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Every lawyer she’d talked to had told her that extradition was a very long shot. So had the warden. But she wasn’t about to give up. A forty-year sentence was bad enough. Being stuck on this side of the pond was worse.

Lydia led Matts to a table in the corner, her regular spot. “Sit tight,” she said. “I’ll get the volume.”

Matts liked Lydia. She had a master’s degree from Princeton. In fact, she’d been a prized high school math teacher until three years ago, when she’d seduced a fifteen-year-old from her remedial class and convinced him to bludgeon her husband to death.

“Here you go.” Lydia plopped a thick volume down on the Formica table. It was titled Federal Criminal Laws and Rules. The pink sticky was right where Matts had left it, on a page that detailed “mutual consent and eligibility requirements.”

The rub concerning her extradition dream was that both the US officials and the British courts needed to agree to it. And Matts had been told, several times, that England was not eager to have her back. The latest response from London had been, “Let the bitch rot in the colonies,” or words to that effect.

Rationally, she couldn’t blame them. To most people, her crimes were unforgivable. Kidnapping children and selling them for profit. Murdering a Scotland Yard investigator along the way. She knew it was a bad look. But Agnes Matts would not give up. Besides, what else did she have to do with her time? Tend the prison garden? Sort baby clothes in the nursery? Not bloody likely.

As Matts leaned over the thick law book, a shadow blocked her light. She looked up. It was Gwen, back too soon.

Matts was startled. “Go away. I just got here.”

“You’ve got a visitor,” said Gwen in a low whisper. “A lawyer.”

This made no sense. “I’m between lawyers,” said Matts. “You know that. I fired the last one a week ago.”

“He’s pretty insistent,” said the guard. She held out a business card. Matts glanced at it.

“Charles Milver? Never heard of him.”

Gwen bent over the table. “Look. I don’t know how this guy talked his way through the gate, but he says he won’t leave without meeting you.”

Matts slammed the legal tome shut and tucked it under her arm. She handed it to Lydia on her way out. “Don’t lose my page,” she said.

Gwen held the library door open, then led Matts down a spotless corridor to a small meeting room with a large window facing the hallway. Through the window, Matts could see a man sitting at the table. His suit looked expensive. Same for his briefcase. He appeared to be admiring his manicure.

Matts turned to Gwen. “I’ve never seen this dandy man. I don’t know him.”

Gwen just shrugged. “Well, somehow he knows you. It’s none of my business. Just see what he wants.” Gwen opened the door and let Matts walk past her. “Knock on the glass if you need me.”

The door swung closed. The man stood up. “Good morning, Agnes. Charles Milver, attorney at law.”

Matts hung back by the door. “Where are you from? Who sent you?”

“Your husband did.”

Matts felt a little jolt shoot through her. “Oliver?” She walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “You know where he is?”

Milver sat down too. “At this exact moment? No. But he wanted me to tell you that I’m working closely with him and others to get you out of here.”

Excited now, Matts squirmed in her seat. “You mean extradited? You can move me to a jail back home?”

Milver shook his head. “No, Agnes. I mean out. Totally free.”

Matts sunk back in her seat. Bullshit. Too good to be true. “Are you planning a jailbreak?” she sneered.

“Nothing that crude. When the time comes, you’ll be escorted out by the warden. The exact plan hasn’t been finalized yet. For now, I need you to avoid any infractions and wait.”

“And this is coming directly from Oliver? You’ve talked to him?”

“Frequently.”

Matts leaned forward over the table. “These other people you’re working with—who are they? Do I know them?”

“You’ve met them,” said Milver. He pulled out a dog-eared business card and placed it on the table.