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And he would.
    “I heard she was really pretty,” Pablo said.
    “Drop it.” Billy closed his eyes.
    What really hurt was Mace being disappointed in him. Again. But Billy refused to see Ellie as another of his mistakes. She was too sweet, too good-natured, and yeah, too pretty to be a mistake. Sure, he regretted getting Mace mixed up in this, but he hadn’t meant to do that.
    Someone down the hall coughed, and it echoed along the gray concrete walls. Billy hated the echoes in here. God, he prayed Mace would do like he’d said and talk to Ellie. His girl might not be intelligent like Mace, but she had street smarts. And if Tanks went after his sister, Ellie would know better how to protect her.
    Billy heard footsteps and remembered garden duty. Eager to leave the cramped room, he jumped up. He could almost smell the outside air.
    “You ready?” Hal, one of the day guards, asked. The cell door clicked open.
    “Yeah,” Billy said.
    Of all the guards, Hal was the only one Billy liked. In his fifties, Hal reminded him of what a father should be. Once Hal had even shown him pictures of his grandkids. Billy wondered if the man’s family appreciated him, or if they took him for granted the way Billy had done with Mace. No more, though. Somehow he was going to make his sister proud.
    Hal’s gaze shot to the stack of books. “School going okay?” he asked.
    “Fine,” Billy grunted.
    He and Hal made their way down the prison halls, their footsteps echoing. The thrill of leaving for a few hours stayed with Billy until he crawled into the van and saw a tattooed forearm resting on the back of a seat. David Tanks glanced at him over a shoulder. The man’s sneer had 24-karat evil stamped all over it.
    “Heard your sis came by today,” the murderer whispered. “Heard she’s hot. I can’t wait to get me some of that. I’m going to fuck her hard, Billy boy—right before I slit her throat.”

C HAPTER T WO
    It was five on Tuesday evening when Jake leaned back in his chair and tried to clear the paperwork from his desk. He spotted the pad where he’d written down Ellie Chandler’s info. It had been a whole day, and so far he hadn’t done a thing with it. Yes, he’d told her she needed to go to Homicide, but his gut told him she hadn’t done it. He supposed he should follow up.
    He grabbed his cell phone and dialed. Ripping off the sheet of paper, he tossed it in the trash. He wouldn’t learn anything, but for his conscience’s sake he’d do it. Then he could forget the whole incident.
    “Sergeant Anders,” his buddy in Homicide answered.
    “Stan, it’s Jake. Look, I had this girl come in yesterday.…” He gave Stan the short version, about arresting Tanks and adding a bit of male color commentary, including, “Gorgeous. Stacked. But the voice!”
    Stan laughed. “I don’t see a problem. Keep your tongue in her mouth or keep her mouth busy.”
    Jake grinned, finished his story, and asked if they’d had any headless corpses show up.
    “Didn’t you hear about the John Doe case?” Stan asked, the earlier humor missing from his tone.
    “Don’t yank my chain.” Jake leaned against his desk.
    “No chain yanking here. The body washed up in the Houston Ship Channel about six months ago. Clear Lake’s handling things. They still haven’t ID’d the guy. The body was in bad shape.”
    “Great.” Jake snatched the crumpled notepaper out of the trash can. It looked as if he and Miss Squeaky Voice were destined to meet again. Damn if he probably didn’t owe her an apology, too. Sons of Baptist preachers always apologized when they made mistakes.
    “Baldwin!” Donaldson barged into his office, his posture rigid.
    “I’ll call you back, Stan,” Jake said, and disconnected. He turned to his coworker. “What’s up?”
    “There’s been a prison break. A guard and an inmate were shot. Doesn’t look good for either one. Three other inmates escaped. Captain said you know one of them—David Tanks.”
    Jake