by Brenda Novak
“Exactly my point. These guys, probably even the one with the firearm, are as much family to him as you are. Could be he’s decided he can’t live without them. It’s a cold world with no friends.”
She was lonely herself. They had only each other, which was why he had to be okay. “He’s got me,” she said, stubbornly refusing to doubt. “He’ll always have me. And he’s tired of fighting.”
“Why would he be tired of it? That’s all he’s ever known.”
“He never fought unless he was attacked.”
Wallace didn’t seem to care that he was upsetting her. He was just as worried, just as agitated. “When you’re the man everyone else wants to knock off the top of the heap, you become a target. But he did more than protect himself. He made all comers pay.”
She folded her arms to shield herself against his negativity as well as the cold. According to what Wallace had said on the way into town, Gunnison saw the sun almost every day of the year, yet it occasionally had some of the lowest temperatures in the nation. Today felt like one of those days. “Then that’s what he had to do. Anyway, if he made a deal with you, he’ll keep it.”
Wallace checked his cell phone for messages before setting it on the table beside him. “We’ll see, won’t we? He’s not in his motel room. There’s got to be a reason.”
Wringing her hands, she made another pass around the room. “The Crew must’ve found him.”
“They couldn’t find him, not unless he called them. It’s not as if they have high-tech equipment like the FBI, for God’s sake.”
She pivoted to face him. “And yet the FBI can’t stop The Crew.”
He opened his mouth, apparently prepared to continue arguing, when his phone rang. Grabbing it off the table, he jumped to his feet. “Hello?…There you are! Where the hell have you been?…In the middle of the night?…No, she’s fine. The Crew’s been watching her, following her, but I got her and the kids out without being seen…. I’m sure of it…. Because she’s been dying to talk to you…. Just a minute.” Looking relieved, he handed her the phone. “It’s your brother.”
Laurel’s heart raced as she pressed Wallace’s cell phone to her ear. She’d been so terrified that Virgil had been kidnapped or killed. A surge of gratitude swept through her; at the same time she tensed with the knowledge that the worst could still happen. “Virgil?”
“Laurel, you okay?”
The tears she’d been holding back streamed down her face. Reluctant to let Wallace see her fall apart, she took her usual place by the window and stared out at the street. “I’m alive. I guess that means I’m okay.” She made an effort to control the trembling in her voice. “What’s going on? I’ve been so worried about you!”
“I’m sorry.”
The regret in those words made it difficult for her to blame him. He’d been through so much.
“I knew this would be hard on you,” he went on. “But you have to trust me. There’s no other way.”
“When will I see you?”
“I don’t know. As soon as I can fulfill my assignment.” What, exactly, was his “assignment”? Wallace had been vague about that. He’d said Virgil was helping the government take down a dangerous gang, a different gang than the one to which he’d belonged. But Laurel couldn’t imagine one man being so instrumental in that kind of undertaking. Besides, the government couldn’t need him more than she did. She’d waited so long. “Are we talking days or…”
“Most likely months.”
“No, Virgil, please! Don’t do this.”
“Listen to me. There’s no better alternative. And that means you have to soldier on. I need to know you’re safe and well. Do you understand?”
She wiped her cheeks. “But…months?”
“Whatever it takes to set us free.”
He was determined. She heard it in his voice. “Fine. Then where are you? We’ll come there so we can at least visit you.”
“They’re putting me back in prison, Laurel, and you can’t come anywhere close.”
But that wasn’t fair! He’d just been released.
For a moment, she was tempted to strike out at Wallace. He seemed the perfect person to blame, but he was also the man who was trying to keep her safe. She didn’t know what to do. “The nightmare is supposed to be over,” she said. “When will it be over?”
“Someday, okay? Be strong. It’ll be easier on me if I know you’re bearing up under the weight of all this.”
Bearing up? She felt as if she was drowning in disappointment and fear and uncertainty. She’d been regularly beaten by the stepfather her uncle had shot. When her mother received the life insurance money and gave Gary almost half instead of hiring a better lawyer for Virgil, she’d run away. She’d been sixteen and survived on the streets for nearly two years, trying to scratch out a living. Then she’d married a man who’d turned out to be as abusive as her late stepfather. Through it all, she’d fought like crazy to save her brother, to hang on to her sanity and, later, to provide for the emotional and physical needs of her children. How could she continue to bear up when she was so tired?
And yet she couldn’t put her brother through any more than he’d already suffered….
Sliding down the wall to sit against it, she covered her face and struggled to rein in her emotions. “I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s it. I’m proud of you, Laurel.”
“This man I’m with…Rick Wallace. Can I trust him?” She felt Wallace’s eyes boring into the top of her bowed head, knew she wasn’t being polite by talking about him while he was in the room. But she didn’t care. She’d been pushed into survival mode, was well beyond observing common courtesies.
“He’ll take care of you as long as I’m giving him the incentive to do so. If that changes…if something happens to me…you might need to take Mia and Jake and strike out on your own. In that case, go several states away or to the East Coast. If I’m out of the picture, I doubt The Crew will bother with you. But I’ve managed to piss off some very determined people. Don’t take any chances.”
