“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.”