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It was quite a turn on though being whistled at by all these incarnated men. Often there would be other prisoners telling the ones who were shouting to be quiet. It occurred to her that perhaps those prisoners knew that she was Jackson’s woman. Jackson’s woman? Was that the right phrase? Probably not but she felt sure some knew she had that status, and this was why they were shouting the others down. Don’t mess with her or you’ll be messing with Jackson, Beth imagined that might be the message being shared. She now walked with her head a little higher, her hips swaying just a little more. Jackson’s woman! There was no denying that was what she was. At least for now. What was a little disquieting though, was the way it made her feel proud but then she frowned! Realising there were many who would use a less flattering term. She sighed, her mother for one. Oh god she knew exactly what her mother would call her. A flash of fear struck her that her brother might find out what she had been. * Standing in the shadows of the trees he watched the back of the building calculating his chances of being seen when he would skim up to the first floor window of the corner room in the large private home that held the safe. He was a tall tough wiry man all in black. Black jeans, black tee shirt, black leather jacket. Glancing at the watch on his right wrist he noted that the time was now two thirty on a dark moonless night. Time to get on and do the job. Pulling on the leather gloves he started to move forward, one last sweep with his dark brown eyes to check out the grounds he noticed a movement near the rhododendrons close to the edge of the property. Moving back he crouched into the shadow of the trees, his hand automatically reaching around to the small of his back and closing over the gun that nestled there in its holster. Squinting with a frown he watched as a lithe figure, also dressed in dark clothing slipped silently to the side of the house and he watched as the person.
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