Mad, Mad World: White Rabbit Book 3

By J. D. Sloane

When Alicia Gale decided to interview Ronan White in prison almost a year after his girlfriend's murder, all she was really looking for was a good story. She knew that the quickest way to slip her boss's thumb was simply to get Ronan to admit, on camera, what the entire city already believed- that he had murdered Brooke Avery in a fit of his famous rage and then lied to cover his tracks. What she didn't expect was to be drawn into his web, or to uncover a shadow side of the city lurking beneath its fresh, new veneer of progress…

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 7, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543945645

Book preview

Seventeen

Chapter One

Ronan White drummed his fingers on the picnic table near the prison benches and let his eyes sweep across the yard, his dark brows raising as he noticed the high, barbed wire gate near the entrance stutter on its tracks. He lifted his cards and then snapped his fingers in the dealer’s direction, fixing him with a stare so magnetic that the younger man froze, his face filling with a moment of worried confusion.

Just one, Chase, Ronan said, rolling his jaw as the men on either side of him fell into an abrupt silence. I’m feeling lucky today. Those Wonderland cocktails of Dula’s seem to really be doing the trick.

One card, Chase said, tossing it to him with a nervous tic that almost sent the card flipping off the edge of the table. Ronan slid it into his hand without looking at it and tracked the long black delivery truck down the drive, the insignia on the side so faded and torn it was almost unreadable.

Signal Food Supply, Ronan thought, glancing over his shoulder as he saw one of the more well- known gang leaders in the yard walk over to the fences and speak with one of the guards. The Greener Solution. Well, well. That’s twice this week now and right at 11 am. I wonder how much those boys like being low man on the totem pole. And my guess would be not much.

Ronan watched the van roll towards the south gate as the man next to him tossed another cigarette into the pot. He noted almost without thinking that there were two men in the truck and that two guards swung the back doors open to help them unload. He glanced at his cards as the man next to him smiled and then flipped two cigarettes into the pot, watching Chase fiddle with his deck with a sudden wave of annoyance.

Hey, Jacob said, tipping his head towards the yard behind them. I hear that Lincoln Hax is getting out of protective custody this afternoon.

Ronan glanced over his shoulder and watched as the gang leader spoke with the guard quickly, their exchange breaking up with the easy comradery of long term business contacts. He brushed his thumb across his lips as the guard rejoined his colleagues on the other side of the yard and then turned back around, knocking on the table with his knuckles.

Well, that is good news, Jake, Ronan said. He’s definitely been missed around the yard. By his boys down in D Block at least.

Chase glanced over his shoulder as the tall gang leader glanced in their direction and then rolled his tattooed shoulders lightly, running a hand over his shaved head as he tipped his chin towards one of the men next to him.

Word has it he’ll be back in gen pop by lunch, Chase said, shrugging as he touched the deck again, his fingers sliding over the top of it with a greasy brush of one finger. But he’ll be hard to get to. The guards watch over him almost as closely as his own people do.

The whole world hates a quitter, Chase, Ronan said, holding up his finger to him. Don’t forget that. And refresh my memory. His crew works in the laundry, don’t they?

Most of them do, the man next to him said as he tossed in his cards in with almost indecipherable groan. But they won’t be able to get him back in there for a few days at least. Maybe a week. I hear you’re meeting with that reporter from the news tomorrow. You know, the good looking one. Alicia…whatever.

Ronan tipped his eyes in his direction and then flipped his cards over as Chase frowned, his dark eyes twirling wildly for a moment.

Why, Travis? he asked his low, gravelly voice coming out in an amused hiss. Do you want an autograph?

Ronan smirked as Travis blushed, the expression so strange on his gaunt, bearded face that the other two men burst into laughter. He felt his expression drop as Chase flipped over his hand one card at a time, his face lighting up with victory as he flipped over the last one.

That’s a straight to the Ace, my friend, Chase said, tapping the face of the half-dressed pin-up girl on the far right as his face split into a wide grin. Joker’s wild! Holy shit, you should see your face…

Chase laughed as he swept one thick arm towards the pot and Ronan leaned over the table, his pale face suddenly so friendly that Chase paused with his hand in mid-air.

This card, Ronan said slowly, picking up the pin-up rounding out his flush as he held it up to him. Where did you get it?

Chase looked over the card swiftly, his dark eyes darting to the men next to him as he shook his head and shrugged.

Just in the pack with the others, Chase said as Ronan’s face moved with some emotion too quick and convoluted to catch. He held Chase’s gaze, something violent and unchained unfurling behind the wide dark pool of his eyes and then glanced over his shoulder and back again, his expression changing slightly.

Not this one you didn’t, Ronan said. I really can’t express to you how much I hate people touching my things without my express. Permission.

He tucked the card in his shirt pocket as Chase slid the deck in his direction and felt his anger take an erratic upwards spike at the simple terror in his face, his expression so stiff it looked like it would crack wide open. He rolled his shoulders slightly, trying to decide how much good old-fashioned violence might appease his sudden killing rage and then snapped his eyes towards the fences again as one of the tattooed leader’s men sauntered towards a group of glassy-eyed inmates, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Those men, Ronan said, his face becoming cheerful again as he tilted his head to the other side. Go sell to them.

