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“Excuse me?” Those scared eyes doubled in size.

“Don’t play dumb. I am not in the mood.” He pointed at his target. “You’re a reporter, and you think you’re getting a scoop. Not going to happen.”

The reporter put his hands up. “Look, friend…”

John Henry grunted. Did he look like the guy’s friend?

“I’m Shamus.” A broad grin came from his target. “I have an appointment to interview Nate Shiloh at the penitentiary today. That’s why I’m on this road. I’m not stalking anyone.” But interest flashed on his face. “Your client…” A considering tilt of his head. “Would that be Shelby Carter? Are you like, her second bodyguard?”

“I don’t think you’re making that interview today. Change of plans.”

Shamus glanced toward the parked Jeep. “You can’t just leave the Jeep in the road. Someone might hit it.”

“I won’t leave it there long.”

“This road leads to the penitentiary.” Excitement from Shamus. He didn’t seem quite so jittery any longer.

The driver just glared at John Henry.

“If I’m stalking Shelby, does that mean she’s going to the penitentiary?” The dude was practically vibrating now. “Is Shelby going to talk with Nate Shiloh? Holy shit. This is big. Huge. Martin, Martin, just go off the side of the road and around the Jeep. Get us to the prison. We need to get Shelby approaching the penitentiary on camera. Martin?”

Martin was too busy glaring at John Henry. But as John Henry just stared back, the glare slowly faded. Martin swallowed. Three times.

“The guards aren’t going to let you past the gate,” John Henry assured the men. He’d be calling Hunter and getting Hunter to make certain that never happened. “They will turn you away. You’ll get no footage.”

“That’s some BS,” Shamus began.

“And the state highway patrol will be intercepting you in a few moments. Probably because of those broken taillights that you have.”

“I don’t have broken taillights!” Martin snapped.

You will.

“I’d be careful with highway patrol,” John Henry warned. “The scent of weed is damn strong in this vehicle.” He inhaled. “Seems to be coming from you, Martin. Very, very heavily.”

“Oh, fuck,” Shamus swore.

“Medical marijuana is legal in Florida, so maybe you’ll have a medical card on you. Maybe.” John Henry shrugged.

Martin had started to sweat.

“Or maybe you won’t.” John Henry pulled out his phone. “Like the good citizen I am, I’ll just put in a quick call to the state highway patrol. That way, they can intercept you. I think I mentioned that interception already, didn’t I?”

“Stop!” A snarl from Martin. “We’re out of here, all right? We’ll head back to Hathaway.”

“Wait! No!” Shamus protested.

But Martin was already reversing. And flipping off John Henry.

“Good talking with you, gentlemen!” John Henry shouted. He headed back for his vehicle. Not like he could just leave the Jeep in the road forever. Not safe.

He kept the phone close as he called Hunter. His buddy answered on the second ring. “Yeah, it was the reporter. Shamus and the driver was some guy named Martin. We’ve lost them, for now. But get this, Shamus had planned to have a sit-down chat with Nate Shiloh today. Uh, huh. Not to tell you your business, but I’d sure as hell put Shamus on any suspect list I had…that jerk is way too interested in the Sorority Seven Killer.”

Shelby sat at the small table, her hands in her lap, her shoulders squared, and her spine straight. She and Hunter had been briefly searched before entering the facility. Hunter’s guns—yes, plural because he’d had two on him, one strapped to his ankle and one in a holster beneath his arm—had been taken. They’d been led through a series of corridors inside the penitentiary. Some prisoners had shouted at her. Catcalled.

Hunter had just pressed closer to her. A steady, reassuring presence. He’d wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and they’d gotten to their destination.

This private room.