But today, I knew he would see me.
How did I know?
Because the warden, Sommers Stanley, was going to allow me visitation with my husband, whether he wanted to see me or not.
Picking up not only the divorce papers in my hands, but also a few other papers that Warden Stanley would be very happy to see, I walked with purpose to the front door of the prison.
When I caught the guard at the front, he looked at me with surprise.
“Nothing to check in today?” he asked.
I did not.
Unless they counted papers.
“No,” I answered. “I have an appointment with Warden Stanley.”
The officer at the door stared at me for a moment.
“You’re not here to see the new…” he started, but I shook my head, interrupting whatever he was about to say. “Not yet.”
His eyes twinkled, and I wondered what I was missing.
But I chose to not say anything for now, seeing as I had a timeline that I needed to uphold.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to see Trouper.
And I would be seeing him.
“Does he know you have an appointment?” the officer asked.
I looked at his shirt, reading it, then nodded. “He does, Officer Jonas.”
His eyes continued to twinkle.
“Alrighty then,” he said as he reached for his mic at his shirt. “Warden Stanley, I have a Mrs. Aoki to see you.”
“I don’t have an appointment with Mrs. Aoki,” a roughened voice growled.
“Tell him that I have some information on a Ms. Angelica Stanley.”
Officer Jonas’s eyes flared.
He’d heard the name.
I grinned wickedly.
“She said that she has some information on Angie,” Jonas murmured quietly.
Everyone in the entire room turned toward us.
Everyone with microphones, anyway.
I felt their eyes and knew that I’d get in.
Just like I thought I would.
I held my grin in check.
Barely.
“Be right there,” the man on the other end of the mic growled.
Then Jonas was looking at me like I was nuts.
“I sure hope you have something,” he murmured.
I did have something.
When I started looking for information that might help me get an ‘in’ into the prison, I’d looked up almost every single freakin’ guard that worked at that prison.
With help from a friend, I’d also found every bit of information that was out there on them all. I knew their likes, dislikes. I knew their financial situations, and their bank account stats. I knew where they graduated, where they’d worked for the past five years, and whether they took a shit this morning.
Needless to say, I knew everything that I could find.
And when I’d stumbled on an unsolved case involving the warden’s granddaughter, I’d put my knowledge to work.
And, to top it all off, I’d found her.
Now I was presenting him with that information.
He could use it as he saw fit.
“Ma’am.”
I looked up to find a battle-hardened man staring at me.
I smiled politely at Warden Stanley.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Do you have an office?”
He blinked at my curt words.
Then he stood back and gestured toward a door that would lead to the inner sanctum of the prison.
Together we walked in silence.
We went through locked doors. Barred off entrances. Down long hallways. Through a part of the prison where I could see men working out in the ‘yard’ and then to an office that was marked ‘Warden’ on the door.
“I’m just going to be blunt,” I said as I placed the folder for him on his desk. “I found your granddaughter. She’s in Venezuela with her father. I’ve put an address here, a location, frequently visited areas. Who has her. Who lives in the house with her. A cell phone number of who to contact for a confirmation of details. And my phone number in case you want more information.”
The warden stiffened, then jolted forward so fast that I took a step back.
I kept the papers out in front of me, which was ultimately what he was wanting.
He snatched them from my hands like a snake, and I looked at him with not a little bit of surprise.
I knew that this case meant something to him. That was why he’d paid the last three private investigators a shit ton of money to get information on them.
“How did you find this so fast?” he rasped. “How did you find it at all?”
I took a seat and crossed my legs at the ankles, placing my hands in my lap before answering.
“I’m good at what I do… or did. I quit the FBI not too long ago,” I admitted.
Warden Stanley’s eyes met mine.
He knew why I left the FBI. It was the same reason—at least from what he knew—why Trouper was in prison.
A well-decorated Air Force officer that was a greatly respected fighter pilot, had zero dings against him, and had recently married, had gone to prison. It’d been all over national news.
But, since the victim’s identity was kept quiet—i.e., me—nobody knew that he was there because of me.