by Brenda Novak
Unable to resist, she pressed her lips to the most prominent scar she could see, two inches of puckered flesh that looked like a slash on the medusa’s cheek.
She knew he’d felt it when he moved. His hand slid into her hair, holding her face above his so he could see her. “You okay?”
He appeared to be genuinely concerned. “Fine.”
“What are you doing?”
“Just watching you sleep. You seem at peace.”
His lips curved into a smile. “Come here.” Guiding her down next to him, he curled around her and, feeling safe and oddly happy despite all the concerns that waited for her, Peyton let her eyelids grow heavy.
Two hours later, she was awakened by the warm, wet sensation of Virgil’s mouth at her breast. He wanted to make love again. And she didn’t mind being disturbed because the second time was even better than the first.
Reality intruded as rudely as Peyton had feared—and even sooner than she’d expected. The sun was barely burning off the morning mist when she heard the vibration of her cell phone. She’d left it charging on the counter in the kitchen, and if she hadn’t known what that sound signaled, hadn’t become so attuned to it after months of conditioning, she would’ve slept right through the soft buzz, just as Virgil was doing. But she could always hear it, almost anywhere in the house, and she knew that if someone was calling her at seven on a Sunday morning, it was important.
Had something gone wrong at the prison? Considering the rivalry that existed between the Nuestra Family and the Hells Fury, there was a constant threat of violence. Should that occur, whichever associate warden was in charge would call her. Warden Fischer lived in Brookings, Oregon, thirty minutes away. He couldn’t respond as quickly as she could, especially on weekends, when he and his wife often traveled to Portland to see their grandkids.
It’s time for him to retire….
Slipping out of bed, she yanked on the first article of clothing she came across on the floor—her T-shirt—and hurried out of the room to see who was trying to reach her. But when she saw caller ID she didn’t want to answer.
The good news: it wasn’t the prison.
The bad news: it was Wallace.
Afraid he’d insist on talking about Virgil, she was tempted to let his call transfer to voice mail. It might help her respond in a more detached manner if she learned what Wallace wanted before speaking to him directly. But the fear that he might be calling about Virgil’s sister, to tell her something terrible had happened, made her hit the answer button despite her reluctance.
“We have a problem,” Wallace announced as soon as she said hello.
The hair stood up on her arms. “Is it Virgil’s sister?”
“No. Laurel and the kids are okay. For now. But I need to talk to Virgil, and he’s not answering.”
Because she’d brought him to her house and had sex with him. She’d compromised her authority, if not her integrity, which was why the department wouldn’t approve. She’d told herself she was doing it for him, that sometimes human need trumped rules, but the fact remained that she’d wanted what they’d shared just as badly as he had. “Maybe he went for a walk.”
“I’ve been trying his room for the past three hours. You think he got up at three or four o’clock to go out in the dark, foggy night and get some exercise?”
Guilt wasn’t a burden Peyton was used to carrying. Chafing under the weight of it, she climbed onto one of the bar stools. “It’s possible he couldn’t sleep. Or that he’s sleeping so deeply he can’t hear the phone.”
“No way. I’ve let it ring off the hook.”
A noise from behind told her that Virgil had gotten up and come to investigate, but she didn’t turn to face him. Now that she was back in her other world, the “real” world so managed by rules and restrictions, she wasn’t sure how she felt about what they’d done. Or him.
“I’m afraid he’s skipped,” Wallace said. “And if that’s the case, I’m screwed.”
“He wouldn’t skip.”
“If he has—”
“He wouldn’t,” she repeated. “He cares too much about his sister.”
“Oh, yeah? We’ll see. Most inmates only care about themselves. Anyway, I need you to drive over there and find out what the hell is going on. I won’t be some stupid-ass patsy he’s using for his own purposes. My wife and I had a huge fight when I had to leave last night. She’s sick of me traveling. But I left, anyway, because I’d made a promise.”
That wasn’t the only reason he’d braved his wife’s displeasure. Feeling a measure of contempt for his self-deceit, Peyton couldn’t let him forget his interest in what Operation Inside could do. “And you want to deliver a devastating blow to the Hells Fury, right?”
“Of course! Someone’s got to do something before our whole society goes to hell.”
This probably had more to do with boosting his career than saving society, but she’d said enough.
“I don’t like being played for a fool,” he muttered.
“Skinner isn’t playing you for a fool.”
“How can you be sure? You don’t know him even as well as I do! So why are you defending him?”
God, it was already starting—her inability to hide that she had a personal interest in Virgil’s well-being. She’d always been far too transparent.
Telling herself to at least try to be more subtle, she glanced over her shoulder and saw the man in question wearing nothing but his jeans, quickly donned and still unbuttoned, and an inscrutable expression. “I’m just saying he seemed committed. But I’ll drive over and call you when I get there.”
“You do that,” he said.
Although Peyton was certain Wallace had disconnected, she pressed the end call button three times, even dialed her own voice mail to be sure. She couldn’t take any chance that he might overhear her talking to Virgil.