Resting her forehead on her arms, she shut her eyes. How could she start over again? Where would she find the money? She’d never had the opportunity to go to college. Since following Virgil to Colorado, she’d barely eked out a living working at the hospital. When Tom didn’t pay his child support, which seemed like every other month, she could hardly afford groceries. And now that he couldn’t know where they were, even his contribution would be gone.
There were other issues, too. What about ID? She’d need a new identity if she planned to escape The Crew. Was the government going to provide that? Otherwise an everyday P.I. would be able to find her.
Survival had been a part of her life for so long, she knew what it required. But she didn’t mention any of these details. Virgil had enough on his mind. “Wallace doesn’t trust you,” she said. “He believes you’ll double-cross him.”
“He was supposed to stay in his motel room. Anyone would’ve suspected him of taking off,” Wallace said, but she kept her head down and didn’t respond. Virgil was talking.
“If he didn’t have me by the balls, maybe I would.”
“So they’re forcing you to do this?”
“In a way. In another way it’s an opportunity. And it might be my last.”
Scrambling for a sliver of hope to cling to, she tried opportunity on for size. But she’d waited so long for the truth to win out, for her brother to be exonerated, that facing such a big setback made it feel as if their lives would never be their own. “A man showed up at the house,” she said. “With a gun.”
“Mia and Jake—”
“Are fine. He grabbed Mia for a few seconds, put a gun to her head, but…that was it.”
There was a silence, during which she felt his concern and his rage, before he asked, “What’d this man look like?”
“Short. Muscular. Lots of tattoos—maybe a full-body suit because even his face was tatted up. He’d shaved his head but ha
d this little patch of hair growing from his chin—”
“Ink.”
She wiped away the last of her tears. What good did it do to cry? Crying changed nothing. Hadn’t she learned that by now? “That’s what he called himself, yes.”
“What’d he say?”
“He referred to you as Skin, wanted to know if you were getting the flag dirty.”
“Dropping the flag. He was asking if I was bailing out.”
“Of the gang?”
“That’s right. What else?”
Her nose was running, but she was too dejected to head to the bathroom. She sniffed loudly. “He demanded that I tell him where you are.”
“And you said…”
“What could I say? I didn’t know. He gave me a message that you have until noon tomorrow to call someone named Pretty Boy. But that deadline passed yesterday. It’s too late.”
“I wouldn’t have called him, anyway.”
Conscious of Wallace, who was still watching her, she got to her feet, turned her back to him and leaned into the window again. “What will they do?”
“If they find me, they’ll kill me. They’ll kill you, too, if they can. That’s why I need you to do exactly as Wallace says. This isn’t a game. It’s for real. He’ll put you in the Witness Protection Program, give you a fresh start. I know you don’t feel good about that, but it’s our only chance.”
“What about Tom?” she asked.
“Your ex? What about him?”
“The kids will never see their father.”
“He’s no father. He takes them maybe twice a year, sends them a few bucks for Christmas.”
“Still…”
“This is a matter of life and death, Laurel. That outweighs everything else. Everything.”
“But are we talking forever? I don’t want to tell them that.”
“Then don’t. Forever is a long time, baby sister. Let’s get through now. Then we’ll worry about later.”
“Why?” she whispered. “Why is this happening?”
“It’s my fault,” he admitted. “I never realized how my decisions would affect you, never dreamed I’d ever see the day I got out of prison.”
But the fact that he’d been put behind bars wasn’t his fault. They had Ellen and Gary to blame for that. Maybe their mother and uncle hadn’t murdered Martin with the intention of framing Virgil, but they didn’t do anything to stop him from going to prison. Ellen had even testified about the many times Virgil had stood up for Laurel against their stepfather, said Virgil had hated his stepfather and had threatened him on a number of occasions. “This all goes back to Mom and Gary, and what they did.”
A beep sounded, signifying another call. Afraid to let Wallace know someone else was trying to reach him for fear he’d rush her off the phone, she ignored it. “Will we get to talk, stay in touch?”
“Probably not. Don’t write to me, either. If they manage to track me down, I don’t want there to be any link between us.”
That meant she was losing even more than she’d lost before. “But how will we connect when this is all over?”
“Wallace will tell me where you are. I’ll find you. Don’t worry.”
A second beep sounded, and suddenly she wasn’t sure she wanted to stay on the phone any longer. If she broke down again, she’d only make him feel worse. And she was on the verge of more tears. “Another call’s coming in. I’d better go.”
“Laurel?”
“What?”
“I love you,” he said, but she was crying too hard to answer so she passed the phone to Wallace as if she hadn’t heard him.
Wallace told Virgil to hang on and switched to the incoming call. No doubt he was hoping it was the U.S. marshal who was supposed to relieve him so he could return to his family and continue living his safe and predictable life. Laurel envied him that. She also resented his impatience with her and her brother when he had no idea what it was like to walk in their shoes.
“Hello?…This is Rick Wallace…. Say that again?… Damn it! How’d that happen? We told you to go over there…. I know, but it’s so…unnecessary…. The bastards.” He dropped his head, massaging his temples with one hand. “We’re fine. Any witnesses?…What about other evidence?…Whoever it was must have some connection to The Crew…. Of course…. Thanks for letting me know.”