Chase glanced over his shoulder and then met Ronan’s gaze as he raised his brows politely.

Those guys? They only buy from Garrett’s crew.

Well that doesn’t sound very American, now does it? What ever happened to a little friendly neighborhood competition to round out the free market, hmm?

Ronan tipped his wide dark eyes towards the fences again and then sat back on the bench, tipping his finger towards the other men as he threw Chase a look of carefully controlled annoyance.

Go now, Chase. Fortune favors the bold.

Ronan looked up at him from lowered eyes as Chase got up, already sweating in the bright October sunshine and then tipped his chin to the man on his left as he sauntered away, his pale face brightening with a wave of amused interest.

You should get ready, Ronan said, watching Garrett do a quick double take as Chase walked towards the gate. It won’t take long for Garrett to try to reacquisition his favorite. Clients.

Fuck’s sake, White, Travis said, his wiry body snapping into attention as Jacob swept the cards off the table and ducked them behind one of the metal bleachers. You know Garrett’s going to take him apart, right? He’s got at least fifty pounds on him.

Well, if the light-fingered Mr. Smith only wanted to fight within his weight class he should’ve picked a more reputable venue. Jacob, you take the dealer. I’ll handle Garrett. Alone.

Ronan whistled quietly under his breath as Travis closed his eyes and then shook out his sleeves, pulling his fists into his lap as he turned towards the middle of the yard. Ronan saw Garrett turn in Chase’s direction, his dark eyes shifting from one face to the other and smiled slightly as he noticed two guards from the other side of the yard elbow one another, watching the action from a careful distance.

Friends in low places, Ronan thought, his broad shoulders pitching in the direction of the fences as he saw Garrett tap Chase on the shoulder with one meaty palm. You just can’t have too many of them.

He saw Chase turn and say something rapidly, the ripe, unhealthy color in his face enough to set his teeth on edge and then stood up as Garrett swung on him without warning, his arm arcing through the air like a sledgehammer as it hammered it into the side of Chase’s skull. Ronan leapt out of his chair as Garrett’s crew turned like a flock of birds and ran towards the center of the fray as he saw the circle of men near the fences huddle together in sudden excitement, closing into a tight circle as the guards began to move.

Ronan felt his entire body uncoil as he ran, letting his bloodlust snap his focus into one quick predatory engine of instinct. He saw the circle of men thicken and sway as he approached, the men moving with Garrett as he tossed Chase to the ground and jogged up the metal picnic bench outside of the circle before it could close again, leaping behind Garrett in one smooth movement as he felt the crowd shift like a school of fish.

Ronan felt his hands dust the ground as he landed, the sound enough to turn Garrett’s head and he hammered his boot into the front of Garrett’s knee as he stood up, throwing his fist into the soft underside of his jaw as he let out a muffled yell. He hit him again as he heard Garrett’s teeth crack together and tackled him to the ground as the crowd roared behind him, his temper escalating so wildly his vision seemed to begin behind a thin pulsing membrane of red.

Ronan straddled Garrett across the chest as he began to struggle and threw his fist into the bridge of his nose, sneering deeply as he felt it flatten beneath his knuckles. He felt Garrett’s blood hit the front of his gray shirt in a sudden spray and jerked backwards as Garrett threw his arm up, slicing his handmade shiv in front of his face close enough for Ronan to feel the air shift as it passed. Ronan grabbed his wrist, forcing it back down against Garrett’s throat as he saw the guards breach the circle out of the corner of his eyes.

What’s the matter, Garrett? Ronan said, his dark eyes twirling like flaming pinwheels above the calm, violent amusement of his expression. Can’t handle a little capitalist rivalry? Did you really think you could corner the market forever with the kind of product you sell?

You’re dead, Garrett said, his broken nose turning the phrase into a garbled blur of consonants. Who do you think runs this place, hmm? You won’t last the fucking week…

Ronan leaned closer, his wavy dark blond hair swinging forward until it brushed his face and gave him a broad wink as he yanked the shiv out of his fist.

Well, I guess I’ll have to take your word for that. Still lots of empty rooms at the Hotel Wonderland. Feel free to look me up anytime.

He tuned Garrett’s shiv around as he saw a shadow of bodies close over them suddenly and ripped the glass end up his forearm in one smooth, violent motion, gritting his teeth as his arm opened up into a sudden river of blood. He saw Garrett’s eyes widen as he tossed it into the lawn and then felt his body snapped backwards as two guards grabbed him by the arms, dragging him off of Garrett with all the finesse of two amateur fishermen trying to wrestle an alligator into their boat. He relaxed his body slightly, feeling his chest slap into the dirt with a wave of quick pulsing rage and then glanced to his right as he saw one of the men pick up the shiv near Garrett’s head, a blur of guards rushing past them into the crowd.

Ah, Christ, he heard one of the guards say above him. Look at his arm. He’s bleeding all over the place.

Ronan licked his bottom lip and closed his eyes briefly as he heard another guard walk over and swear under his breath, his black boots pausing at least two feet away from him as if he was surrounded by an invisible fence.

Someone get him up to the infirmary. You. Morlan. Let’s go.

Ronan glanced up as a young guard with a round, serious face tapped Ronan on the shoulder with the flat of his club and tipped his chin at him.

