Opening lines:
Harry Doyle sat in his car outside the front gate of the Central Florida Women's Correctional Facility. He remained nearly motionless except for the occasional rise of one hand to bring a cigarette to his lips. He seemed to be staring ahead at the white brick buildings as if studying them for flaws. The main building was a long, low, sprawling structure with a collection of smaller buildings off to one side, all of it surrounded by eighteen-foot chain-link fences, set in two rows with a twenty-foot no-man's-land between them. Both rows of fences were topped with three additional feet of razor wire, the edges of which glistened in the bright Florida sun. Escape was possible, of course, as it was from any detention facility. But anyone who made it over those fences would carry the gift of that razor wire, and would leave a blood trail that pursuing dogs would easily follow.
