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A girl on a couch, throat cut.

A woman in a kitchen, spilled popcorn.

So fucking detailed. “Nate’s one hell of an artist, all right.”

Shelby, running under a full moon, in a nightgown, looking over her shoulder with terror on her face.

“I-I didn’t know!” The warden seemed horrified.

“I’m sure he’ll say it was really fucking therapeutic,” Hunter growled. “That he was drawing crime scene images that he saw at the trial.” But that image of Shelby hadn’t been from the trial. “Bullshit. Nate was recreating his favorite memories. You gave him the tools to do it. He drew what he knew and what he loved.” Hunter wanted to rip the images to pieces. “And no one even checked to see what the hell he was doing in here?”

“I—” The warden’s face had flushed a dark red.

As far as Hunter was concerned, Nate had just signed a confession letter. “Let’s go, Shelby.” He wanted her out.

Her head moved in a jerky nod. They turned toward the open door.

“I want this taken—all of this. Bag it. Secure it. Take everything out of here!” The warden’s bellowed order to the guard followed them. “And search every inch of this cell—see if there are any letters in here!”

“Nate was always good at art,” Shelby murmured. “That was his major. Used to tell me that his mom thought it was a waste of time, but Nate was all about creating his art.”

They eased toward the next cell.

The prisoner in that cell wasn’t on his bed any longer. He stood in the middle of the cell. Hands at his sides. Bright orange uniform shirt. Blue pants.

“I’m not guilty.” The man’s voice came out hard. Deep. “I’ll be out soon.”

Hunter prepared to keep walking.

But Shelby stopped. She frowned at the man. “I…”

The prisoner stepped forward. “He is guilty.”

Hunter pulled Shelby closer. “Come on.” He was about five seconds away from lifting her up and carrying her out.

“I’m gonna get out,” the prisoner assured her. “He won’t.”

Screw this. Hunter started to pick her up⁠—

But Shelby was walking again. She tossed a frown back at the prisoner, but then she kept walking. And she didn’t stop, not until they were out of the penitentiary.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Was that everything you hoped for and more?” John Henry asked as he waited in the parking lot, hip casually propped on the side of his Jeep.

“Not in the damn mood, John Henry,” Hunter snapped back.

John Henry shrugged. “Your ride is safe. No bombs. I watched it the whole time you were inside.” He kept that hip propped as he ran a critical eye over Hunter and Shelby. “You both look like hell. Tell me the trip was at least worth the haggard expressions.”

Shelby glanced back toward the prison’s entrance. “We talked to Nate. Hunter beat the crap out of him.”

“Well.” John Henry’s brows rose as he nodded approvingly toward Hunter. “Sounds like the trip was worth the price of admission to me.”

Yeah, he’d enjoyed driving his fist into that bastard. “He was sketching the murders. Had the drawings hidden within plain sight in his cell. Guy is guilty as fuck.”

“Figured he was.” John Henry nodded again. “You get the visitor logs?”

“On the way out, the warden promised to email them to me. I’ll forward the material to you.”