by Brenda Novak
Rolling gingerly to one side, he tried to feel his lower back, which ached terribly. Was it from the hardness of the dining room table? Or had Ink stolen his kidney?
He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t reach all the way around without tearing open the wound on his shoulder.
“Ink?” he called. But it was a halfhearted, feeble effort to rouse him. One Ink didn’t hear.
A second later the front door slammed and the truck’s engine roared to life.
It should’ve felt worse to get shot. The bullet entering his leg had been bad. The hospital visit wasn’t much of an improvement. And losing out on capturing Ink and Lloyd had been a real bitch. But Myles could certainly think of worse things than lying in bed tucked up against Vivian’s soft, warm body.
He slipped his hand up under her shirt to cup her bare breast—he’d been aching to do that ever since she’d lain down with him—and his body hardened. He liked her just as much as he’d feared he would. He could feel himself falling into that emotional abyss called love, knew he might slide in so deep he’d never get out. And yet, somehow, that was okay. Caring risked loss, but not caring guaranteed a lukewarm life, devoid of any great passion. Why he’d believed that kind of existence would satisfy him he suddenly didn’t know. He wouldn’t take back the years he’d had with Amber Rose despite how they ended, would he? No. So why wouldn’t he embrace a second chance to feel the same way about someone else?
Vivian stirred and turned to face him. When her eyes opened, she smiled sleepily. “How you doin’?”
“Fine. You?”
“Better now that I’ve had a chance to rest. What time is it? Do we need to get up?”
He caressed the rim of her ear. “Not yet. It’s only been a couple hours.”
“Then what are you doing awake?”
Her eyes looked so big with her hair that short. “Thinking.”
“About…”
“You,” he said simply.
“And?”
“I’m glad you moved in next door.”
She hesitated, obviously considering his words. “You’re kidding. What about your wounds?”
He offered her a lazy grin. “Mere scratches.”
Although she smiled at his response, her manner remained serious. “I’m very different from Amber Rose. You realize that, don’t you?”
How could he miss it? But he found it interesting that she’d come to the same conclusion, since she’d never known his late wife. “In what way?”
“I have my business, for one.”
Having a business created a difficulty? “I admire what you’ve accomplished. And I’m willing to support you in it. How is that a drawback?”
“I’m used to being independent.”
“Understood. I can work with that.”
“But…Claire said Amber Rose has a brother who’s a doctor.”
He couldn’t help chuckling. What did Amber Rose’s brother have to do with this? “I’m not following you.”
“My brother is an ex-con.”
“Oh, right.” He nodded to let her know it was all clear to him now. “But exonerated means he didn’t do it.”
“My uncle did. My own mother might have put him up to it. And Virgil hasn’t come out of those prison years unscathed. You know The Crew might never let us live in peace. They might not let us live at all.”
“They won’t hurt you as long as I’m here to protect you. But I understand your concern. And, just to save you the trouble of bringing it up, I also understand that your children’s father was an abusive jerk who may come into the picture at some point in the future. Any other warnings and disclaimers?”
She raised her eyebrows, as if what she’d already said should be more than enough to scare him off, but since he didn’t concede the point, she barreled on. “I’ve heard how sweet Amber Rose was.”
“You’ve heard a lot.”
“You’re a favorite topic among the ladies. It’s Pineview, remember?”
“So…you’re different, like you said.”
“And…maybe not as good. I’m aggressive and stubborn and…and I can be angry. Besides all that, I have baggage.”
“Beyond what you’ve listed?” he teased.
“Maybe.”
With her legs between his and the softness of her breasts against his chest, the memory of making love to her at the cabin made his pulse leap. “What are you really worried about, Vivian?”
“You loved her so much.” Her voice fell. “I don’t see how I could compete with that.”
He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. He craved the taste of her, the smooth texture of her bare skin. And it was her he wanted, not a substitute for Amber Rose. “You don’t have to compete. I loved my late wife, will always love her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love you just as much.”
He bent his head to kiss her, but she resisted. She seemed hesitant to trust what he’d told her, and he couldn’t blame her. She’d been through so much. But as he slid his hands up the back of her shirt, kneading her tense muscles and coaxing her to stop worrying, her lips parted and she began to respond.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmured as their tongues met and touched and met again. “All you have to do is hang on to me.”
Making love to Vivian this time was a completely different experience, even better than at the cabin. Myles slowed everything down so he could memorize her body, enjoy it and let her enjoy his. As his hands skimmed over her breasts, her waist, her hips, coaxing her to become more pliable, to believe him—to believe in him—she closed her eyes and arched her back and didn’t fight him when he brought her to the brink of climax. At that moment, her eyes flew open and latched onto his, and he silently pleaded with her not to deny him.
“I don’t think I can—” she started, but he removed the hand she’d just placed on his chest and pinned it, along with the other one, above her head.
“Let go,” he whispered. “All you have to do is trust me.”
She must’ve taken him at his word because her legs tightened around his hips, telling him she was as committed as he was, and it wasn’t ten seconds later that she gasped and her eyes drifted shut. He tried to make the pleasure last as long as possible, but before the final spasm disappeared, he found his release.
