The rhythm of their lovemaking escalated so fast they were out of breath within seconds. Then it was over as suddenly as it had begun and he withdrew as if he didn’t care any more about her than if he’d used a blow-up doll.
Stunned by such intensity followed by…nothing, she fixed her clothes while waiting to see if he’d say anything. Or kiss her. Or hold her. Or coax her to the bed.
He didn’t. He went into the bathroom without so much as a “thanks for the quick piece of ass” and closed the door.
He’d done this on purpose, she realized. He wanted her to hate him. And, in that moment, she did.
What the hell had he just done?
Cringing as the outside door banged shut, Virgil stared at the haggard image looking back at him in the bathroom mirror. He wanted to go after Peyton, to apologize, even beg her forgiveness. But he wouldn’t let himself. He deserved to have her go, would deserve it if she never spoke to him again. There wasn’t any point in pursuing her, anyway. She couldn’t possibly want him in her life, especially now. He’d acted no better than the other inmates he’d served time with—which, in a perverse way, was exactly what he’d been aiming for. He didn’t have anything to offer her. He needed to understand that and so did she.
He’d made his point. But he felt terrible about it.
“You’re a complete asshole, like she said,” he muttered, and splashed some water on his face before slumping against the wall. Did he really think that little power play could diminish her, make her any less than she was? That the harshness of his actions could obliterate how he’d begun to feel about her?
Not really. He didn’t want Peyton to matter as much as she did, so he’d taken steps to ensure that she stayed out of his life. It wasn’t fair to encounter someone like her when he was at such a loss, not after everything he’d been through. He wished he could relegate her to a different part of his brain or scare her away entirely. When he was bucking against her, telling himself he’d been using her from the start, it seemed to be working. He lost himself in lust and anger, had actually believed, for a few seconds, that he’d stamped out every other thought or feeling.
But in that final moment, he’d reached for her breast and felt something else, as well—something that let him know he hadn’t won the battle he was waging. The regret that’d washed over him then had left him feeling worse than ever.
She hadn’t put his medallion in a glass case with all her other keepsakes. She was wearing it.
15
John Hutchinson watched Peyton hustle away from the Redwood Inn Motel. He didn’t have to worry that she’d notice him. She wasn’t paying attention to anything except what was right in front of her.
Was she upset? Looked that way. She was jogging despite her sore ankle, even though he’d seen her favoring it an hour or so earlier. It could be the rain goading her on, of course. But he got the impression it was more than that.
What had happened at the motel? Who had she gone to see? And why hadn’t she parked in the lot? There were plenty of spaces….
She didn’t want anyone to know she’d been there. That had to be the reason. John couldn’t think of any other explanation.
Trailing her at a distance, he saw her round the corner and get into her car, which sat in front of a dark house one street over. That she’d walk a block on a bad ankle in wet weather was weird and definitely confirmed what his sister had told him—something was up.
Good thing he’d dropped in at a friend’s place before coming here or he never would’ve seen Peyton. Because he knew Wallace normally stayed at this motel, he’d stopped by to talk to Michelle. He thought she might be able to tell him about Wallace’s mystery companion. But he hadn’t expected Peyton to show up. When she’d sent him off, she’d used the excuse that she had a lot of work to catch up on. She hadn’t said a word about going out.
Yet here she was….
Did her visit have anything to do with that strange text she’d received from Wallace? About someone named Skinner? What did it mean?
John clung to the shadows of a neighboring house until Peyton drove away. Then he returned to the motel.
As he walked into the lobby, the bell sounded over the door. Michelle glanced up with a “customer service” smile, a smile that became noticeably more personal when she recognized him. “Hey, handsome. What are you doing here?”
He didn’t have any trouble getting Michelle—unlike Peyton—to respond to him. But he wasn’t really flattered by her attention. People who were that obvious in their loneliness came off as desperate. “Came by to say hello. What’ve you been up to lately?”
“Not much. Working. Taking care of my kids.”
Did she not realize that wasn’t particularly interesting? “Busy, huh?”
She smoothed the smock she had to wear as if she felt a bit self-conscious about the stain on the front. “Always. What about you? Everything okay at the prison?”
“That’s what I’m wondering.”
“What do you mean? Are you worried about what happened a couple weeks ago?”
She was referring to that fight he broke up. As much as he hated the fact that everyone knew, it’d been the talk of the town. Most casual acquaintances would be careful not to mention it, but she wasn’t very tactful.
“No. There’s nothing to worry about because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“And everyone knows that,” she hurried to assure him.
The investigative lieutenant of ISU didn’t seem too convinced or the issue would’ve been resolved by now, but he didn’t want to discuss it, especially with someone like Michelle who said whatever came into her head. So he guided the conversation where he’d wanted it to go in the first place. “My sister told me Wallace was in town this week.”
“Only for one night.”
“What about the guy who was with him?”
“He hasn’t gone anywhere. He’s in room fifteen, if you want to talk to him.”
John had taken a risk assuming his sister was right and it had paid off. Wallace hadn’t asked someone to join him once he was at Raliberto’s. He’d had a companion to begin with, someone he’d brought to Crescent City. And Peyton knew that. Although he hadn’t noticed her in time to see which room she’d been in, he now felt quite confident it was room fifteen.
Why had she lied to him? And was this person associated with that odd text about someone dying? See if you can settle him down… Who—this guy?
“What’s his name?” he asked Michelle.
“Don’t know,” she replied with a shrug. “Room’s booked under the department, and I haven’t met him. I haven’t even seen him, to tell you the truth.”
“He hasn’t come out?”
She frowned as she shook her head. “Not on my shift.”
“What about the maids? Have they seen him?”
“I haven’t asked.” She got a funny look on her face. “Why are you so interested in this guy? Wallace will be back next week, if that helps. He reserved a room for Tuesday.”
This was news, too. Wallace wouldn’t return so soon unless he had important business. And whatever it was, Peyton wouldn’t talk about it. She’d even lied to cover it up.
This wasn’t about that scumbag pedophile he’d bashed in the head. It was bigger. A lot bigger.
As soon as she got home, Peyton threw her keys on the counter without bothering to see where they landed, pulled her cell phone from her purse and plopped onto the couch.
Allowing Virgil to use her proved she was in over her head. Where was her self-respect? She’d never had an illicit relationship with anyone before, hadn’t even slept with the C.O. she’d briefly dated after he’d given his notice. But she couldn’t seem to maintain any distance when it came to Virgil and that scared her. She had to change that, do whatever was necessary to get a grip on her behavior. And the only way she figured she’d be successful was to confess.