“Lie down on this,” she said, and pointed toward a metal table. “And play dead again.”
“We’re out of the morgue,” he reminded her.
“But we’re not done yet.” She picked up a Polaroid camera.
He had trusted her before and she hadn’t betrayed him. Yet. With a sigh, Rowe lay down. “I’m getting a little too good at playing dead.”
“We have to do this right, or you won’t just be playing.”
“We?” There she went with the word Rowe had always made a point of never using. “I just needed your help to get out of the morgue. I don’t need anything else from you.”
“Really?” she asked, her lips curving into a smug smile. “Do you have a cell phone? Someone to call if you did? A ride or a vehicle to take you somewhere Warden James won’t find you? Or the police who will be looking for you when news of your escape from prison gets out?”
He clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ground together. She was right. He had none of those things. No one he could trust. But he had made a promise. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I’ll help you.”
“You’re not even convinced I’m telling you the truth,” he said. She was too smart to completely trust him despite his knowing about her childhood accident.
“But if you are telling the truth and I don’t help you, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“What happens to me is not your responsibility,” he said. No one had ever really taken responsibility for him. Not his parents and now not even the handler who should have pulled him out weeks ago when he hadn’t heard from Rowe.
“No, it’s not,” she agreed. “But I would never forgive myself for wasting this opportunity to help Jed, too.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. He suspected she wasn’t talking about just keeping her brother out of trouble with the warden. “What do you want?”
“Close your eyes.”
He, who had always had problems with authority, did as she said. And a light flashed behind his lids.
He sprang up. “What are you doing?”
“Shut up. Dead men don’t talk.”
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