The pain made it difficult to move. But worse than the pain was the struggle to breathe. One of the bullets must’ve collapsed a lung. All Virgil could think about was Peyton and Brady and the new baby. How he’d never see them again, never meet his new daughter. Peyton would have to go on without him. Maybe Laurel was already dead. His past had gotten the best of him, despite everything he’d done to outdistance it.
Then, suddenly, anger came to his rescue. It seemed to grab his heart and throw it against his rib cage. That wasn’t a pleasant sensation, but it lent him enough strength and presence of mind to dive for the gun Gully had dropped on the floor. Surprisingly enough, no one else had reached for it. Horse and Gully were trying to melt into the paneling so they wouldn’t be hit by a stray bullet.
They thought it was all over for him. And it was. He needed all his strength just to take in the smallest breath of air. But he wasn’t going out alone.
His whole body burned and the lack of oxygen made it difficult to hang on to conscious thought. If he could only catch his breath, he could tolerate the pain. Pain meant nothing to him, not if overcoming it would reunite him with those he loved. It was his damn lung. He could feel the darkness edging closer…?.
The weight of a solid object in his hand finally cut through his delirium and he realized he was holding the gun. How he’d managed to come up with it, he had no idea. The room was spinning, blurring the part of his vision that wasn’t fading to black. He needed to act fast, before he couldn’t see anything at all.
Raising the muzzle, he aimed at the door and fought to steady his hand. But there was no longer an army there. Every person he saw was now lying on the floor, except one. How had that happened?
Virgil ordered himself to kill that man. One less Crew member… But if he was going to take someone with him, he wanted it to be Horse. Forgetting the other guy—some stranger who was irrelevant to him—he cursed as he rolled over to look for The Crew’s leader.
Horse was trying to hide behind the smaller Gully again. Gully seemed to have a trickle of blood running down from a hole in his forehead, but Virgil thought that had to be an illusion. Virgil had shot him, but not in the head. He’d only meant to wound him. So why would his own men finish him off?
“No!” Horse cried when he realized what Virgil was about to do, but Virgil fired, anyway. He squeezed the trigger as many times as he had strength in an effort to eradicate the threat to his family before he was no longer capable of helping them. But he felt the recoil of the firearm travel up his arm only twice before he couldn’t manage another round.
With one last attempt to draw in enough air to remain conscious, he slumped over and was about to give up the fight when two strong hands pulled him into a sitting position and he heard a familiar voice.
“Virgil, hang on. I’m getting you out of here.”
Rex. Virgil wanted to say his name but couldn’t. He didn’t know how it was that his best friend was in California and not New York, but he’d never been more grateful to see anyone in his life.
28
L.J. was no use to him. Ink had had his fun digging around for that bullet with his unwashed hands and experimental prodding. Now he was content to let L.J. die—if that was what happened. If L.J. didn’t die, he might try and hike out of the mountains, maybe get some medical help. More than likely he’d be hauled back to prison. L.J. didn’t have the smarts to navigate the outside world as an escapee. He didn’t have the nerve to do what an escapee had to do, either.
Ink, however, had everything he needed, including a better plan. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before. Now that Laurel knew he was in town, she wouldn’t return home. He’d have to start looking for her all over again. But someone who was trusted in the community would be able to help him find her much faster than his former cellie. Especially now that L.J. had been shot. And who would look more harmless, more trustworthy, than a member of the Rogers family?
He’d seen their pretty daughter and the mildly attractive middle-aged mother. They were quite a family. And they were only half a mile away, in the very next cabin. There might be a father. Ink realized that but could handle him the same way he had the hunters.
The mother would work best for his purposes, he decided. Now that he had Laurel’s new name, he could send Mrs. Rogers into town to poke around. By keeping her daughter and anyone else at the cabin with him, she’d have the incentive to work fast and keep her mouth shut. Once she returned with the addresses of Vivian’s closest friends and any extended family that might live in the area, he’d kill her and the rest of the Rogers clan so they couldn’t report him. And then he’d be on his way—either to finish up his business with Virgil’s sister here in Pineview, or follow her out of town, if she’d already left. There wasn’t any point in staying if she wasn’t here.
He checked the gun he’d used earlier when he got in that shootout with the sheriff. It was good to go. He’d reloaded it at the cabin. Now all he had to do was hide the truck in the trees and wait until dark, which wouldn’t be long in coming.
The phone in the motel woke Vivian at five o’clock. She’d fallen asleep after making love with Myles, had slept for several hours, much more deeply than she had since this whole nightmare began. But reality intruded with the jangle of that phone, and the dread that’d overwhelmed her before came back.
“Do you want to get it?” She assumed it would be one of Myles’s deputies, looking for him. No one else in Pineview knew where they were.
His hand ran over her skin, but his eyes remained closed. “Mmm…no. Still groggy. Go ahead.”
She was glad to see he was getting the sleep he so desperately needed. But she was afraid neither of them would be able to rest much longer. She had to get hold of Peyton, continue to try Rex, somehow find out what was going on with her kids and her brother. And she had to field this call, which she hoped was good news and not bad.
