with the mushy and sentimental stuff.
“You live in a penthouse condo and haven’t shoveled snow for years,” she pointed out.
“A deliberate choice I made because of the trauma of my youth,” Kyle said. “Remember how Dad used to make me shovel the whole block every time it snowed? I was eight when he came up with that plan—barely taller than the shovel.”
“And I got to stay inside making hot chocolate with Mom.” Jordan waved off the retort she saw coming. “Hey, it was good for you—it built character.” She paused for a moment, taking in their steel-barred surroundings. “Maybe Dad should’ve made you shovel the next block over, too.”
“That’s cute.”
“I thought so.”
An inmate shouted at them from across the room. “Hey, Sawyer! Sawyer! When are you gonna introduce me to your sister?”
An annoyed look crossed Kyle’s face as he ignored the voice.
“Yo! Sawyer!” The inmate was quickly silenced by the approach of an armed guard.
Jordan made no attempt to hide her grin. “I think someone’s trying to get your attention.”
“I don’t answer to that name,” Kyle growled.
“Maybe if you would just cut your hair,” she offered faux-sympathetically.
“ Fuck Josh Holloway,” he nearly shouted in frustration. “I’ve worn my hair like this for years.”
“Getting a little loud over here, Sawyer,” a guard warned as he passed by their table.
Jordan watched, amused, as her brother simmered at a low boil. “But the hair worked for Sawyer, because they were roughing it on the island. Although I think there had to have been some sort of salon or spa in the Others’ camp. I mean, they performed surgeries on people; I would assume they could’ve rustled up a decent pair of scissors for a haircut somewhere—”
“I swear if you don’t let this drop, I’ll ban you from my visitation list.”
She laughed at the likelihood of that ever happening. “You’ve been stuck to me like gum on the bottom of my shoe since birth. What would you do without my charming wit to cheer you up every week?”
She peered up as an inmate in his midthirties stopped at their table. As soon as he spoke, she recognized the voice of the man who’d been yelling across the room.
“So you’re the sister.” He looked her over appraisingly and smiled, managing to look harmless enough despite the black snake tattoo coiled around his right forearm. “Help me out with an introduction, Sawyer—let’s do this proper.”
A guard called over from across the room. “I’m not telling you again, Puchalski. No talking to the other guests.” With a regretful look over his shoulder, the inmate shuffled off.
Jordan turned back to Kyle. “I take it Dad was here on Monday?” Unless something urgent came up, her father was as regular a visitor to MCC as she was.
“Sounds like business is better. I think the fallout is finally subsiding,” Kyle said, referring to the fact that their father’s company had not surprisingly taken a hit the previous financial quarter. Strange, how people tended to get ticked off when the vice president of a computer software corporation—and the CEO’s son—was indicted and imprisoned for hacking.
Jordan was about to answer when Kyle turned in his chair to get more comfortable. She noticed something—a faded yellow bruise along the left side of his jaw. She looked down at the table and saw the telltale cuts on the knuckles of his right hand. “You got in another fight.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me. Let me see that.” She reached out and touched his chin to get a better look.
“Jordan, you know you can’t—”
Just like that, the guard stood beside their table. He frowned at Jordan. “Sorry, ma’am, no contact.”
She pulled back her hand. “Sorry.” She took a deep, steadying breath. Normally, she handled the whole prison routine as well as could be expected, but every once in a while it got to be a bit much. Like when
“You live in a penthouse condo and haven’t shoveled snow for years,” she pointed out.
“A deliberate choice I made because of the trauma of my youth,” Kyle said. “Remember how Dad used to make me shovel the whole block every time it snowed? I was eight when he came up with that plan—barely taller than the shovel.”
“And I got to stay inside making hot chocolate with Mom.” Jordan waved off the retort she saw coming. “Hey, it was good for you—it built character.” She paused for a moment, taking in their steel-barred surroundings. “Maybe Dad should’ve made you shovel the next block over, too.”
“That’s cute.”
“I thought so.”
An inmate shouted at them from across the room. “Hey, Sawyer! Sawyer! When are you gonna introduce me to your sister?”
An annoyed look crossed Kyle’s face as he ignored the voice.
“Yo! Sawyer!” The inmate was quickly silenced by the approach of an armed guard.
Jordan made no attempt to hide her grin. “I think someone’s trying to get your attention.”
“I don’t answer to that name,” Kyle growled.
“Maybe if you would just cut your hair,” she offered faux-sympathetically.
“ Fuck Josh Holloway,” he nearly shouted in frustration. “I’ve worn my hair like this for years.”
“Getting a little loud over here, Sawyer,” a guard warned as he passed by their table.
Jordan watched, amused, as her brother simmered at a low boil. “But the hair worked for Sawyer, because they were roughing it on the island. Although I think there had to have been some sort of salon or spa in the Others’ camp. I mean, they performed surgeries on people; I would assume they could’ve rustled up a decent pair of scissors for a haircut somewhere—”
“I swear if you don’t let this drop, I’ll ban you from my visitation list.”
She laughed at the likelihood of that ever happening. “You’ve been stuck to me like gum on the bottom of my shoe since birth. What would you do without my charming wit to cheer you up every week?”
She peered up as an inmate in his midthirties stopped at their table. As soon as he spoke, she recognized the voice of the man who’d been yelling across the room.
“So you’re the sister.” He looked her over appraisingly and smiled, managing to look harmless enough despite the black snake tattoo coiled around his right forearm. “Help me out with an introduction, Sawyer—let’s do this proper.”
A guard called over from across the room. “I’m not telling you again, Puchalski. No talking to the other guests.” With a regretful look over his shoulder, the inmate shuffled off.
Jordan turned back to Kyle. “I take it Dad was here on Monday?” Unless something urgent came up, her father was as regular a visitor to MCC as she was.
“Sounds like business is better. I think the fallout is finally subsiding,” Kyle said, referring to the fact that their father’s company had not surprisingly taken a hit the previous financial quarter. Strange, how people tended to get ticked off when the vice president of a computer software corporation—and the CEO’s son—was indicted and imprisoned for hacking.
Jordan was about to answer when Kyle turned in his chair to get more comfortable. She noticed something—a faded yellow bruise along the left side of his jaw. She looked down at the table and saw the telltale cuts on the knuckles of his right hand. “You got in another fight.”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Doesn’t look that way to me. Let me see that.” She reached out and touched his chin to get a better look.
“Jordan, you know you can’t—”
Just like that, the guard stood beside their table. He frowned at Jordan. “Sorry, ma’am, no contact.”
She pulled back her hand. “Sorry.” She took a deep, steadying breath. Normally, she handled the whole prison routine as well as could be expected, but every once in a while it got to be a bit much. Like when
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