“Laurel’s okay?” Virgil asked.
She could tell he was worried. There was so much more at stake here than their attraction to each other. “From what Wallace tells me, she’s fine. But there are some…complications. He wants to talk to you.”
“Which means we have to go back to the motel.”
“That would be best, yes.” They could wait fifteen minutes and have him use her cell phone, as if she’d just arrived at his room. But she didn’t suggest that because she knew she couldn’t continue to spend time with him. Last night scared her. It showed her how easily she could come to care about him—more than she already did.
When he made no move to get his shirt and shoes, she looked up.
“Just tell me one thing,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Do you regret what happened last night?”
She hated having to lie to everyone about it. She hated thinking she might’ve made a terrible mistake, because she didn’t typically make mistakes. Not like this one. And she knew seeing him go inside on Tuesday would be so much harder on her now than it would’ve been had she kept her distance. Did all of that add up to regret?
When she didn’t answer right away, he said, “Forget it.”
“Virgil—”
“Let’s get out of here.” He left the kitchen as she stood there, hovering indecisively about what to do next. The only way to recover and still be the same woman she’d always been was to pretend last night had never taken place, and to treat him in a strictly professional manner from here on out.
But that wouldn’t be easy. She knew she’d never forget the way he’d touched her. For all his tattoos and scars and prison mentality, even his lack of experience with sex, he was the best lover she’d ever had. Just looking at him reminded her how lonely she’d been since coming to Crescent City. That loneliness would go deeper after such fulfilling intimacy. But another tumble in bed would only undermine what she wanted to believe about herself, would only postpone the inevitable.
They were better off trying to prepare for the future. He had a debt to pay society, one that could cost him
his life. And she had to lock him up two days from now.
12
The drive to town seemed interminable. There was so much Peyton wanted to say—and yet she couldn’t find the right words. She and Virgil both sat staring straight ahead, as if the attraction that had compelled them to be together now tore them apart with equal force.
Peyton hated the change. She didn’t want what had happened between them to end this way. But she couldn’t pretend she’d be willing to let the relationship progress, couldn’t hold on to him for fear of where it might lead. He was the first man in a very long time to capture her interest, but she knew he wouldn’t be flattered if she told him that. He’d expected her to balk at some point, to escape the risk associated with him, and now she’d done that. His anger made her feel rigid and judgmental and selfish—all the things she didn’t want to be.
But she had the right to look out for herself, didn’t she? She’d known from the beginning they couldn’t have anything beyond a professional relationship.
She glanced over at him, his face an implacable mask. His defenses had snapped into place the moment he asked if she regretted being with him and she hadn’t been able to answer. He’d withdrawn so completely she doubted she could reach him again even if she tried. That caused an odd sense of loss, which added confusion to the already jumbled emotions churning in her gut.
“I know you’re worried about Laurel, but you shouldn’t be.” She broke the silence with what she hoped would provide some reassurance. “Wallace isn’t my favorite person, but I believe he’ll try his best to keep her safe.”
“He’ll be sorry if he doesn’t.”
The steely determination behind those words frightened Peyton. She didn’t want him to do anything that might land him in worse trouble—which proved she was making the right choice by backing away. He couldn’t divorce himself from all the experiences that made him who he was or the responsibilities that forced his hand, and neither could she.
“You can’t think like that,” she said.
His eyes cut to her, and for the briefest moment she remembered the tenderness with which he’d touched her last night. Not that any of that tenderness showed now.
She adjusted the position of her hands on the wheel. “What?”
He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. That look was enough. He was telling her to mind her own business.
“Just because I’m not willing to ruin my life by getting any more…involved with you doesn’t mean I don’t care about you,” she blurted out.
A muscle flexed in his cheek—evidence of some strong emotion. “I never asked you to care about me. Last night was nothing. We got off a few times. That was it.”
His response felt like a slap in the face. She’d honestly wanted to be with him, not anyone else. That made it more than a purely physical encounter. “So I was just a piece of ass? Your last hurrah before going back inside?”
“First and last.”
She shot him a dirty look. “Thanks for making me feel cheap.”
“You’re the one who did that.”
“You know what our situation is. I don’t have any choice.”
He took a deep breath before hitting her with a penetrating stare. “That’s true. So stay away from me in the future.”
“Your gratitude astounds me.”
“I didn’t ask you for any favors.”
“And I didn’t do you one. I was…sincere, Virgil. I—”
“Stop it. We were never meant to be friends.” He shifted his attention to the window until she pulled to the curb at the usual place. She thought he’d walk off without even a goodbye, but he turned back at the last second, removed the medallion that hung around his neck on a leather cord and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked in surprise.
“The strap it hangs on is the only thing I’ve ever made.”
The pain in her chest grew more acute. After what he’d just said, after feeling his frustration and anger, she hadn’t expected this and didn’t know how to take it. “Why are you giving it to me?”
