“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—”