Come on, White, he said, glancing at the men next to him before taking a step forward. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.

Ronan sat up on his knees, spitting into the dirt as he tracked one of the guards next to him carefully for a moment before ignoring him completely.

Cuff him, Morlan, one of the older guards said with a disgusted grimace as Ronan got to his feet. Jesus. Were you even watching the fight?

Morlan shook out his cuffs as Ronan looked him over and then turned his wrists up, his blood dripping onto the ground in a slow, steady slap. Morlan hesitated, tucking his club into his belt and Ronan leaned over him until they were almost eye to eye.

Don’t worry, Morlan. You can’t catch anything I’ve got.

Morlan’s face fluttered with a moment of worry and then he snapped the cuffs over Ronan’s wrists without incident, stepping aside as his shoulders relaxed slightly.

Let’s go, he said, sweeping his club towards the prison doors. You know the way.

Ronan walked past what was left of the crowd and bit back an amused sneer as he saw that Garrett was being led away in the opposite direction, talking to one of the guards furiously as the officer slipped his bloody shiv into a plastic bag. He looked around for his men as Morlan led him up the steps without speaking and then cracked his neck lightly as they stepped inside the prison doors, turning his arm around to glance at it in the stark overhead light.

He won’t be in solitary for long, you know, Morlan said under his breath as they took a turn down one of the narrow corridors, the light fading out into a low, mellow glow. Ronan tipped his brow at him, his pale face dropping into his usual mask of polite disinterest and glanced up as they walked towards one of the forks in the hallway, watching the guard at the desk stand at sudden attention.

I know, Ronan said, holding the eyes of the guard behind the desk as he slowed his pace. He’s one of your cronies’ top earners, from what I hear. My, my. What is the correctional system coming to these days?

Which means he’ll be coming for you, Morlan said, lowering his voice as Ronan whistled tunelessly under his breath, enjoying the thrill of absolute fear that crossed the hall guard’s face as they approached. I can’t watch him every minute. Even in Dula’s block he’s bound to have one or two guards in his pocket.

I appreciate your concern, Morlan, I do. But believe me when I say that Garrett’s solution is a little above your paygrade. Just find out which guards he’s paying off. I’ll handle the details.

Ronan paused as the guard behind the desk held up his clipboard and Morlan nodded towards the right wing, pointing to Ronan’s forearm.

Infirmary. And there may be more coming.

The desk guard looked down at Ronan’s arm and flinched visibly before controlling himself, looking back down the corridor.

Fight in the yard?

Bad one, Morlan said. There were four men injured at least. Maybe more.

Ronan looked over the red metal locker behind the guard’s head as he swiped his ID through a black plastic card reader and then averted his eyes casually as the metal double-doors sighed open on a long metal tunnel leading back to his block. He glanced out the high windows lining the top of the corridor as they came to the metal doors at the other end and then scratched his chin as Morlan swiped his card down another card reader, watching the light flash from red to green.

Ronan looked up as the air temperature dropped a handful of degrees almost at once and glanced around the high brick walls as they turned the corner to the infirmary, a dark-haired man in a white lab coat looking up as they entered. Ronan swept his eyes around the modern looking medical facility, the only part of the wing that looked as if it had actually been designed with inmates in mind, and then turned as a tall blond woman walked over and looked up at him without smiling.

Can I help you? She asked, her clipped, prissy tone igniting him on some low, half-hidden level. He stepped forward as he met her eyes, turning his cuffed wrists up as he felt a thin drop of blood crawl back down his arm.

I hope so, Nurse Helton. I’d really hate to have to sew this up myself.

That’s Doctor Helton, she corrected, her pale, pinched face registering a brief moment of disgust as Ronan smirked. And no, we’re not in the habit of letting inmates tend to their own injuries, Mr. White. Especially one that deep. Come with me. Lance can you assist please?

Ronan waited for Morlan to uncuff him and then followed the doctor to the back of the medical center, his dark eyes tracking the nurse towards what looked like a locked metal cage. He glanced over his shoulder, flicking his fingers at Morlan impatiently and then turned his full attention back to the doctor as she positioned a rolling tray next to a table, her flat brown eyes shifting with annoyance as she pulled on a pair of medical gloves.

Could you hold your arm out please? Helton said, as Lance stepped up beside her with the air of a slightly outmatched bodyguard. Ronan took a seat on one the folding chairs as she reached for a damp piece of gauze and then held out his arm as he looked her over, his skin barely flinching as she wiped off the worst of the blood. He considered her pale, unmade-up face carefully, deciding that there was nothing even accidently attractive about her, but her crisp, touch-me-not attitude suggested that she warded off several advances a day, a combination he found just unbalanced enough to be interesting.

Been working here long? Ronan asked, drawing the words out as he tipped his eyes in her direction. The doctor examined the cut carefully and then adjusted her glasses with one hand, tossing the bloody gauze onto the metal tray beside her.

Long enough to know better, Mr. White, she said, throwing the phrase at him with such rote indifference that he felt that deep, subterranean pang again, his rage turning it into something vaguely unhealthy as she turned her back on him. He looked over the stiff white length of her lab coat as Lance cleared his throat and then met her eyes with the sudden full force of his attention as she turned around.