“Why not display a token of my admiration along with everyone else’s?” he said. Then he shut the door and walked off.
The medallion was a Spanish coin from 1739. She had no idea where he’d gotten such a rare object, but she guessed it would’ve been worth quite a bit—which, once again, showed that he didn’t think like most people, didn’t value the same things.
The coin’s monetary value meant nothing to her, either. What mattered was that it was still warm from the heat of his chest.
Because of that, she couldn’t help pressing it to her own.
Laurel paced the living room of the old, two-bedroom house where Rick Wallace had taken her, pausing every few minutes to part the drapes and peer out at the street. As it approached eight, traffic increased, even though it was Sunday. The long night was over, but that didn’t make her feel any better.
“Stop worrying,” Wallace said for the umpteenth time, but he was one to talk. He’d just about worn a hole in the linoleum of the kitchen.
“They could’ve followed us,” she responded. “We might not be any safer here than we were in Florence.” They’d driven three hours to reach this 1920s brick house in the small ranching community of Gunnison, but that didn’t feel far enough.
He scowled at her. “No one followed us because no one saw us leave. No one was around when I went to your door.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“You said yourself that you’d just called the police, that they checked the house, the yard and the street.”
“But it took a while to gather our belongings. I didn’t know you were coming, so I wasn’t prepared. The men in that Ford Fusion could’ve returned while we were packing. They could’ve been hidden by trees or some other parked vehicle and watched us load up, then followed us when we drove away.”
Rubbing a hand over his face, he cursed under his breath. “Quit spooking yourself.”
“If you’d been around when that man showed up with a gun…when he pointed it at Mia…” Fighting tears of exhaustion and disappointment, Laurel swallowed hard. “He got into my house without making a sound. And he wouldn’t have hesitated to pull that trigger if he’d thought we were worth more to him dead.”
“Then it’s a good thing I came when I did.” Wallace wasn’t any happier to be here than she was. He’d made it clear that he wasn’t used to such duties, had no patience with them. It hadn’t helped that her children had frayed his nerves by whining on the long drive. Amid all the chaos, Wallace had tried to explain who he was and why he was bringing her here. He’d said that a U.S. marshal would be taking over soon, but she wasn’t sure what it all meant. Wallace had told her she’d never be able to take her kids back home—was that true?
She couldn’t even conceive of it. What about her job as a janitor at the hospital? Her house? Her friends? She hadn’t been in Florence long enough to put down many roots. She’d moved there just eleven months ago, shortly after they transferred Virgil from USB Tucson to ADX Florence, but she had more there than anywhere else. She couldn’t imagine disappearing without saying a word to the people she’d met. Trinity Woods, the woman who babysat Mia and Jake while she worked had probably already arrived to find them gone. Although Laurel had wanted to call her, to tell her not to come, Trinity had shut off her cell phone service in order to save money.
“This can’t be happening,” she muttered.
“Oh, it’s happening, all right,” Wallace said. He claimed she was going into the Witness Protection Program, but until now WITSEC, as he called it, had had no relevance to her life beyond what she’d seen on TV. She’d never dreamed she’d be adopted into it herself. Her husband had been as physically abusive as the stepfather her mother had killed. She’d reported him and he’d spent a few months in jail, but the cops hadn’t been able to do much more to help her. Now, after she’d worked through that problem mostly on her own, they were
whisking her away, promising a new identity?
Wallace slumped into a chair. “Where are the kids?”
“In bed.” He hadn’t noticed? They’d been asleep more than an hour, but it hadn’t been easy to get them settled down. They didn’t understand why they’d been carted off in the middle of the night. Mia had had an earache—hence, the whining. Her complaints had upset Jake and made him cranky, as well.
“Maybe after a few years I can go back,” she said.
“You’d be a fool to take that chance.”
But she’d already started over and she liked Colorado.
The fact that her mother wouldn’t be able to contact her was actually a relief. The same held true for her ex-husband, who’d threatened her numerous times even after his stint in jail and had only calmed down in the past few months, since he got a new girlfriend. But there were other people. People she’d miss. Melanie at work was one example. She’d been a good friend.
“Do you think they got to Virgil?” she asked. “Do you think he’s dead?”
Wallace stared up at her. “You know what I think.”
He’d explained Virgil’s gang ties. She hadn’t wanted to believe him, but she knew in her heart that what he said was true. Virgil had been so angry in the early years. He’d been determined to rail against the system any way he could.
None of that had helped his cause, of course. It’d only made things worse.
“He didn’t run off.” She’d said that before but Wallace didn’t believe her. “He’d never abandon me.”
“If he’s returned to The Crew and made nice, he’d have no reason to fear for your safety.”
“But he wouldn’t be free. Not really. He must want to get out, away from them, like he told you, or he wouldn’t be doing this.”
Skepticism etched a deep frown in his face. “He’s loyal, isn’t he?”
“To a fault,” she responded.
