The Target by David Baldacci Read Free Book Online Page A

decided. He would like to nibble on them. He would like to nibble on all of her.
    He imagined her naked and then in every sort of scanty lingerie. He imagined himself doing things to her. His breathing grew heavy, but that was all. His equipment downstairs no longer worked. The chemo and radiation had seen to that.
    But Junior had no such problem. Earl could see his right hand under his sheet. Disgusting little shit. World would be better off when they killed the bastard. But part of Earl was jealous that Junior could still jack off and he couldn’t.
    Behind the doc was Albert, the largest and meanest guard here by far. He made Earl look small. He made everybody look small. His uniforms were always too tight because the Alabama correctional system apparently had none large enough to properly fit him. He surveyed the room, his gaze always moving, his baton held at his side. He was shadowing the doc, Earl knew, because of past incidents.
    Inmates had tried to put hands on her, feel her up, snatch a kiss. Now Albert walked with her as she made her rounds. You tried to touch the skirt now, you got a baton rammed down your throat. Albert didn’t care how sick you were or how much pain you were in. He’d just make you hurt more. Earl knew because he’d seen Junior try it once. And any thought Earl had had of doing the same had disappeared because of what had happened to Junior.
    Albert had knocked three of his teeth out and the blood had flown so far that it had reached Earl’s bed. That had been two months ago, when Junior had been in here for another ailment. The man was full of sick, it seemed. Although maybe it was just the thought of the poison needle heading his way that made him feel so poorly. Earl didn’t know and really didn’t care. He was simply biding his time until she got to him.
    Twenty minutes later the doctor arrived.
    Her scent reached him long before that, though—honeysuckle and lily of the valley. They were smells he knew well growing up in the backwoods of Georgia. She was the only one who smelled like that in the whole place. There were no female guards, and the male guards reeked almost as bad as the inmates. But the doc was a honeysuckle. She was fine. Earl looked forward to her visits and got himself in a temper when another doc substituted for her.
    She took his records off the hook on the end of the bed and read through them. She must know them intimately by now, Earl thought, and they all pointed relentlessly to his demise. But she had to see that his meds and such had been properly given, he figured.
    “How are we doing today, Mr. Fontaine?” she asked. She never smiled, never frowned. Never looked happy or sad. She was just…there. And for Earl, that was enough, especially today.
    He eyed Albert standing behind her. Albert glanced down at Earl, and the smirk on his face was something that made Earl want to put a bullet in the guard’s brain.
    “Fine, fine. No complaints. Mebbe a little more morphine in the drip, Doc. Get me through the night.”
    “I’ll see if we can do something about that,” she said, her eyes flicking over his chart. She checked his vitals on the monitor and then listened to his heart pumping away. When her hand grazed his neck he felt his skin burn with pleasure. He hadn’t been touched by a woman in over…well, he couldn’t exactly remember how long it’d been. Before the Clinton boy got to be president, probably.
    She asked him a few questions and even sat on the edge of his bed as she checked him over. When she crossed her legs her skirt rose enough that Earl could see her rounded knee. It gave him the tingles. Her in his bed?
    He looked up at Albert and gave the smirk right back, the big asshole.
    “Anything else, Mr. Fontaine?” she asked as she rose off the bed and looked down at him.
    This was the moment. This was what Earl had been waiting all this time for.
    “I do got me something, Doc.”
    “What’s that?” she said, but there was no interest