Inside

18

John Hutchinson was the last person Peyton wanted to see, especially now, just before she left the prison. Today she’d worked fewer hours than she normally did, but her long nights over the weekend and the stress of what was going on in both her personal and professional lives seemed to be taking a toll. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this exhausted. Shelley had gone home an hour ago. She wanted to follow her assistant’s example and head out—preferably without speaking to anyone.

But she could tell by the look on John’s face that there was no way to avoid this encounter. ISU had delivered the bad news.

“Can I talk to you?” he said, his voice clipped.

She’d stood the moment he poked his head into her office. Reluctant to deal with the high emotion inherent in this particular situation, she almost said it would have to wait until tomorrow and reached for her purse. But she felt too obligated to everyone who worked at the prison to walk out on a C.O. who was this upset. The time she and John had spent at dinner last night, and the other two meals they’d shared, only heightened that feeling.

Resigning herself to staying another few minutes, she drew in a deep breath. “Of course. Come in.”

As he entered, his jaw jutted forward, telling her just how upset he was—as if his taut posture and tone hadn’t already communicated that.

“Lieutenant McCalley has spoken to you?” she said.

“He has.”

Assuming he’d take the seat opposite her, she sank into her chair. “I’m sorry, John.”

Obviously agitated, he remained on his feet. “He came to you, then? You know about this?”

“Of course. We met this morning. After a careful review of the details, I had to agree. You deserve to be suspended. You made a mistake, a serious mistake.”

“But I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!”

Was that true? The testimony of the witnesses contradicted him, which had come as a surprise to Peyton. She knew some of the C.O.s pushed the limits sometimes. She wasn’t naive about what went on here. But she’d never expected such behavior from John. “You went too far. What if Bentley Riggs had died as a result of that kick?”

“He didn’t. He’s fine—fine enough to be talking smack to everyone around him about how he’s going to come after me someday.”

She refused to let him cloud the issue. Riggs wasn’t on trial here. “He fell and cracked his skull when you kicked him. And there are… Never mind.”

“There are what?”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to get into this part. But she felt she owed it to him to back up her decision. So she finished her statement. “People who claim you used the fight as an excuse to unleash your aggression.”

He threw up his hands. “Are you kidding me? Who said that? Other inmates? Like they’d ever come to my defense.”

“Not just inmates.” That was the shocking part….

His eyes turned so cold she nearly shivered. She’d never seen him like this. “So…Rathman? Ulnig? My fellow officers—they claim I was out of line?”

“I’d rather not go into who said what. No one likes what has to be done, least of all Rathman and Ulnig. But we talked to everyone, those most likely to defend you and those most likely to accuse you. You got a fair shake.”

“How can it be a fair shake when you think I ‘unleashed aggression’ and tried to hurt an inmate?”

There were times when they all wanted to hurt an inmate. They wouldn’t be human if they didn’t get angry when they were physically or verbally abused. It was not being able to overcome that reaction that became the problem. “If I truly believed that, I would’ve insisted on dismissal. You know I’ve done it with others. So you’re still getting the benefit of the doubt.”

His knuckles whitened on the back of the chair. “They were fighting, Chief Deputy. I had to stop it and stop it fast.”

“The fight was over, John. Almost everyone agrees you’d already split them up. It’s your intent we couldn’t quite figure out, and that’s why we decided on suspension instead of termination.”

“If I hadn’t acted, those two would’ve gone at it again.”

“But you had help by then. And someone heard you say you were going to teach ‘this bastard’ a lesson.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“There were two witnesses.”

“Oh, come on,” he said with a groan. “You’ve been a C.O. You know how it is. Once your adrenaline starts pumping you simply…act.”

“I have been a C.O. so I sympathize with the difficulty of the job. But that doesn’t change what happened. You can’t let your temper, or adrenaline or anything else, get the better of you.”

He scratched his head in apparent frustration. “Think about what you’re doing. If the papers get hold of this they won’t just vilify me. They’ll go after the institution.”

