Guilty by Karen Robards

by so much as the flicker of an eyelash did he acknowledge her in any way.
    She didn't even want to think about what might happen to her if Orange Jumpsuit got her inside that door.
    Oh, Ben. Mommy loves you, Ben.
    At the idea that she might never see her little boy again, she could feel the tears starting.
    "Smart guy like you, that should be a piece of cake," the cop continued. "You know how the system works. On the other hand, if you kill her, I guarantee you won't live out the day."
    "You're full of shit," Orange Jumpsuit said, and to Kate's horror used his foot to shove the door the rest of the way open. Then he backed into the secure corridor, pulling Kate in behind him. "I ain't ridin' the needle, amigo. No fucking way. You got fifteen minutes to get me that helicopter."

C h a p t e r 5
    THE DOOR, which closed automatically, clicked shut in Kate's face. Her heart lurched. Cold chills raced down her spine. She was now alone with Orange Jumpsuit and whoever else might be left in the secure area. It was eerily quiet—so quiet she could hear the hum of the ventilation system ebbing and flowing like a critically ill patient's life support. There was a security camera mounted on the wall just above the door—or, rather, what was left of a security camera. It was clearly useless, having been shot to smithereens. The air smelled stuffy and stale, like the inside of an airplane cabin. Only prisoners and deputies were permitted in this area, and she doubted very much if any deputies were present—at least, none who were still alive.
    "Lock it," Orange Jumpsuit ordered. Glancing down, Kate saw that there was a dead bolt below the knob. He didn't expect or want anyone to join them, and that confirmed her impression that both his buddies were now out of the picture, either dead, wounded, or escaped. Despairing, feeling like she was cutting off her last best hope of rescue, Kate did as he told her. The dead bolt clicked into place. The smooth metal door was bulletproof, she knew. It was also, as far as she could tell, soundproof. If anything was happening in the courtroom—and she prayed that something, namely the urgent organization of a rescue attempt, was—she couldn't hear it.
    "That's a good little prosecutor."
    The venom in his voice as he said "prosecutor" made her even more certain than she already was that her fate was sealed. Whatever happened, he was going to kill her.
    Unless she was next in line for a miracle, or she could think of some way to save herself.
    Within the next fifteen minutes.
    No pressure, though.
    "You got a watch?" Without waiting for her to reply, he added, "What time is it?"
    Glancing down at her wrist, she saw that it was nine-sixteen, and told him so.
    "You got till nine-thirty-one. Walk."
    Swinging her around so that she faced the opposite end of the hall, he force-marched her forward, shifting his grip so that his hand curled into the neck of her jacket and thrusting his gun hard into her spine just above the small of her back. She grimaced at the sudden jab but didn't dare protest. Her shoes cut into her heels, but the discomfort was so minor now compared to the direness of her situation that she barely even felt it. She was sweating and shivering at the same time, while her heart thundered in her chest and her mind raced.
    Stay calm. Think. There has to be a way out of this.
    The corridor was part of a labyrinth of connected passages that led from the large, subbasement prisoner holding area throughout the building. They were designed to keep the public separate from the prisoners even when they were of necessity sharing the same general space. Constructed with security in mind, they allowed deputies to move prisoners about inside the Justice Center in virtual invisibility. In an emergency, each section of hallway could be isolated from the others by the bulletproof doors. The safeguards designed to protect the public from the prisoners worked against her now. From what she knew about them,