It was too late to be called breakfast, but with blueberry muffins, juice and coffee, it tasted like morning. The electric pot churned again re-heating the strong coffee for the third time. Jill pulled the English muffin halves out of the oven and set them on the table.
Eric reached for a muffin and gnawed at the crusty edge. “I hope Oldfield will tell me that you can be released in my custody if you’re manageable.”
“But I won’t be in your custody.”
“No. But only Ross and I will know that. There’ll be someone around to look after you, but you’ve got to promise not to screw this up. My butt is on the line for this, too.”
Jill shook her head in disbelief still holding the large blue pottery-made coffee mug to her mouth with both hands. The hot brew slowly washed the remnants of sleep down her throat. “What type of cell would I get if I refuse to go along?”
“It wouldn’t exactly be a cell,” he said. “More like an apartment somewhere, guarded twenty-four hours a day. Or it would be a community where there were others whose lives were in danger, or who for some reason would be dangerous to themselves if released.”
“It’s not that bad.”
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