Peyton was very aware of that. She’d seen it before. In 1992, a mentally ill prisoner smeared himself with fecal matter and refused to bathe, so the guards dragged him from his cell and forced him into a tub of hot water that left him with third-degree burns on the lower half of his body. And that wasn’t the only incident in Pelican Bay history of which she wasn’t proud. There’d been other allegations of torture, other lawsuits through the years. But since she’d begun working here, she’d been doing her best to improve the reputation of the prison, and she did that by keeping the guards as honest as she could. She didn’t want Pelican Bay to face another dark moment like the one in 1992, not after all her hard work. And not because John couldn’t control his temper.

“ISU and I had to take that into consideration, too,” she said. “What you did could cast us all in the same bad light.”

He glared at her. “Wait—you’re punishing me as some sort of insurance, so if it does become public you’re in the clear?”

Growing impatient, she got to her feet. “I’m punishing you because you deserve it.”

“No. What happened in those few seconds could’ve happened to you or anyone else.”

She didn’t think so, but there was no point in arguing. The next time he acted up, if he did, he’d be fired. He needed to understand that. “You’ve got a second chance, John. You should be grateful.”

“Grateful…” he repeated with a bitter laugh.

“The suspension is only two weeks. My advice is to enjoy the days off and come back refreshed and ready to do a better job.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not paying child support or trying to support two households on what a guard makes.”

“You’ll have some time to prepare for the financial loss. Your suspension won’t start until next month. Other than that, there’s nothing more I can do for you. I’m sorry.”

For a few seconds, she thought he’d mock her by saying, I’ll bet you are, or something similar. But then he made an attempt to improve his tone and demeanor. “I’m sure you did what you could for me.”

Peyton didn’t like this response any more than she liked his accusations. He kept trying to create a bond between them she couldn’t allow. “I did what I’d do with anyone else under the same circumstances.”

“Of course.” He managed a wry smile, the kind that was intended to hide the emotion behind it but was quite obvious in revealing his self-pity. “You’d never pick favorites. You’re always so…careful.”

“I’m fair,” she clarified.

“Right.”

She thought he’d go. What more was there to say? This event had strained their relationship. She doubted he’d be bringing her any more dinners. But he continued to stand there, tapping his long fingers on the back of the visitor’s chair. Then his attention shifted to the pink rose Virgil had given her, which she’d put in a tall cup of water on her desk.

“Secret admirer?”

Peyton didn’t know why she’d brought that flower to work. She’d kept the card, too. She certainly wasn’t doing a very good job of forgetting about Virgil in a romantic sense. But his apology was important to her. Probably because her house wasn’t anywhere close to the motel, which meant he’d had to walk for hours. “No. Just a spot of color.”

“From where?”

“I bought it on my way to work.”

“Nice.” He adjusted his utility belt. “So how’d things go last night?”

“Things?”

“After I left. You said you had a lot of work to do.”

Where was he going with this? “I made some progress. Why?”

“It’s difficult to be under so much stress all the time,” he said.

What he’d done to Bentley Riggs didn’t make her job any easier. “I’m coping with it.”

“Good to hear.”

Finally he headed for the door, even waved as he left, but Peyton could tell it was a front.

They were no longer friends.

Virgil had no idea how he’d be received. In some ways, this was the last place he should’ve come. And yet…it was the only place he wanted to be. He couldn’t go back to the motel. Not before dark. Subtle though it’d been, he’d sensed a heightened interest in him from the people in the front office. It’d started when he’d turned the maid away and the manager had called to see if he was okay.

Why wouldn’t he be okay? There shouldn’t have been anything to indicate otherwise, nothing to trigger her concern. Other people refused maid service if they had enough towels. So why had Michelle Whatever-her-name-was become so damn inquisitive? She’d even made a joke that people were starting to question her about the mystery man from the CDCR.

Drawing that kind of attention was not something he needed. With less than twenty-four hours to go before he was incarcerated at Pelican Bay, it was smarter to stay out of town entirely. He’d had a long walk here, his second trip in one day, and he’d already been waiting on Peyton’s deck for two hours, but in the forest, there was no one to see him or question him.

