by Brenda Novak
Oh, God… “I c-can’t tell him. I don’t know where he is. I swear it.”
The lightning bolts that served as his eyebrows shot together. “What if I don’t believe you?”
That was the million-dollar question—and she’d never been more frightened to learn an answer. “It’s the truth. I went to p-pick him up last week at the—” her tongue felt thick and unwieldy as she forced it to form words “—at the prison, but he n-never came out.”
“He must’ve called, told you not to worry,” he prodded.
Tears spilled over her lashes as she shook her head.
“You’re telling me you haven’t heard from him?”
“I’m afraid he’s d-dead.” Her voice caught on a sob.
The man studied her for a second and finally lowered the gun. “Go ahead and cry, Laurel, because if he’s on the run he might as well be dead.”
The burning in her stomach grew worse. “He’s been exonerated. Why would he run?”
“You don’t need to know that. You just need to know this—if you hear from him, tell him Ink stopped by lookin’ for him. Tell him he’s got one more chance. He calls Pretty Boy by noon tomorrow, anything…unpleasant can still be avoided. If not, you’ll all die.”
“Mommy?”
Laurel’s breath lodged in her throat. Mia stood at the entrance to the room, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Who are you?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as if she didn’t like what she saw.
Grinning at her reaction, the intruder showed her his gold tooth, then waved her forward with his gun.
“No, Mia!” Laurel cried. But it was no use. He reached out and grabbed her before she could back away. Then he put the gun to her head.
“Are you tellin’ me the truth? Huh? Are you still gonna say you don’t know where your brother is? Because I’ll shoot her. You know I will.”
Laurel’s lungs pumped like pistons but she couldn’t seem to suck in the oxygen she needed. “N-no!” she gasped, fighting just to speak. “I d-don’t know! Please!”
Her veracity must’ve shown through her terror, because he released Mia. He shoved her away so hard she fell, but at least he didn’t shoot her. “Now I believe you,” he said with a laugh. Then he saluted her and went out the way he must’ve come in.
By the time Laurel scooped up her daughter and managed to stop shaking enough to dial 9-1-1, he was long gone. So was the car across the street. The officer who arrived fifteen minutes later found the imprint of a man’s boot in her plants at the back door, but that was it.
Peyton normally loved Saturdays—and tried to enjoy this one. Since she was off work, she rambled around the house a bit, did some reading, cleaned out the fridge, caught up on correspondence she’d brought home from the prison and iced her injured ankle, which was still a little swollen. But she couldn’t concentrate. All she could think about was Virgil Skinner, who was in the worst situation she could imagine, or soon would be. Picturing him sitting over at the Redwood Inn with a small quantity of clothing, a few prized letters from his sister (not to mention the less-prized letters from what sounded like a terrible mother) and a steak knife bothered her. He’d already suffered so much. What else would he have to endure?
She didn’t like the idea of someone being wrongfully imprisoned for any length of time, let alone fourteen years. It didn’t seem fair that he couldn’t walk away and try to forget. But if she expressed that sentiment to Warden Fischer or even Wallace, she knew how they’d respond. They hated people like her, who still felt compassion. Believing she was weak or misguided made it easier to cope with the difficult decisions they had to confront almost daily, helped justify their callousness. But she didn’t care what they said. Was it so bad to be worried about the safety and survival of a fellow human being? People weren’t pawns….
And yet she understood the need, on occasion, to use them as such. Police and prison officials had to have some way of fighting the gang problem. Recent estimates suggested seventy percent of the prison population was affiliated with a gang. They couldn’t allow the Hells Fury to gain any more power than they already possessed. If the “good guys” didn’t do something, something like this, how else would the HF be stopped? Getting convictions required information, and there weren’t a lot of gang members who’d talk. They knew what would happen if they did.
Propping her foot on the couch, Peyton surfed through several channels on TV, but nothing held her interest. So she tossed the remote aside and grabbed her cell phone instead.
“Redwood Inn.” It was Michelle. Peyton recognized her voice.
“Hey, it’s me. You’re still there? I thought you’d be off.”
“My assistant manager called in sick. But I bet he’s fine. He wasn’t happy that I scheduled him, said he had a lot to do around the house. I think this is his way of getting back at me.”
“Sorry, kiddo.”
“Lee has the kids today, too. I could’ve had a few hours to myself for a change. But I’ll live. What’s going on with you? I tried to reach you last night but you didn’t answer.”
“I twisted my ankle, so I took some painkillers and went to bed.” She’d actually gone back to the prison, pulled the arrest history of every inmate she suspected of being a member of the Hells Fury and made notes she hoped would be helpful to Virgil and the investigation. But she couldn’t tell Michelle that.
“How’d you hurt your ankle?”
Peyton’s mind flashed to that moment when Virgil had hauled her out of his shower. “Climbing the stairs to my front door.”
“Those stairs are so steep,” Michelle complained. “They’re dangerous.”
But they provided an incredible view of the sea. Peyton loved her small, cabinlike home, and the deck was her favorite part of it. “They’re fine as long as you watch where you’re going.”
