“Anything.”
“You got a car, right?” He had to have some type of transportation; he’d mentioned driving. “I have borrowed a vehicle, yes, Mr. Skinner.”
Virgil couldn’t help laughing. Stealing a car was a hell of a way to go legit, but he knew Rex didn’t have many options, and if he gave the car back when he was done with it, maybe they wouldn’t add that to the list of charges against him if he was caught. What he’d done at the safe house had been done to protect a woman and two children. If he wasn’t the one who killed the marshal, he could probably clear up his legal troubles without having to serve too much time.
“My…woman hasn’t shown up here and I’m getting worried that—”
“Your woman?” he interrupted. “Damn, you move fast.”
“Just making up for lost time. Will you check on her for me?” he asked, and gave Rex directions to Peyton’s house.
32
Peyton wasn’t sure exactly what drew her attention. One minute she was happily stuffing a change of clothes into a small overnight case, eager and excited to see Virgil. The next she felt a trickle of fear slide down her spine like a cold, wet hand, leaving goose bumps in its wake. It might’ve been a creak or a rustle that didn’t sound like the usual settling noises. Whatever set her off hadn’t been big because she couldn’t identify it. She just had the impression that she was no longer alone.
Standing over the bag she’d been packing, she listened more carefully. She was imagining things, wasn’t she? Virgil had been frightened for her, hadn’t wanted her to be out by herself. But surely The Crew wouldn’t be able to find out where she lived and come after her this fast.
Or maybe they could….
She glanced at the bed, the nightstand, the floor, searching for her cell phone, even patted the pockets of the jeans she’d just pulled on before remembering—she’d left it in her purse out in the Volvo. At least she had the home phone. She hurried around the bed to the nightstand and dialed 9-1-1, but before the operator could come on, footsteps, moving on the floor above her, nearly made her pee her pants. She didn’t want to be trapped in her bedroom, with nowhere to run and no way to defend herself. There wasn’t even a door to the outside down here, or a window that opened. She’d either have to break the glass overlooking the sea and figure out how to scramble through it, or she’d have to get out the way she’d gotten in—by the stairs.
Then she heard a different sound, this one much closer, and realized the stairs weren’t an option. Someone was already coming down them. She could see a man’s tennis shoes and denim-covered legs just before a tatted hand came into view gripping a giant knife.
“Emergency Services. Can you give me the nature of your emergency, please?”
She gulped for enough air to be able to talk. “There’s a man in my house!” she screamed.
The second he found her, Shady grabbed the handrail and used it to support himself so he could jump the rest of the stairs. He was hoping to reach the chief deputy before she could get the door shut, but he didn’t make it. Dropping the phone, she darted forward and managed to slam and lock the door as he landed. Which only enraged him. Now he wanted to kill her just for trying to resist. And he would. He had her cornered. All he had to do was get through one flimsy barrier.
“Hey, Virgil sent you a surprise,” he called out. “He wants me to show you what it feels like to be raped in the ass like some of those stupid bastards in that prison you run.” He’d been one of those bastards once. Years ago. The “jocker” who’d used him actually looked a lot like Virgil, but the similarities ended there. Shady had never known Virgil to have a homosexual relationship. Somehow, he’d always managed to defend himself even though he’d gone to prison at a younger age than Shady had, and that made Shady hate him all the more.
Spurred on by his desire to outdistance those memories, he hit the door again. This bitch thought she could keep him out? She was crazy. He’d get in. The door was already beginning to splinter. She didn’t understand who she was dealing with, didn’t know that he was obliterating Virgil when he obliterated her. And, fortunately, he could batter the door all day because he didn’t feel any pain.
“The police are on their way!” she shouted. “Get out of here—unless you want to spend the rest of your life in prison.”
Briefly, his mind flashed back to Where the Red Fern Grows, a book given to him by his fifth-grade teacher and probably the only one he’d ever read from start to finish. In it, the boy caught a raccoon by putting a shiny piece of tin or something—he couldn’t remember exactly what—in a homemade trap. When the raccoon reached in to take the object, he couldn’t get his hand out. The animal could escape if he let go of what he wanted, but he wouldn’t….
Was he making the same mistake? Maybe. But he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he walked away at this point; his self-esteem couldn’t tolerate such a defeat.
Lowering his shoulder, he crashed into the door yet again and heard a loud pop as it gave way.
When Rex found Peyton’s cabin, her car was parked in the drive. Everything looked fine. Skin was probably worried about nothing. But as long as he was here, he might as well let her know that Virgil was concerned about her, that he’d been trying to reach her. Maybe her cell phone had died and she’d forgotten to charge it….
He pulled in behind her car and got out. But just as he reached the stairs, he heard a woman scream from inside.
Son of bitch! Yanking his gun from the waistband of his jeans, he took the steps two at a time. But before he could get to the landing, a gunshot rang out from the forest.
Shocked, he crouched low and peered through the slats of the handrail, hoping to see who was out there, when another shot went off. And this time he felt a searing pain in his chest and the hand that held his gun went numb.
Two gunshots sounded outside, seconds apart, making Peyton wonder if she really wanted to escape the house. What was going on? Were the police having a standoff with The Crew? If so, she didn’t want to walk into the middle of it. She couldn’t get out, anyway. She’d thrown everything she could at the window with little success. Anyone who was here to help her would have to come inside. She’d managed to crack the safety glass in a few places by swinging a lamp at it, but she hadn’t had enough time to actually make a hole.
She still held the lamp—which was her only weapon—but as soon as the door broke open she had to turn and face her intruder. It was Shady, The Crew leader Virgil had told her about. His name was tattooed on his arm.
Although briefly tempted to make a mad dash for the small bathroom attached to her bedroom, that door didn’t have a lock. It wouldn’t take a man more than a few seconds to force it open. And if she allowed him to corner her in there, she’d have no room to maneuver, wouldn’t even be able to swing the lamp. Her only hope was to get around him and up the stairs—but she couldn’t imagine how she’d do that when he stood in the doorway, blocking her path.
“What a pleasant surprise.” He gave her an appreciative smile. “You’re not butt-ugly, after all.”
Chest heaving with fear and adrenaline, she held the lamp at the ready. “Stay away from me!”
“Leave it to Virgil to get himself a piece of that.” He licked his lips as he looked her up and down. “You can’t say he doesn’t have good taste.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re not puttin’ out for Skin?”