellow notepad. “How long will Carter’s parole be?”

Diane sat back. “As per his eligibility, if the hearing examiner grants his parole, that would mean he’s released fifteen months early.”

“So twelve months,” the lawyer finished for her.

“I would expect so. I would be surprised if they agreed to anything shorter. The first nine months would be monitored closely by myself, an assigned parole officer, and Jack, should he wish to continue with his meetings post-parole.”

“So, do we keep doing the tutoring sessions post-parole?” Peaches asked.

“That would definitely be something to consider,” Diane replied. “It would show the board Carter is dedicated and serious about his rehabilitation, but you need to discuss that among yourselves and decide before the hearing. Is there anything you would like to ask or add, Carter?”

Carter cleared his throat. “If, um, if I continue with the sessions when I’m released, we do those for how long? I mean, do we do them forever?”

Diane shook her head. “At the end of your initial nine months of monitoring, you’ll meet again with the board and the situation will be reviewed. If Miss Lane does agree, then she will have to keep rigorous notes detailing what you’ve studied and what the outcomes are, as well as meet with the board to explain them.”

“That’s not a problem,” Peaches said firmly.

“I’m pleased to hear it.” Diane turned back to Carter. “But you know there will be other terms to meet, including regular drug testing and curfews.”

Yeah, parole was all fun and fucking games.

* * *

Carter looked like he was ready to start smoking his coveralls when Kat walked in.

“Please, for the love of all that is holy, tell me you have some—”

“Cigarettes.” Kat smiled, holding up a pack of Marlboros. “Here ya go, Champ,” she said, tossing them to him.

He pulled them open and grabbed at one.

She watched as Carter inhaled the smoke and closed his eyes. He did it twice more before he looked at her.

“Thanks,” he murmured through a smoky haze.

She moved around to his side of the table, glancing at the guard, who now appeared unworried by her proximity to his inmate. She flattened out the text of The Merchant of Venice in front of Carter and sat back with her own.

“I wanted to have a look at this particular speech.” She motioned to the page. “I was interested to hear your interpretation of it.”

“This speech? How predictable.”

Kat huffed. “Predictable or not, it’s an important part of the play and I want to hear what you think of it. But maybe your answer will be just as predictable as my speech choice.” She’d grown to enjoy riling him.

Carter cocked an eyebrow. “Okay, Peaches,” he said, sitting back in his seat. “I’ll bite. What do you want to know?”