Inside Out by John Ramsey Miller

took a seat in the living room and picked up a golf magazine.
    Voices filtered through the closed dining room door—rising and falling—building in intensity. Winter couldn't make out what they were saying.
    No more than a minute from the time she went in, Sean stormed out and strode down the hall to her bedroom. Thirty seconds later, Dylan followed her, shooting Winter a nasty look.
    Winter stood. He could see Whitehead and his assistant in the dining room with their heads close together, talking in low tones, like conspirators. He could hear the Devlins' angry voices coming from their bedroom.
    Greg hurried into the dining room. When he came back out, he said to Winter, “Tell the pilot to start his engine. They're done.”
    Five minutes later, the helicopter rose and disappeared over the trees, taking Whitehead and his assistant with it.
    Winter walked back into the house. Dylan was now yelling at Sean, and she was giving it right back to him. Greg stood listening in the hallway, hands on his hips.
    “What started it?” Winter asked him.
    “Whitehead told me you did,” Greg answered.
    “I made a comment to her about their getting new names after the trial, and I think it was the first Mrs. Devlin had heard of it. It was like she didn't know why they're here. That's not possible, is it? Think maybe she thought this was summer camp for psychopathic husbands?”
    Greg shook his head. “The prosecutor is not pleased that she's upset. If she's upset, Dylan's upset, and he wants Devlin as calm as possible. Whitehead said that I obviously didn't make it clear enough to the team that there were to be no conversations about the behavior that put Devlin here.”
    “I didn't with
him.
You didn't say not to discuss that with his wife. You don't mean to tell me that nobody told her what he did?”
    “Maybe we should start thinking about that security business real soon. Whitehead strongly hinted that he might mention his displeasure with both of us to the A.G.”
    The cat broke from the kitchen and made a run for the front of the house, territory Jet had banished him from entering.
    The animal sat beside Winter, stared down the hall, and seemed to be listening to the Devlins' argument.
    “Just be glad you're a cat,” Winter said, wishing he hadn't spoken to Sean Devlin at all.

19
  
 

    In the late afternoon, Winter took a longer than normal run, showered, and then napped until dinner. Beck, Martinez, Forsythe, Dixon, and Greg were gathered around the kitchen table. Martinez frowned at Winter when he joined them.
    “Thanks a lot,” she said sourly.
    “You're welcome,” Winter replied. “What was it I did for you?”
    “While you slept,” Greg said, “the safe-house politic changed dramatically, as did the living arrangements.”
    “I lost my bed,” Martinez said sullenly.
    “You can share mine,” Beck offered.
    “Screw you, Beck,” she snapped. “And I don't mean that in a good way.”
    “Mr. D. failed in an all-out attempt to bring his rebellious wife back under his control using his extensive persuasive powers. Mrs. D. packed up and moved into the suite with Martinez, taking the bedroom,” Greg told Winter.
    “Exactly,” Martinez said. “And that bed was heavenly.”
    “Into every cow pasture some rain must fall,” Winter mused.
    “Does anyone aside from Mr. D. give a damn if Mrs. D. moved out? I think it shows that there is hope for her yet,” Dixon said.
    “Bear, nobody has any desire to see Sean reunited with her creepy racist bastard husband,” Martinez said. Jet entered from the dining room carrying a tray of food. “She's not hungry,” the cook informed the deputies. “She's mad as hell. I don't know what all that man said to her, but it must have been a lulu.”
     
    Winter's shift had him walking the house's perimeter. He stood and watched Sean Devlin's figure as she moved back and forth behind the panes of her window. He thought about the poem she had shared with him and felt