To Grace’s utter astonishment, Penny held her ground, eyeing her adversaries with an uncharacteristic fiery stare. When it became evident that these professional guards weren’t going to be intimidated by a young girl, Penny’s arms fell limply to her sides as if accepting defeat. A flash of hope passed through Grace—perhaps this was an act of surrender. Then, without warning, Penny darted forward, generating a surprising burst of speed for such a short distance. She slammed into Blackwood, bouncing backward as though the man were made of rubber.
The larger of the pair came barreling into the room, a determined stare on his stern face. Blackwood followed him in, and the ensuing takedown was effortless, not a movement wasted, the outcome never really in doubt. CO Blackwood took hold of one of Penny’s wrists, and with his palm pressed firmly against her shoulder, brought her arm back until she fell forward and facedown onto the floor. She hit the ground hard, striking her head on the unforgiving cement surface with a thud.
“You’re hurting her!” Grace shrieked.
Penny groaned but couldn’t clutch her injured head because the other guard had violently wrenched her hands behind her back and was attempting to click the handcuffs in place. Resisting as best she could, Penny grunted while straining to pull her arm away. It wasn’t until Blackwood unclipped his baton that Grace intervened, latching on to the man’s beefy shoulders with two hands and turning her fingers into talons as she tried to pry him off her daughter. She was no match for the man’s muscle, though, and to Grace’s horror, the baton came up to shoulder height, ready for a strike.
As she opened her mouth to scream, a stern male voice crackled from the direction of the open door.
“Drop it this instant!”
Grace turned her attention to the doorway, where she saw a gentleman with a shock of silver hair atop his head, his handsome face partially obscured by a trim beard speckled with brushstrokes of gray. He strode into the room carrying the authority of an Old West sheriff, eyes burning like two embers.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked of CO Blackwood. “Are you seriously considering striking her with that baton?”
Blackwood clambered to his feet, hovering over Penny with his head lowered, while the beefier CO tried to melt into a wall.
“Put that damn thing away,” the man said. “Protocol allows batons only when you are in physical danger. Are you telling me that this unarmed girl posed a serious threat to you?” He pointed an accusatory finger at Blackwood, and away the baton went, back into its auto-lock holder with an audible snap.
The man with the silver hair and trim beard helped Penny to her feet. His focus went straight to the bright red mark now marring her forehead. He examined the injured area closely.
“Mom…”
Penny’s strangled voice tore through Grace.
“Get her to the ER straightaway,” the man ordered the guards through gritted teeth. Grace knew Penny wouldn’t be leaving the premises. Like all prisons, Edgewater had its own emergency room.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he continued. “And if I hear one word,” he held up a single finger for emphasis, “that you two manhandled this patient in any way, you’ll both be looking for a new job come morning. Now go.”
In a flash, Penny was ushered outside. Grace knew she wouldn’t be allowed to accompany Penny, so she focused instead on the thin man in the tweed blazer who had prevented her daughter from what could have been a grievous injury. Behind his tortoiseshell glasses were brown eyes the color of caramel, which now projected kindness and compassion. His face was open and friendly, but etched with enough lifelines to suggest that today wasn’t the first time he’d come to another’s rescue.
Grace extended her hand and officially made the acquaintance of Dr. Mitch McHugh.
CHAPTER 8
THIRTY MINUTES HAD GONE by since Dr. McHugh had escorted Grace to his cramped office, then left her alone to check on Penny in the ER.
Have they given her x-rays? Grace wondered. Checked for head trauma? Or did they just dope her up with Haldol like Palumbo would have done?
The walls where McHugh worked were the same drab yellow found in the patients’ quarters, which made the space feel rather cell-like. It was a fitting aesthetic, Grace thought, because she was certain this doctor’s new job here was a sentence for something he’d done elsewhere in life. She’d seen it on his face, caught it lurking behind his eyes—a look that hinted at secrets and unfortunate outcomes, a maze of decisions that had somehow conspired to bring him to this godforsaken place.