Don’t tell me you’re here for the career satisfaction, He said, cocking his head slightly as his dark blond hair shifted across the deep groove of his scar. Hard to believe Mr. Helton would let a girl like you out of his sight for long.

The doctor froze as Ronan cleared his throat, his lips twitching into a smile as she glanced towards her left hand.

Just a lucky guess, Doc, he said, giving her a wink. Don’t worry. You remembered to take it off.

Helton opened her mouth as if to say something and then dropped her hand to her side, giving him a look of outright dislike as she balled it into a fist.

Mr. Stone, she said, her voice low and acid as she took a step backwards and then peeled off her gloves. Would you mind finishing up here? It’s not nearly as deep as it looks.

Ronan watched her turn on her heel, allowing himself the brief, intoxicating fantasy of wrestling her to her hands and knees and dragging her backwards into the metal cage behind them and then rolled his eyes in Lance’s direction as he cleared his throat again, nodding as if he had made a salient point.

Don’t mind the doctor, Lance said, looking over the metal tray as Ronan raised his brows. They’ve been stretching her incredibly thin these last few weeks. She isn’t usually that bad.

Oh no? Ronan asked, leaning back as he held out his arm again. How bad is she on a good day?

Lance bit back a snicker and held up his hand as he picked up a long surgical needle and then put it down again.

Um…pretty bad I guess? She doesn’t seem to like prison work much.

So I gathered. What about you? Don’t mind the colorful atmosphere?

No, not really. I worked in a hospital overseas before this. At least here they’re not shooting at us, right?

Ronan felt something quick and amused flicker behind his polite expression and controlled it casually as Lance turned around and scratched the back of his neck with one gloved hand.

I need to get some more thread. She’s right, it looks a lot worse than it is, but you were cut in a strange way. It may take a lot of stitches to close it up. The guy that did this. It was with a shiv?

Felt like one, Ronan said, his low, gravelly voice smooth and relaxed. But I couldn’t really say. I never saw it coming.

Ronan looked back towards the end of the medical center as he saw the doctor give him a tight, disapproving grimace and then closed her office door on him like a high school principal who’d grown weary of his antics. He brushed his fingers over his lips, still enjoying the quick violent daydream of dragging her across the tile floor enough to replay it and then felt his mood darken as a sudden vivid image of Brooke opening her eyes burned through his mind like a nuclear blast, the quick, unexpected agony of it enough to make him wince. He looked back towards the metal cage as he saw Lance disappear into a storage closet and patted his shirt pocket quickly, pulling out the lone pin-up card lying against his chest as he smoothed it out gravelly.

It was a rare Joker pin-up girl, the kind of lush color image that would’ve once looked right at home on the side of a B-17 Bomber, lost to a world before photographed pornography had cornered the entire market of male hearts and minds. In it a girl in a long red robe sat at an old-fashioned dressing table and examined her face in the mirror, the angle of her body exposing her breasts almost completely. Ronan ran his finger over the girl’s lips, her long, glossy black hair falling across one wide green eye and then closed his eyes as he allowed himself to get close to it for a moment, watching the drawn image of Brooke come to life while he felt the pain of her absence hollow him from the inside out.

Soon, he thought, rolling his shoulders as he began to feel the white-hot flood of rage rush to fill the emptiness inside him like a sonic boom. Soon, soon, soon…

Ronan ran his tongue over his lips as he heard Lance walk back into the room and tucked the card into his pocket as he scratched the back of his neck, his expression disappearing as quickly as a yanked shut attic door. He whistled under his breath as Lance produced the thread and then considered him with narrowed eyes as he pulled it through the eye of the surgical needle with a smooth, effortless air.

You can rest your arm on the table if you want, Lance said, pulling up a metal stool as he sat down in front of him. Like I said, this may take a while.

Nurses, nurses, Ronan muttered as Lance stuck the needle into the area below his elbow first and leaned closer as he dragged the thick, shiny thread through. I miss the women, to be honest with you. No. Offense. Implied.

No, I get it, Lance said, sticking the needle in again. A lot of the guys feel that way.

The cage down the hall. Behind the check-in desk. Are those the only guns they keep on this block?

Lance looked up, his hand freezing in midair and then looked down as his brow furrowed.

I don’t know, he said lowering his voice as he dragged the needle through again. That’s not really my department. The guards in this block kind of hang together, you know?

Hmm, Ronan said looking around the medical wing casually, as he tipped his head to the side. The guards. And would you say you know those men pretty well?

I-I just started here in May. I don’t know anyone that well, Mr. White.

Well no time like the present, Lance. And who doesn’t like making new friends? I hear your generation just about invented social networking.

Lance glanced over his shoulder and Ronan followed his gaze, something hard and vicious dancing just behind the curtain of his polite expression.

Don’t tell me you’re worried about the delightful Miss Helton.

I hear what you’re saying, Lance said, his light eyes leaping with apprehension as he leaned closer. I do. But I can’t get into any trouble. I just can’t.

Well I’d say that depends on you, Lance, Ronan said, turning his wrist towards him slightly as he held his eyes. And feel free to be honest with me. How satisfied would you say you are with your current employer?