“Are you on crutches?”
“Not quite.”
“So will you be coming to dinner?”
“Dinner’s still on?”
“Of course.”
“What did Jodie and Kim say?”
“Jodie’s fighting with her ex and doesn’t feel she can leave the kids. But Kim’s coming.”
Peyton wanted to say she’d go. But she couldn’t take the time, not when she only had three days to prepare Virgil. She got the impression that Wallace planned to toss him inside and let him learn it all from the ground up, but she felt Virgil’s stint at Pelican Bay could be shortened if she gave him a crash course on who was who inside the Hells Fury and what to expect from them. Now that she was in charge of the investigation, at least the on-site part, she had every reason to make sure it ran smoothly, and that was what she intended to do. Skinner wouldn’t be killed on her watch.
“I wish I could, but I should stay off my ankle. I’m behind at the prison, anyway, and had to bring some paperwork home with me.”
“You work too hard, you know?”
“That’s what it takes.”
“Come on, I can’t believe you’re bailing out.”
Knowing how much Michelle counted on the escape their evenings provided, Peyton felt a twinge of guilt. But she wouldn’t be good company. Not tonight. She was too distracted, too caught up in what would be happening at the prison on Tuesday. “I’m sorry.”
“Okay. We’ll miss you, but—” Michelle sighed “—I guess it’s not a big deal.”
“Have fun.”
“We will. Someone just walked in. I have to go.”
“Wait—will you put me through to Rick Wallace’s room?”
“Mr. Wallace is gone.” Michelle sounded surprised.
Wincing, Peyton lowered her foot to the carpet. “He left? Already?”
“You thought he’d stay for the weekend?”
“He told me he might.”
“Nope. Checked out this morning. But he said he’d see me in a few days, if that helps.”
Peyton remembered the groceries Virgil had brought into his room last night. Maybe Wallace had left, but Virgil
was still around. “Fine. Try room fifteen instead.”
“You got it.”
There was a click and the phone began to ring.
After five rings, Peyton expected her call to transfer to an automated message service, but then she heard a gruff hello.
“Hey,” she said.
A moment of silence ensued. “Is this my new friend?” he asked at length.
“Your new…work associate for lack of a better term. But don’t pretend you can’t use a friend. What are you doing?”
“Just got out of the shower.”
Although she tried to banish the image, she pictured him standing at the nightstand in a towel—or maybe nothing at all. “You slept in?”
“Went hiking.”
Leaning her head back against the sofa, she stared up at her wood-plank ceiling, stained a beautiful mahogany color, and the fan that hung from one of the rafters. “How do you like the area?”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” Peyton smiled as she imagined Virgil experiencing the redwoods for the first time. “What are your plans for this afternoon?”
“I’ve got a TV.”
He’d probably had a TV in prison and would again, as long as he behaved himself. “Get dressed. I’m coming to get you.”
“Because…?” He sounded genuinely confused.
“We’ve got work to do.”
“Chief Deputy Adams—”
“Yes?”
“It’d be better if you just…let me do my thing.”
She toyed with the ends of her hair. “Why’s that, Mr. Skinner?”
“There’s no reason for you to invest in what’s going to happen.”
Leaning forward, she smoothed the area rug that covered this part of the hardwood floor. “There is if it’s happening at my prison.”
“But what I’m doing…it isn’t really under your jurisdiction. I thought you understood that. The meeting at the library…it was just Wallace’s attempt to be diplomatic. A courtesy.”
“I realize the department’s calling the shots on this, but I’m responsible for you while you’re at Pelican Bay.” Getting up, she hobbled toward her bedroom, which wasn’t easy to reach with a swollen ankle. It was at the bottom of a narrow, winding staircase, like a cabin one might find on a boat. “Besides, you’re investing in it, aren’t you?” she said. Did he truly think he should do it alone?
“I have a compelling reason.”
“Making sure an undercover operative for the Department of Corrections doesn’t get killed is my compelling reason. From Tuesday on, I’ll be responsible for you. I’m sorry if you’ve got a problem with that, but I plan to do my job.”
He cursed under his breath. “You shouldn’t be working at a prison.”
Tired of hearing that comment, in one form or another, from almost everyone she met—You work at a prison? I didn’t know they hired women like you. The guys must love you—Peyton injected irritation into her voice. “Why not?”
He didn’t back off. “You already know the answer to that question.”
Clinging to the handrail, she took each stair with caution so she wouldn’t tumble down. “Because I’m a woman?”
“Because you’re a constant reminder of everything a convict’s missing.”
“Really? Is that all I do?”
“All that matters.”
Convicts lived in such a male world, one filled with so much testosterone, they often lost a certain…modern sensibility. Peyton was used to it. But that didn’t mean she liked the discrimination it bred. “Quit with all the sexist bullshit.”
“It’s the truth—from someone who knows. You don’t think half the men in that prison are fantasizing about you when they close their eyes?”
Stopping at the foot of the stairs, she decided to hit back. “Is that what you dreamed about last night?”
