Being booked wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to Phoebe, but it came in a close second. The worst part was the loss of control, the loss of her personal power. It brought back echoes of her past and threatened her steely grip on the present. Only pride—and Bryn Bailey’s watchful gaze—kept her from breaking down while being strip-searched and then deloused. She donned her jail garb with outward nonchalance, pleased and surprised at how steady her hands were, all the while wondering if she’d ever be free of the smell of the delousing solution, wondering if her own scent would ever return.
The female uniform who’d done the search held the door open, but that door would only take her to another cage, a different level of confinement. Phoebe paused in the doorway, feeling the barr