Chapter Two

Alicia Gale glanced up as the prison loomed large in the windshield, rapping her fingernails against her window as she craned her neck around to get a better look at the grounds. She paused as she caught the bruised surface of a street sign as the van glided up the drive and snapped at her cameraman behind her, her round gold eyes bright and alert.

Welcome to Detroit! The sign had once read. One Way Forward.

A pretty nice sentiment, Alicia thought. Until someone decided to improve on it.

Right there, get the sign, she said, turning to point out the back window. Slow down, Lance. I want a shot of that.

Lance sighed under his breath and then pulled the van to one side as Daniel swung his camera up to his shoulder, adjusting it with his free hand as he kicked open the back door.

You want a close-up of the sign?

I just want the graffiti. We can play it over the opening montage.

Alicia flipped down her visor and smoothed her golden blond hair behind one ear as she checked her make-up, smiling slightly as she caught a glimpse of the sign behind her. In bright white spray paint someone had scrawled over the word ‘Detroit’ and the word ‘Forward’.

Welcome to Wonderland! The faded green face now read. One Way Down.

Getting yourself all dolled up for him? Lance asked raising his brows as Alicia adjusted the line of her lipstick with the tip of one finger. You’re going to make me jealous.

Alicia bit back a smile and pushed her visor up as she looked over her shoulder.

Aww, that’s sweet. And kind of pathetic. Did you see the sign?

No. What’s it say?

Look for yourself.

Lance adjusted his side mirror with one hand and then laughed as Daniel dropped the camera and gave him a thumbs up, hopping into the backseat as Lance pulled back out onto the main drive with a spin of his hand.

Those signs were always such a crock of shit, Daniel said, swinging his camera to the floor. I couldn’t believe the city approved them.

Alicia rolled her eyes across the windshield following the wide stretch of freshly laid black-top up to an official looking barbed wire fence and guard booth at the top of the drive. She turned her head as she caught her first glimpse of the building they were heading towards, the tall, spired roof and imposing stone and brick facade lending it the look of historical museum rather than the central block and administrative offices of a brand new, men’s prison.

So this is what became of all of Connor’s bright shining plans for the future, she thought, her stomach doing a strange little flip as she glanced around the prison grounds. One more prison in a city of crime. That seems pretty fitting considering his reputation.

Alicia turned her head as the van rolled up next to the booth and a heavy-set guard with wire-rimmed glasses glanced up from his clipboard. She craned her neck in his direction as Lance held up his ID badge.

Channel Six, he said, nodding in her direction. Crew and talent. You should have us on the list.

The guard squinted at the side of the van and then did a quick double-take as Alicia gave him a curt little smile, flipping to the second page of his clipboard without really looking at it.

Oh, that’s right. I forgot that was today. You’re here to interview White, right?

We’re just shooting some preliminary stuff today. Cyrus Dula said he’d be meeting us at Building C. Is this it?

This is C. You can park over there in the front lot. I’ll call down to the warden right away.

Alicia let her hair flip away from her ear as she tilted her head at him, gesturing to the cameraman without turning her head.

Mind if we get a few shots of the building first? It looks like rain. We might not be able to do them later.

The guard nodded and gave her a quick fan’s smile as he fiddled with his collar.

Yeah, of course. You used to be the weather girl, didn’t you? I used to watch your forecast in the mornings. What was it you used to say? You had some kind of a catch phrase. My wife, my ex-wife, she used to do this thing when you’d come on…

Lance glanced at his watch and scratched his neck, his jaw shifting with impatience.

Look, man. I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re on a little bit of a time schedule here, you know? And we’re already running behind.

The guard blushed, looking crestfallen and then held up his hand, giving Alicia one last once-over before stepping back inside the booth. He rolled his hand as the gate started to yawn open and Lance gave him a wave as they passed through, cutting his eyes in Alicia’s direction.

Hi! he said is a high, impossibly bright voice. I’m Alicia Gale. Weather Six first!

Lance gave her a wink as Alicia turned her head towards the window.

The only one you trust!

Daniel burst into laughter behind them as Alicia rolled her eyes, the good humor fading from her face the instant they passed the front gate.

Fucking hilarious, she said tightly. Really. And I wish you’d stop announcing us as ‘crew and talent’. At some point someone’s going to figure out that you’re being condescending.

Lance smile broadened as he scratched his beard, pulling into a spot close to the walkway.

Well that’s what you are, aren’t you?

Alicia tapped the front of the windshield and then cracked open her door, reaching into the backseat behind her to grab her wireless microphone.

Right there. Set up there. And be sure you get the sky. Christ, this place looks like some kind of church.

She cracked open her door as Lance slid out of the driver’s seat and took one long step down onto the pavement, shading her eyes as she followed the dark brick building up to its sharp peaked roof. She turned towards the fenced field behind her, one long covered walkway leading back towards what she considered more traditional looking cell blocks. She noticed that there seemed to be two guard towers in her immediate sight range and tracked the outer grounds almost to the river, the water winking along the Belle Isle shoreline in restless lap of gray-black waves.

Why is this building different than the others? Daniel asked, uncoiling the boom hookup with a careless twirl of one arm. That looks more like a prison. I don’t know what this looks like.

