Inside (12 page)

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 had 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.”

T
he 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.

“Pretty Boy called,” Horse told Shady. “Ink iced a woman at Skin’s sister’s house this morning.”

Shady was out in his garage, which he’d finished. The rest of his house was a dump. A weight set filled his living room. But this room was nice. He’d put in a bar along one side, bought a pool table, hung some beer signs and created a place of honor for his antique Harley over in the corner. He’d even poured a large cement pad outside for extra parking. But it was the gun cabinets along the back, and the weapons inside them, that were his pride and joy.

“What’d you say?” Setting aside the Taurus Millennium series PT145 he’d been cleaning, he swiveled from his worktable to face Horse. A giant of a man with a pockmarked face, bulbous nose and shaved head, Horse always made Shady feel like a kid by comparison. Shady had gotten his nickname from his resemblance to the white rapper Eminem; they had the same slight build and forever-young face. His appearance made it difficult for him to be taken seriously, but no amount of weight lifting seemed to change that. Horse, on the other hand, didn’t need to lift. He had bulk in spades. According to Mona, the woman Shady was currently living with, Horse looked mean and stupid. She was right about the mean part. But he wasn’t stupid. He made almost as much off pimping out whores as Shady did selling drugs.

“Ink busted a cap in a woman,” Horse repeated.

Shady wiped his hands on a cloth before tossing it aside. “It’d better be Skin’s sister.”

“It’s not. Laurel was gone by the time they arrived. They think she’s in protective custody.”

“Then what the hell? Why’d they kill someone?”

“Frustration and an itchy trigger finger. Ink said he wanted to let Skin know he’s coming for him.”

“We still don’t have a clue where Skin is?”

“No.”

That answered everyone’s questions, then, didn’t it? Made what Virgil Skinner was doing pretty damn obvious.

Cursing, he shoved the ammunition, gun parts and tools off his worktable as he stood.

Horse didn’t flinch as they hit the floor, but the noise drew Mona, who poked her head into the garage. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Shady could’ve said Martians had landed and she would’ve believed him. She was so stoned she had to hang on to the door frame so she wouldn’t tumble headfirst into the pool table. “Did I ask you to come in here?”

He’d told her he wanted her to look like a Playboy bunny at all times—laughable considering the stretch marks on her stomach and the crooked teeth in her mouth. But he had to give her points for trying. She wore nothing but a black bra, a thong and a pair of high heels.

“What’d you say?” Her words slurred and her body swayed as if she might lose her grip and fall despite her efforts to remain upright.

What a worthless crack whore.
She’d lost all five of her children to Childhood Protection Services, quite a feat even for a bad mother. He only kept her around
because it was nice to have a piece of ass whenever he wanted. She didn’t complain when it got too rough, and she let him pass her to the boys, which he did whenever he wanted to prove that he’d share everything he owned with his Crew brothers.

But he was tired of Mona’s drug habit. “Go inside!” he snapped. “I don’t want to see your ugly face!”

Glassy eyes smudged with mascara, lips stretched into a vacant smile, she stepped back and let the door close as if he’d asked her nicely.

“Any chance you want to take her off my hands?” he grumbled to Horse.

Horse considered the suggestion. “I can put her to work.”

“Take her with you, man. I’m done with her.”

“She got any clothes?”

“Does it matter? She won’t need them where she’s going.”

“She’ll need something to hide her worst features. But I can handle that. What do you want me to tell Pointblank?”

Shady pulled on his soul patch, the only hair he allowed on his body. “Anyone see Ink make the hit?”

“They don’t know for sure. It was a drive-by. Someone might’ve spotted the rental car.”

“They haven’t been arrested, though?”

“Not yet.”

“Have Ink come back as soon as possible.”

Horse shoved his hands in his pockets. “The cops are looking for him around here. That’s why you sent him away.”

“And now they’re looking for him there, too, so it doesn’t improve things if he stays.”

“I don’t think he should be in either place.”

Shady kicked a wrench off his seat. “What do you mean by that?”

“Ink’s becoming too much of a liability. Attracting that kind of attention endangers everybody.”

Horse wasn’t the only one leery of Ink. Ink was crazy enough to frighten them all. “In some ways, he is a liability. In other ways, he’s an asset.”

Pursing his lips, Horse stared at the carpet. “They put the lot of us in prison, who’s gonna take care of business on the outside?”

