As he climbed onto the bed, Mia sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Where are you going?”
Laurel put a finger to her lips. “Shh.”
Her daughter’s eyebrows bunched together. “Why do I have to be quiet?”
“You’re going outside with your brother, okay?” She pulled Mia into her arms. “Stay with him. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“But it’s cold outside!”
“Be quiet!” Laurel snapped.
Someone hit the door at the same time, frightening Mia into silence. Eyes huge, she threw her arms around Laurel and clung tight.
Another blow to the door seemed to shake the whole house. Laurel had no idea what these men would do once they managed to get in, but she didn’t want her children to be there when it happened.
She gestured to her son, who was standing on the bed, staring at her in a terrified trance. “Hurry! Let’s go, Jake.”
Praying that he’d be able to fit, she guided his feet through the opening. Once he was halfway out, she realized he was going to make it, but that brought little relief. She couldn’t tell how much longer the door would hold.
She hung on to Jake until he dropped to the grass. “Mia, now you.” Her cell phone lay tantalizingly close, just beyond her daughter on the bed. She’d call for help just as soon as Mia was out, even though she knew there was almost no chance the police could arrive in time….
“What about you, Mommy?” Mia asked, refusing to let go.
“I’m coming. Go with Jake.”
“No! I want you!”
There was no time to be gentle. Yanking her daughter’s locked hands from around her neck, she grabbed her face. “Yes, go! Now!”
The shock of her response caused Mia to cry.
“Don’t!” Laurel gasped. “They’ll kill you!”
Tears slipped down the girl’s round cheeks, but she made no sound.
“Open this door or you’re dead!” someone screamed from the hallway.
Laurel felt certain it was the man with all the tattoos who’d threatened her before: Ink. The Crew had found her.
“Mommy?” Mia whispered in panic.
Safety. That was all that mattered. She pushed her daughter through the window and, fortunately, Mia didn’t put up a fight.
Laurel watched her children only long enough to see Mia’s feet touch the ground and Jake clasp her hand. Then she closed the window. She didn’t want Ink to know she’d let them into the yard. She hoped he’d be so focused on her he wouldn’t notice their absence until after they got away.
Because of her terror, she lacked the physical strength to close the window tightly enough to latch it. But she did the best she could so they wouldn’t guess it’d been opened. Then she dove for her phone.
She had it in her hand, was already punching in 9-1-1, when the door splintered and crashed against the inside wall.
“He what?” Peyton gaped at Regina Murray, the nurse who’d replaced Belinda Rogers at the shift change.
Regina’s size and mannerisms had always reminded Peyton of the nurse in Stephen King’s Misery. But hard as Regina was to like, Peyton tried to treat her as cordially as possible. “The dumb cluck insisted on being taken back to his cell,” she said, and gestured toward the empty room where Peyton had seen Virgil earlier.
Apparently he’d left shortly after she did, because the room was already clean and ready for the next occupant. “But it’s only been a couple of hours since he was here.”
Regina hugged the chart she held. “I know. I can’t quite figure it out. Most guys will say they’re sick when they’re not just to get in here. It gives them a break from the tedium and a little female attention.”
It wasn’t female attention they wanted as much as prescription painkillers. And Regina was no attraction. Instead of whistling or admiring her, like they did with Belinda, they made unkind comments. I’d rather sleep with my own grandmother….
Peyton was infinitely glad Regina didn’t seem to pick up on that behavior, since there was no way to stop it. At least she tried, by denying privileges to the men who persisted. When she’d first started as a C.O. there was one inmate who’d masturbate in front of her at every opportunity without fear of reprisal because the warden refused to punish him. That’s what you’re gonna get inside a maximum security prison, he’d tell her. Prison officials weren’t quite as accommodating of women sixteen years ago. Most believed they had no place in corrections. There were some who still felt that way.
“But…this fella didn’t want to stay,” Regina was saying. “He claimed to feel just fine.” What he said didn’t matter. Virgil needed the rest, the safety. “Why was he so set on leaving?”
“Who knows? As soon as the doctor stitched him up and X-rayed his hand, he hopped off the table and that was it. We don’t make them stay here against their wishes, not unless it’s imperative to their health.”
Momentarily distracted by mention of the X-ray, Peyton asked, “Is his hand broken?”
“No. Sprained but not broken.”
Was she crazy to have worried so much about him? There’d been all that blood…. “Anything broken?”
“Nothing. He’s tough as nails, that one. He hurt the guys he was fighting as bad as they hurt him,” she added with a chuckle.
That, Peyton had seen for herself. But it made her more apprehensive than happy. Would the Hells Fury launch another attack in an attempt to get even? Had Virgil started a war? Or was he making the kind of inroads he’d set out to make?
It could go either way….
Wishing he’d stayed, at least for the night, she glanced at the empty bed again. “He had a stab wound. That alone should be reason to keep him for a few days.”
Interpreting that comment as criticism, Murray drew herself up to her full five feet ten inches. “Fortunately, the wound wasn’t all that deep.”
“What about the risk of infection?” Peyton pressed.
The chain on her glasses swung as she shoved them higher. “He’s on antibiotics. If he stays out of trouble, he should be fine.”
But Peyton had no confidence Virgil would even try to stay out of trouble—and she definitely didn’t want him getting into another fight while he had such a serious wound. He shouldn’t be in too much of a hurry to get what he wanted or it might backfire. And there’d be no second chance.
“What about Weston?” she asked.
Murray sniffed. If it wasn’t so hard to get and keep medical help, Peyton would’ve replaced her long ago. The inmates were prickly enough. “Went back to his cell, too. They all did. Mr. Anderson left last because he had to wait for Dr. Pendergast to cast his hand.”
So there was one broken bone as a result of the fight. At least it wasn’t Virgil’s.
“Fine. Thanks.”
Dr. Pendergast stopped her on the way out. “Chief Deputy?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad to see you. I think we might have a problem.”
She already had a problem. Several of them. Wallace camping out at her house was one. Virgil injured in a cell with the man who’d caused it was two. The delicate balance she had to maintain in order to squeak through the coming weeks while keeping everyone safe and retaining her job was three. “What kind of problem?”
He motioned for her to join him and together they walked into the inner office. “I heard Weston Jager talking to Doug Lachette.”
“And?”
“I think they’re going after the new guy again.”
“Did you tell Bennett? Did you warn him that he’d better stay here?”
“I tried. I told him he shouldn’t fight again or it’ll rip out those stitches. But we would’ve had to physically restrain him to keep him here, and that didn’t make much sense.”