I don’t know, Alicia said, stepping closer to the door as she smoothed out her tight gray wrap-dress with one hand. I don’t think this was ever intended to be part of the prison. I think the area over there was going to be expensive condos or something. But after Connor was…after he died, construction just sort of fell apart. Daniel, could you get a shot of the grounds? Just a wide, panoramic shot. And try not to twitch. We actually have to use some of this footage at some point.

Yes, ma’am, Daniel said turning his back on her as he rolled the camera back towards the prison yard in a long smooth arc.

Alicia stepped up onto the wide bottom step leading up to the doorway and then pointed in the direction of the front door plaque as she adjusted her stance.

And get a close-up of the dedication sign when I turn my head. I want them to see Connor’s name as I’m talking. Then back to me. Okay? Are we ready?

Daniel swung the camera in her direction and then dropped to one knee, angling the lens up towards the doorway.

All right, he said, nodding. We’re good.

Alicia waited for Lance to take a step closer with the boom and then dropped her chin slightly, her catlike eyes suddenly bright and animated.

And this is where we find ourselves, Alicia said, turning her head towards the doorway as Daniel swung the camera away from her and then slowly turned it back.

"At the Patrick Connor Correctional Facility. But not where the story begins. More than 26 months ago, notorious drug trafficker and crime boss Ronan White began his reign of terror on the city. It was a reign which started with the brutal public murder of Emergency Manager Patrick Connor and fourteen others on a charity boat cruise around this very island.

This was a place close to Connor’s heart, an island he hoped would revitalize the city’s struggling economy with condos, parks and small businesses. Some opposing voices in the city liked to refer to it as Connor’s Wonderland, and here, here is where his project ended. As a state prison. Home to the very man who killed him and brought about the death of his vision for the city.

Alicia waited a beat, holding her eyes on the camera.

Welcome to Wonderland.

Lance dropped the boom, raising his eyebrows in her direction.

Good, he said. That sounded good. Once more for safety?

Alicia scratched her temple and shrugged.

I don’t know. Are we really going with ‘reign of terror’ here? I mean that’s a little melodramatic, isn’t it?

Try ‘reign of infamy’, a voice said from behind them.

Alicia smiled and gave Warden Cyrus Dula a wave as he approached, tucking her hair back behind her ear as she stepped down from the stairs. Dula gave her crewmen a nod as they swung around in his direction and took Alicia’s hand as she approached, his shrewd blue eyes searching her face with a detached mix of curiosity and admiration that never ceased to annoy her.

That and the other thing, Alicia thought, biting her inner lip as his handshake went on for a second too long, like it always did. Something that feels a lot like contempt although I bet he would deny it outright if I ever called it that.

Infamy is good. I like infamy.

That bodes well for you, Alicia, he said, giving her a warm, boyish smile that never quite reached his eyes. Considering your current assignment.

So this is it, huh? Lance said, running his fingernails through the scruff of his beard and looked up at the huge stone edifice in front of them with a casual shrug of his shoulders. Guess that little pipe dream of Connor’s never amounted to much. After White gave him the old…

He clucked his tongue and made a quick slicing motion across his neck as Alicia pressed her lips together, trying not to enjoy the way Dula bristled under his words. Lance considered himself to be the consummate working man’s artist, as unimpressed by Dula’s celebrity as he was with everything else.

I’m not sure that was entirely White’s doing, Dula said stiffly. Despite what the newspapers have to say about it. There were many factors at play that contributed to our being here, Mister…?

Alicia took a step forward and nodded in Lance and Daniel’s direction.

Cyrus, this is Lance Davis and Daniel Strong. They’ll be my crew on the ground here.

Of course, Dula said, ignoring them with a casual turn of his shoulders as he gave Alicia his undivided attention. I was actually under the impression that this was a preliminary visit, Alicia. I would certainly never have agreed to allow filming inside on such short notice.

Lance rolled his tongue over his bottom lip and raised his brows, his impish face now on journalistic seek and destroy mode as Dula threw him a dismissive look.

So, it doesn’t bother you at all that some citizens are calling this place a public menace?

Not at all, Mr. Davis, Dula said his smooth handsome face pulling up into a stiff smile. And of course, they would say that, wouldn’t they? After all, nothing stirs up less public interest than a safe, state of the art prison facility, does it? This city has been in need of a new prison for some time. And, believe me, they are as thrilled to have us as we are to be here.

Lance pointed his finger at the building in front of him and then swept it across the whole yard, motioning towards the gates with a twist of his hand.

I’m only repeating what I hear, Mr. Dula. And I hear that people are concerned, seeing as how your whole facility is less than a mile away from the downtown area…

I assure you, Mr. Davis that our facility is not only safe, but on the absolute cutting edge of criminal rehabilitation. If it puts your mind at ease at all, rest assured that our facility is one of the most secure prisons in the entire country. Despite this building’s somewhat unconventional appearance.

He made a gesture to Alicia that tried hard to be gallant.

I hate to insist Alicia, but we really must be getting inside.

Lance rolled his jaw in Alicia’s direction and then sighed, his jaw jutting forward as it sometimes did when Matt gave him some softball assignment he felt was below his paygrade.

Fine, Alicia said, meeting Lance’s eyes as she turned around. Give me a minute.

She walked back to the van and flung open the back doors as Lance followed her back, reaching for her large leather bag as his face tightened with anger.