“It comes to that, we’ll serve him up. We won’t go down because he’s too stupid to know when to keep his pistol in his pants.”

Seemingly satisfied, Horse raised his eyes. “What about Pointblank and Pretty Boy?”

“They stay. Have Pretty Boy find a C.O. by the name of Eddie Glover who works at the prison in Florence.”

Horse walked to the pool table and racked the balls into the plastic triangle. “You think Glover might know where Skin is?”

“If anyone knows what happened to him, it would be Glover. Word is they were pretty damn friendly.”

Studying one cue and then another, Horse decided on a stick. “Skin was friends with a C.O.?”

“Part of his change of heart.” Shady chafed at the fact that he hadn’t been able to convince other members of The Crew that Virgil wasn’t as great as they thought. Virgil was the kind of leader other men naturally followed. But he’d never been one to take orders. He was an independent son of a bitch and refused to back down even when it was in his best interests. That made him difficult to manage and as dangerous to the organization as he was to its enemies. Shady had been worried about Skin ever since he heard Skin might be cleared of
his stepfather’s murder. Who wouldn’t be tempted by a clean break? Skin wasn’t the gang type—not at heart.

Remembering how determined he’d been to walk his own path whether the rest of them liked it or not, Shady shook his head. There’d been times when he’d flat out refused a command. Anyone else who’d done that would’ve been killed. But everyone admired a man who could fight like Skin. They let him slide whenever he acted up because he was so damn good when he did get involved.

“How are they supposed to find Glover?”

“I just told you. He works at the prison.”

“A lot of guys work at the prison. You don’t have his address?”

“I can get it.”

“What about a description?”

“He’s five foot eleven, maybe one hundred and eighty pounds. Red hair cut short. Freckles everywhere. That tell you enough?”

“It should. I know someone on the inside who can get me his shift, which will also help,” Horse said. “But what if Glover won’t talk?”

Shady wasn’t about to let Skin make him look like a fool. He had to prove he deserved the leadership role he’d fought so hard to obtain. “Everybody talks,” he said. “You just have to give them enough incentive.”

The pool balls broke with a loud clatter. “How far do I tell Pointblank to go?”

Wishing he could kill Skin himself, end the rivalry between them the right way, Shady eyed the guns in his cabinets. “Tell him to do whatever it takes.”

“Then maybe Ink should stick around Colorado a while longer, don’t you think?”

“Why?”

“He’s already wanted. Might as well have him do the dirty work.”

See? Horse was smarter than he looked. “Good idea. He can fly home when it’s over.”

“And Laurel?”

“Give me a few days. I’ll find her.”

Horse lined up for another shot. “How?”

“I’m gonna call a private investigator who’s done some work for me in the past.”

Closing one eye, he sent the thirteen rocketing into the left corner pocket. “A private investigator who can gain access to the police world?”

“She can gain access to
any
world,” he said smugly.

“What’s her secret?”

“She doesn’t look like anyone who’d ever be connected to us, and she’s willing to get creative.”

Clearly intrigued, Horse forgot about his solitary game of pool. “Where’d you meet her?”

“She’s a friend of a friend of a friend. Meeting her isn’t the point. Money is. She’ll do anything for the right price.”

“You said she gets creative.”

“She does.”

“How?”

Shady started picking up the objects he’d tossed onto the floor. “You let me worry about that.”

All during dinner Peyton wondered why she couldn’t be more attracted to John. Or not John, exactly—someone
like
him. Someone without any rough edges, someone easygoing and civilized. Shelley, her assistant, thought he was a real heartthrob. The warden’s assistant tittered about him, too. But Peyton felt none
of what they seemed to feel, nothing that compared to the excitement of being with Virgil.

Was it danger that attracted her? Her way of rebelling against the strictures that governed her life? Or was it some kind of self-destructiveness, the tendency that drew some people toward the edge of a cliff?

Trying to make sense of it all, she kept asking herself those questions. But being self-destructive was too simple an explanation. She had no history of falling for bad boys. In fact, the opposite was true. She picked men who fit safe parameters, then tried to feel more than she did.

The problem was, she hadn’t “picked” Virgil, didn’t want to like him more than any other inmate. She just couldn’t help herself. The decisions that had previously been controlled by cognitive function had been lost to instinct and hormones, a far less logical approach to selecting a lover.