“Hello?” She settled back into Myles’s embrace but held her breath.
“This is Sandra with EZ Security. Is Vivian there?”
Recognizing the name of the company and the voice of the caller, Vivian sat up. It was the receptionist she’d spoken to earlier at Virgil’s work. “This is Vivian.”
“I have a number for you to call.”
Vivian used the pad of paper by the phone and the motel pen to copy it down. “Where does it go?” She recognized the area code but not the rest of the digits.
“Mercy Medical Hospital in Los Angeles.”
She bit her lip. “Why do I need to call a hospital in Los Angeles?”
“Your brother’s been shot.”
Vivian must’ve made a sound or a movement to give away the pain that converged on her heart because Myles shoved himself into a sitting position, suddenly alert. “What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t explain. Not now. She had to find out whatever she could while this woman was willing to talk to her. “Is he…is he going to be okay?”
“The doctors are hopeful. He’s in surgery now.”
“Then…who am I calling if Virgil can’t talk?”
“Rex.”
“Why didn’t you just give him my number?”
“He can’t make a collect call to a motel.”
Rex was in L.A., too? Why? Where were her kids? “Do you know if Peyton’s safe?”
“She’s fine.”
Obviously this woman knew their entire background. Vivian was throwing around names Virgil, Rex and Peyton hadn’t used since they’d adopted their first false identity and moved to Washington, D.C.
“Rex said to tell you Peyton has Jake and Mia in a motel room with Brady here in Buffalo,” she went on. “Don’t worry about them.”
It was a relief to learn her children were fine and in good hands. But after what she’d just been told about Virgil, it was hard to feel much better. “Does Peyton know about Virgil?”
There was a slight hesitation. “No. That’s why she’s not making this call. Rex said not to tell her until…until we know whether or not Virgil’s going to make it.”
Laurel dropped her head in her hand. “How’d it happen?”
“I don’t have any of the details. I just know that Rex wants to speak to you. His phone was damaged when your brother was injured, so he called me from the hospital.”
She brought her knees up so she could wrap her free arm around them. “Rex wasn’t hurt?”
“No. But he would’ve been if his phone hadn’t been in his pocket.”
“Why’d he go to L.A.?”
“I think you should ask him that question. He just checked in with me to see if you’d called here. I told him I didn’t know if you were still at this number, but I’d give it a try.”
“I see. Thank you,” she said weakly, and hung up.
Myles sat with the sheet draped across his lower half. “What is it? Are the kids okay?”
“They’re fine.”
His face creased with concern as he took her hand and kissed her fingers. “Then what’s wrong?”
“It’s my brother.”
When the page came, Rex hurried to the information desk, where he identified himself and a nurse smiled politely while handing him a phone.
“Hello?” The cord kept him in one spot, but he turned so he could speak with a modicum of privacy.
“It’s me.”
Laurel. Tears threatened when he heard her voice, even though he hadn’t cried since he was a kid. She was alive; he’d made the right choice. “God, it’s great to hear from you.”
“I could say the
same. You okay?”
“I’ve been better.” He was so sick, so strung out. He hadn’t been sure he could last as long as he needed to, and yet he’d made it—made it here, anyway. Each minute, each hour, proved to be a new challenge, but he felt good about all the minutes and hours he’d conquered so far. Now he clung to the hope that his presence and prayers might somehow make a difference to Virgil while the doctors operated. When he’d walked out of the emergency room in Buffalo all those hours ago, intending to buy whatever OxyContin he needed to get rid of the pain in his head and his joints and the terrible cramping in his stomach, he’d remembered the trip to Libby. Remembered driving the last part of the way holding Laurel’s hand and feeling so at peace. That was what had made him realize that if he went back on the pills he’d never escape them. He couldn’t relapse even once. Ever. For any reason. So instead of doping up, he’d paid his dealer to take him to the airport, and then he’d had to make one of the most difficult decisions of his life.
Did he go to Montana to try and protect Laurel?
Or did he go to L.A. to support Virgil?
Ultimately, he’d chosen L.A. He knew Virgil was walking straight into trouble; Laurel was at least trying to avoid it. And, as much as he claimed not to have any confidence in the small-town sheriff he’d entrusted with her care, he knew Myles King would do all he could to keep her safe—and was probably more capable than he wanted to admit.
She sniffled, evidence that she was wrestling with her own emotions. “How—how’s Virgil?”
An old woman approached with a question for the nurse and talked far too loudly. In an effort to block out the noise, Rex covered his free ear. “Took three bullets. Two in the back, one in the arm. He was already a mess by the time I could reach him. It’s a miracle he’s alive.” Question was, would he stay that way? Rex didn’t come out and say that, but he knew Laurel had to be thinking it.
“What was he doing in L.A.?” she asked. “How could he leave Peyton?”
He studied the flecked pattern on the floor. “He felt he had no choice. That he had to put a stop to The Crew once and for all, or none of us would ever be safe.”