Christ, you’re not going for this, are you? This is pure bullshit and you know it.

Alicia transferred her recording equipment into the leather tote on her arm without looking up.

Go and shoot the outer grounds and some footage of the yard. If the guards will talk, let them. I’ll deal with White. And Dula.

Lance grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, lowering his voice.

Alicia, this facility is the story, okay? he said, tilting his head at her and if she wasn’t quite grasping the situation. As if she was still some cheerful, vacant-eyed weather girl, bouncing around in front of a green screen while the world looked on.

As far as I’m concerned White is just our way in.

Alicia shrugged her arm to break his grip and then slid her bag up on her shoulder.

Maybe, maybe not. But I know this guy, Lance. If we push that angle now, Cyrus will kill it right here. White’s our story. Matt will like it, believe me. The public can’t get enough of that guy.

"I don’t like it. I don’t like the idea of you being in there alone with him."

Alicia took a step closer and looked up at him, her eyes narrowing as she slammed the van door shut.

Then maybe you shouldn’t have gotten up on your public avenger soapbox the minute he opened his mouth, hmm? What do you think? Was that the most diplomatic move you could’ve made?

Lance blinked quickly, his shoulders wilting and then stepped aside as Alicia strode past Daniel without looking back, nodding to Dula as he held the door open at the top of the steps. He swept her inside, the broad wooden door swinging shut behind them and Alicia let out her breath as her eyes adjusted to the light, the air in the vestibule at least five degrees cooler than the late autumn breeze outside.

Inside the place really did have the feel of an old church, with high ceilings that met in a sharp peak above their heads and scrollwork a little too intricate for modern architecture. She took in the long, wide hallway leading back to what looked like a series of offices and then stepped closer to one of the brick pillars lining the wall, brushing the shiny 6 x 8 plague decorating it with her fingertips.

‘He who does not prevent a crime, when he can, encourages it.’ This place wasn’t designed with prison cells in mind, was it?

Dula gave her an indulgent smile.

Not at all. This building was actually meant to be the new aquarium. We just appropriated it for our own purposes.

Alicia tipped her bright gold eyes in Dula’s direction and felt a brief moment of nerves as he gave her a slow, familiar once over, extending his arm out politely as he corralled her down the hallway.

I’ll be honest with you, Alicia, I was surprised to learn that you’d been corresponding with White at all. Nothing in your- professional portfolio leans towards this sort of…

Sensationalism? Alicia finished, her lips pulling up into a wry smile.

Dula’s expression fell, his eyes shifting with a polite embarrassment a little too practiced to be believable.

I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood me. I certainly never meant to be disparaging. I’m sure you’re capable of getting an excellent interview out of White. If, that is, what he’s intending to do.

Dula dropped into silence beside her as they passed through a huge marble-tiled vestibule, one guard acknowledging them stiffly as they passed. Alicia’s eyes followed him as he moved, and then she glanced in Dula’s direction, wondering again about the strange connection between her producer and the warden who had rolled into town less than a year ago and wound up at the helm of the most expensive prison project the city had ever undertaken. She thought about it as she followed him down the hallway and realized that it wasn’t just that Dula was odd. It was that he was odd in a way that was incredibly difficult to pinpoint, and which never seemed to show up in any of the short, soft ball interviews the press was always lobbing at him.

And then, of course, there was the club.

Alicia reached for her handheld recorder as she looked around the hall quickly and realized that in all the months she had been Matt’s invited guest at the city’s most exclusive underground playground, she had never actually seen Dula on the game floor once, although he was often in his private box, the number next to his one-sided glass lit up at all hours of the night. From the scraps of Matt’s hints and jabs, she had pieced together that it was because the warden was one of those men who simply preferred to watch.

Almost, Alicia thought, to the exclusion of everything else.

Alicia stood aside as Dula swiped his card at the threshold of another set of double doors, his strange, stoic silence annoying her for no reason she could easily place and felt a pang of foreboding as a low buzzer went off above them and the doors parted, something about the cool green walls and fluorescent lighting reminding her all at once of a…

Hospital, she thought, her head snapping towards the crisp, efficient looking rooms that lined the hall without thinking of it. This place looks like some kind of a mental ward.

Is this another block?

It is. This wing is where inmates come to receive their weekly therapy sessions. I thought you might prefer to interview White here. It’s a little spartan but I’m sure you won’t find it too far south of your expectations.

Alicia hit the record button as she switched on the small, device into her left hand.

Therapy sessions? What kind of therapy?

Dula turned to give her a look of unruffled professionalism, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as if something was amusing him deeply.

Like I said, Alicia, this facility is at the very cutting edge of criminal rehabilitation. All of the men in this wing are volunteers.

Including White?

Oh yes. Mr. White is the most recent addition to our program and a very special case. He’s one of the inmates our doctor is most excited about.

I’m sorry, Alicia said, her brow furrowing as she glanced up. Did you just call it a program?

Dula looked up as two staff members in crisp white lab coats walked up, each giving Alicia a flat look of dismissal before beckoning him aside. Dula held up his hand in a gesture of apology and then walked out of earshot as Alicia glanced around, trying not to be obvious as she tried to catch the broader strokes of their conversation. She heard the word ‘uncooperative’ rise out of the huddle as she glanced around at the hall again, the high blue-tiled dome of ceiling above them somehow underscoring the strange, cult-like feel of the place.