He stared at Laurel as he switched back to the other line. “Virgil? I’m afraid I’ve got bad news.”
Laurel’s first instinct was to check on Mia and Jake. But she could tell from Wallace’s manner that it wasn’t the children. “What is it?” she murmured.
Reaching out, he took her hand. “It’s Trinity Woods.”
“My babysitter?” She had no idea how Virgil was reacting. She couldn’t hear him. But she assumed the name didn’t mean much to him. She’d never mentioned Trinity. Or maybe she’d made some oblique reference in one of her letters.
Wallace shifted from one foot to the other. “Yes.”
And then she knew. The police hadn’t stopped Trinity from going to the house, didn’t get to her in time. Why not? Wallace had called them at least an hour before Trinity was due to arrive, had explained who he was and why it was important that someone intercept her. But maybe he hadn’t put enough urgency in the request. They hadn’t really believed she’d be hurt. No one had any reason to hurt her, not even The Crew. “Don’t tell me…”
“I’m afraid so.”
Laurel began to shake. “She’s been shot?”
He couldn’t quite meet her eyes. “Yes.”
“How badly is she hurt?”
His hand gripped hers tighter, as if he’d warm the blocks of ice that were her fingers, if he could. “She’s more than hurt, Laurel. She’s dead. Someone gunned her down while she was standing on your doorstep.”
13
The woman who was shot could’ve been Virgil’s sister. Only by the grace of God was it someone else. But that someone probably had a family who cared about her just as much as Virgil loved Laurel.
What a tragedy….
Bundled up in a coat and mittens, with her mother’s old quilt draped across her lap, Peyton sat on her deck, letting the wind play havoc with her hair while she stared out to sea. She’d tried to work as a way to distract herself, but once she’d heard from Wallace and learned the news about Trinity Woods, she couldn’t concentrate on anything except what Virgil must be feeling over at the motel—and whether or not he was really safe.
She wanted to go to him, reassure him if she could, maybe even bring him home. She felt she had a professional excuse to do just that. The CDCR wouldn’t want him to renege on the deal.
But she knew in her heart that the real reason for her visit would have little to do with convincing him to keep the bargain he’d made. Whatever there was between them—this…attraction—wasn’t something she seemed capable of conquering. She’d lost the fight yesterday and was in danger of losing again today; she dared not go to him. Once she saw him, all her good intentions could crumble, and if that happened they’d wind up in bed together for the second night in a row. She had to avoid that. It was already going to be difficult to face him on Tuesday, call him Simeon and pretend he meant nothing more to her than any of the other residents of Pelican Bay.
But the thought that he might need someone, might need her, kept chipping away at her resolve.
She was about to go inside out of the wind to call him and offer her condolences when a vehicle pulled into her drive. Living so far from town, she didn’t get many visitors.
The sound of the engine drew her to the edge of the deck to see who’d arrived.
When she recognized the Ford truck, she nearly groaned aloud. It was Sergeant John Hutchinson, a recently divorced C.O. who’d been showing a bit too much interest in her. She liked him. He was nice, and not unhandsome with his sandy-colored hair, hazel eyes and lantern jaw. But he’d been hinting that he wanted to take her to dinner, to a movie, to Mendocino for a play—always something. Other
than accepting an offer to grab a sandwich two weeks ago and permitting him to bring her dinner once last month, she’d politely refused his invitations. She’d already explained that she wouldn’t date anyone who worked at the prison, but he didn’t seem to hear her. And that edict now struck her as absurd. Was it worse to date someone who worked at the prison? Or someone who was going to be incarcerated there?
“Hey!” he called when he saw her leaning over the railing.
She forced a smile. “Hi. What’s going on?”
“I brought you dinner.”
Peyton sighed. She’d allowed him to cook for her once and here he was again.
Pushing down the irritation she felt at his persistence, she descended the stairs to tell him he couldn’t stay. But by the time she reached his truck, he was taking out several foil-covered dishes.
“Wow, you really went to a lot of trouble,” she said when she saw that he’d brought three side dishes, along with a couple of grilled steaks.
“Not too much. I can’t wait for you to try my homemade marinade. It’ll knock your socks off.”
“John, I—”
He must’ve been able to tell by her tone that she was about to explain her position yet again, because he cut her off. “Hey, I know the rules. I’m not hitting on you. It’s just dinner. Friends can bring friends dinner now and then, can’t they?”
But this was the second time he’d done it in four weeks. And her mind was on Virgil, the woman who’d been killed, Laurel, Wallace and the Hells Fury. She wasn’t in the mood for a social call—and yet she had to admit the distraction might be good for her. At least having John over would keep her home. “Of course, as long as you understand—”
“Relax, it’s only dinner,” he broke in. “What happened to your leg?”
“My leg?”
“You were favoring it.”
“Oh, I twisted my ankle.”
“How?”
She went with what she’d told Michelle. “I tripped on the stairs.”
“See? It’s a good thing I came over. You need a little TLC.”
Telling herself he wouldn’t stay long, she helped him carry the food into the kitchen.