When he laughed softly, she knew he wasn’t going to deny it. She also realized she was allowing the conversation to drift into dangerous territory, and tried to reel it back in. “Anyway, last I checked, you weren’t in personnel. So until you take over the country and do away with the Equal Rights Amendment, spare me your opinions on hiring women.”
“I’m not talking about all women.”
“Oh, so you’re not a complete jerk. You’d only refuse the ones you deemed too young or attractive or interesting or…whatever? And how, exactly, would you implement such standards, Mr. Skinner? Who would get to determine which female was too good-looking and which wasn’t? Because if a job is open to one woman, it’s open to all women. Beauty is subjective.”
“Your beauty isn’t.”
As angry as he’d made her, she was also perversely flattered. She wanted him to find her attractive, because she found him to be one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. “So are you interested in getting out of the motel today or not?”
She’d left him nowhere to go with the argument he’d started—she suspected purposely—and he seemed to realize it quickly enough. “What do you have planned?”
She moved into her bedroom and began searching through her closet, trying to decide what to wear. “An educational seminar.”
“There’s only one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“We can’t be seen together.”
“I’ve got that covered. When I get there, I’ll call your room and let the phone ring once. Come around the block. I’ll be waiting in a white Volvo SUV.” She removed the sweats she’d been wearing. “And, Virgil?”
“What?”
“Bring the hat and glasses. Leave the knife at the motel.”
“Sorry,” he said. “The knife goes where I do. It’s not much, but…it’s all I’ve got.”
She supposed he could’ve lied to her and brought it anyway. “Fine, but just so you know, I have plenty of steak knives. If someone attacks you, feel free to use one of mine.”
“You’re taking me to your house?”
Finding the jeans she wanted, she held the phone between her shoulder and ear while putting them on. “Do you know of a better place?”
“Yeah. Here.”
“No. The manager’s a good friend.”
This distracted him. “Is that how you broke into my room? I should sue.”
Peyton couldn’t help smiling at the grumble in his voice. “I got the worst of it. Anyway, I think you have bigger problems to worry about. And she didn’t give me the key. I stole it.”
“Do you still have it?”
“You’re afraid I might come back?”
He hesitated. “Would you want me to have a key to your room?”
Part of her actually wanted to say yes, which was why her voice grew solemn. “I took it back. I said I found it on the floor at a restaurant, and she thought one of the maids accidentally carried it off the premises.” Fortunately, Michelle had been more exasperated than angry so Peyton didn’t have to feel bad for getting a maid in trouble. It would’ve been difficult to place blame, anyway. The smocks were used interchangeably.
“She fell for that?”
“Completely.”
“I should rat you out.”
“If only you could show your face.”
“No one would have to see you come here. We could sneak you in,” he said.
“No. If Michelle saw us, she’d ask all kinds of questions.” Especially if she got a good look at him. “And we can’t go to a restaurant. I’m too familiar to the community, since so many people work at the prison. We’d definitely attract attention.”
“That’s your logic for taking me home?”
She pulled a sweater from its hanger. “That’s it.”
“Peyton—”
His use of her first name took her off guard. Both the inmates and staff at the prison called her Chief Deputy Adams, as he’d done only moments ago. “What?”
“There are people who want me dead. You read t
hat letter, you know what they’re doing to my sister. If they’ve found me, if they’re watching me, they could follow us—”
“They haven’t found you.”
“How do you know?”
Deciding to wear her hair down for a change, she ran a brush through it. “Because you’d already be dead.”
His silence implied that he agreed, but he hadn’t given up arguing with her. “There is one other thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I was just released from prison, remember?”
“I’m not likely to forget.”
“It doesn’t bother you—make you afraid?”
“According to what I’ve been told, you were innocent.”
“That doesn’t mean I remained innocent. You’re the one who suggested I’ve become…warped.”
She remembered the comment she’d made in the meeting. “Have you ever raped or killed a woman, Virgil?” she asked. “No.”
“Would you if you had the chance?”
“I had the chance yesterday, didn’t I?”
She set her brush on the vanity. “Exactly.”
His voice deepened. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you.”
The flutter in her stomach surprised her even more than his unexpected admission. She’d been propositioned by a lot of inmates in her day. She’d reacted with annoyance, revulsion, fear, sometimes amusement, but she’d never felt breathtaking excitement. She couldn’t imagine why she’d feel it now, except that it’d been a long time for her, too. Maybe not fourteen years, but two or three. And since Crescent City offered so little in the way of romantic possibility, the future didn’t seem very promising.
“What you want is a woman, any woman,” she said. “That’s hardly flattering.”
“Maybe not any woman,” he responded.
She grinned at the wry note in his voice. “Humor, from an intense guy like you?”
“When everything’s a matter of life and death you tend to get serious very fast.”
“I understand. I’m serious, too, about bringing down the Hells Fury. That means we need to get to work—and I can’t show you pictures over the phone. I guess we could rent a motel room in a different city, where we wouldn’t have to worry about being spotted, but I don’t see how that would be an improvement. If we’re going to be alone it might as well be here.”