Needs consent to drug? She said quietly, holding the recorder almost to her lips. Find out what. Ask Matt.

She raised her brows as Dula walked back over and gave her a stiff smile, waving his hand to the younger of the two staff members as they approached.

I’m sorry, Alicia, I was hoping to walk you back myself, but something urgent has come up. Jason will be happy to escort you.

Nothing bad, I hope, she said glancing from Dula to the tall, thin man next to her. She noticed that he barely acknowledged her when she spoke and simply kept his eyes on Dula, like a military officer waiting to be dismissed.

Oh no, no. Just something…unexpected. Jason will lead you to our therapy area. When you’re finished, he can escort you back to my offices. Let’s call it 11 o’clock?

Dula glanced at his expensive looking watch and then tapped the face twice, shooting Jason a quick look. Alicia started to say something and then snapped her mouth shut as Dula turned around, already deep in conversation with the woman next to him as they both strode briskly down the hallway. She gave Jason a short shrug and felt that same thrill of disquiet run through her as he simply stared down at her, that same, strange look of self-satisfaction stamped across his face.

God, Lance is right, she thought, snapping off her recorder and tucking it back into her purse as she tried to match Jason’s pace down the long, winding hall to the therapy area. This place is creepy as hell. And why haven’t I heard a single word about this special program of his before today?

Jason turned at the end of the hall without bothering to see if she was following him and began talking in a monotone voice that sounded like the stiff first take of a hastily written script.

As Dula no doubt told you, this room is a little less formal than an interview room but I’m sure it’ll be fine for the time being. Mr. White is on his way down now. We’ll have a guard remain in the room with you for the duration of your visit or, if you prefer it, he can remain restrained. It’s completely up to you.

Alicia’s brow furrowed, and she rushed to match his brisk pace, glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes as he paused in front of a clear, frosted steel framed door, the hall across from it lined with several windowed offices.

I’d actually prefer to speak with him alone, if you don’t mind.

Fine. Then we’ll leave him restrained. And I’ll have to ask you not to smoke, I’m afraid. This wing is strictly smoke free.

I don’t smoke.

Jason sighed and pointed to the nicotine patch on her arm, the edges of it almost hidden by her long fall of hair.

I’m quitting, she said hastily. I’m trying to quit.

Just a precaution, Miss Gale. I’ll be frank, you aren’t the first visitor to wall down these halls looking for a story.

Alicia looked up as Jason handed her a thin metal strip with a black patch on it inside of a plastic sleeve and pointed to the narrow elastic wrist band as he zipped his swipe card through the electronic reader in front of the door.

What is this? she asked, looking it over as he swung the door open with a careless air.

Panic button, he said as he stepped over the threshold and then turned to wait for her. Wear that at all times. If Mr. White begins behaving erratically in any way just hit the button and our guards will be at this door in less than thirty seconds.

Alicia paused, her brow furrowing as she stepped into the office.

Thirty seconds. That sounds fast. Should I be worried?

Of course not, Jason said clearing his throat. Mr. Dula took extra precautions in preparation for your visit. And despite all the cryptic warnings Miss Gale, Mr. White is absolutely subdued at the moment. He shouldn’t give you any trouble.

Alicia shrugged off her coat and raised her brows at the disapproving look he gave her, his eyes running over her short, form-fitting dress with an expression just short of contempt. She smoothed the kick pleat of her skirt with a quick swipe of her hands and then glanced around the room, her gold eyes flitting from object to object as she tried to commit them to memory.

Decent room, she thought, her short sensible heels echoing loudly on the polished tile floor. Definitely more modern than I would’ve expected considering that weird hall of horrors up front.

The walls were painted in the same pale green as the hallway, the mild lighting darkening it into a vaguely clinical shade of mint. On the far left wall there was an old-fashioned wooden desk that looked as if it had seen hard duty some time before the last world war with a studded leather swivel chair angled behind it. She dragged her eyes across the low ceiling of the room, noticing that there wasn’t a single exterior window, and let Jason lead her to a long wooden table in the middle of the room as she shrugged off her bag.

Precautions, Alicia repeated as her eyes made their way back to Jason’s face. You mean by drugging him.

Jason gave her a withering smirk and then held up his hands as if he’d been caught doing something mildly embarrassing.

Is he drugged more than usual?

Miss Gale…

This interview is of absolutely no use to me if Mr. White is not in full charge of his facilities when he gives it, Jason. I’m sure you understand the conflict. So is he drugged more than…

Alicia broke off mid-sentence as she heard the loud click of an electronic lock. She glanced at Jason, still trying to decide whether to press the issue and then took a quick step backward as a tall guard in a white collared shirt pushed the door open with one hand and stepped inside. She craned her neck over his shoulder, her stomach doing a quick, awkward flip as he said something to the man behind him. She blinked as Ronan White stepped into the room, his wide dark eyes tipping in Jason’s direction briefly before locking on her face.

Alicia bit the inside of her lower lip as Ronan tilted his head at her and felt every natural warning instinct in her body suddenly scatter and take flight as he paused just beyond the threshold, his wide dark eyes sweeping down her body idly for a moment as