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gurney. The reporter didn’t miss a beat, her voice racing with excitement.
    “Faith, that would appear to be the friend identified by our eyewitness as Celeste. I did manage to get a good look as paramedics raced past us with the gurney. An oxygen mask covered the young woman’s nose and mouth, and while I can’t say whether she was breathing or not, she did not appear to be conscious. I hate to speculate, but the paramedic at her side had a defibrillator at the ready, and the entire team looked gravely concerned to me.”
    Corso lowered her head, took a deep breath, and expressed her “heartfelt concern” for the injured young woman, the young woman’s family, and young women everywhere in the world who suffered at the hands of evil, the kind of evil that was personified by people like Shot Mom and her lawyers.
    It was amazing to Jack, the way Corso could turn even a touching expression of compassion into one more shot at her enemy.
    “Mr. Swyteck?”
    Jack turned at the sound of the guard’s voice. “Yes?”
    “Our plan was to bring inmate Bennett down now, but I wanted to advise you that the warden has put your client’s release on hold until further notice.”
    “That’s a bad move,” said Jack.
    “It’s for your client’s safety as much as anyone’s.”
    Jack’s gaze returned to the television. BNN’s coverage had reverted to the aerial view from the helicopter, tracking the ambulance as it left the parking lot.
    “This is already beyond your control. An innocent young woman in the hospital isn’t going to make people calm down.”
    “We’ll just have to wait and see.”
    “Wait for what ? An hour from now the bars will start closing. A hundred thousand drunks will be looking for something to do, someplace to be. And how much longer before the insanity out there spreads to your overcrowded population in here? These walls aren’t soundproof. This craziness is contagious, even if you’ve never heard of Sydney Bennett.”
    The guard didn’t answer, but he was seasoned enough to know that prison uprisings weren’t just for men.
    Jack said, “I’ve had enough of the Sydney Bennett circus. I’m betting you have, too. Tell the warden I need to see her. My client and I are leaving. Tonight.”

Chapter Six
    B ehind the detention center, bathed in the yellow glow of high-security sodium lights, a Miami-Dade ambulance backed all the way up to an entrance for Authorized Personnel Only. There was barely enough room for the door to swing open. Two corrections officers practically launched Sydney over the bumper and onto the gurney. Jack followed, and the double doors slammed shut. With no siren, emergency lights off, the ambulance pulled away from the building, through the employee parking lot, beneath the expressway, and eventually onto Seventh Avenue.
    “Stay down,” the paramedic said. It was just three of them in the rear. Sydney lay motionless on the gurney. Jack kept low, seated on the floor next to the paramedic in the jump seat.
    The risk of being spotted by anyone on the street was minimal. The small rectangular windows on the rear doors were tinted to near blackout. Every few seconds, with each streetlamp they passed, a weak flash of light pierced the darkness inside the vehicle.
    “How did this get so screwed up?” Sydney muttered.
    Jack had already explained. He took her question as rhetorical, or perhaps she was soul-searching about her life in general.
    The ambulance would take them directly to Opa-locka Executive Airport. That was the deal Jack had struck with the warden—who, as it had turned out, was more than eager to get “the Shot Mom problem” off her watch, pronto. There had been no need for Jack to tip his hand and explain that the need to get Sydney released on schedule wasn’t just about public safety and prison riots. The flight plans were in place, and special arrangements had been made for a two A.M. takeoff. Sydney’s parents stood to lose thousands of dollars if