After what had happened between him and Peyton last night, however, he doubted she’d be pleased to find him on her property. The flower and the card he’d bought were gone, suggesting she’d found them, but that didn’t mean she’d forgiven him. Chances were she wouldn’t want to see him. He’d been too callous yesterday. Sheer frustration had welled up and taken over, frustration and other emotions, but his inability to cope wasn’t her problem. She probably thought he was some kind of monster with no feelings.

He wondered what she’d think if she knew it was just the opposite. She tore him up inside, made him feel too much. The sudden influx of everything he’d been missing had knocked him off balance, and because he hadn’t adjusted to the real world yet, his behavior was out of whack.

For the millionth time, he remembered the moment he’d felt his medallion hanging between her breasts. There’d been a brief exultation that coincided with his body’s release, quickly followed by such a wave of self-recrimination he’d hardly been able to stand himself.

The sound of an engine brought him to his feet. Peyton was home. He walked to the stairs to make his presence known so he wouldn’t frighten her, but it wasn’t Peyton. It was Rick Wallace. Even in the dwindling sunlight, Virgil could tell the difference between Rick’s state-issued Chevrolet Impala and Peyton’s SUV.

After parking to one side of the drive, Wallace got out and retrieved his briefcase from the backseat. Virgil nearly called out to him. But he was a little annoyed with Wallace. He’d tried to reach him half a dozen times today, but Wallace hadn’t bothered to return one call. Was it too much to ask for an update on his sister?

Wallace didn’t care—about him or Laurel. He was using Virgil to advance his career. Nothing more.

Wallace got halfway up the stairs before noticing him. Then he startled so badly he nearly fell.

“What the hell?” he growled, clinging to the handrail.

Virgil stepped aside so that, once he recovered, Wallace could climb onto the deck. “You couldn’t return my calls? Let me know Laurel’s okay?”

“I’ve been busy.”

Virgil had a feeling it was more than that. Wallace wouldn’t even look at him. The guy had gone to ridiculous lengths to impress him on Friday. Virgil wanted to laugh when he remembered how he’d bragged about his life, his job, the money he was making. Today Wallace seemed like a completely different person, almost…morose.

Why was he so upset? Had something happened to Laurel?

“You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” he asked. “Laurel’s safe? She’s okay, right?”

“Of course. She’s miles away from Florence in a safe house with a U.S. marshal. Her and the kids. No one’ll find them, let alone hurt them.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“No.”

Anger tugged at his restraint. “Why not?”

“It’s better to have no contact until this thing’s over.”

Better for whom? Not for him. Or Laurel. Not if they could communicate safely. And Virgil believed they could—at least until he went inside. “I could use a pay phone.”

Wallace held up his hands. “Listen, I’m exhausted, okay? So just…back off.”

Virgil folded his arms. He’d expected Wallace to ask how he knew where Peyton lived and had planned to explain that she’d brought him out here to go over some information on the Hells Fury. That was true. His first visit had been very innocent, although the situation had changed since. But Wallace didn’t ask. And that made Virgil even more uncomfortable. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Wallace acted beleaguered, as if he’d had a bad day.

“Travel too stressful for you?”

The associate director glared at him. “Among other things.”

Virgil felt no sympathy. From his perspective, Wallace had a damn good life. He’d certainly portrayed it as ideal on Friday. Even if he knew Virgil had been with Peyton, he had no right to be upset. He was married. He should be thinking about his wife, not Peyton. “You haven’t asked me what I’m doing here,” he pointed out. Or how I found the place….

The malevolence that came over Wallace’s face surprised Virgil. What the hell was wrong with the guy? Virgil hadn’t liked him much, but he hadn’t felt any animosity between them, either. Now, suddenly, they were enemies?

Wallace knew about Peyton. He had to know. But how?

Trying to get a better look at his expression, Virgil stepped forward, but Wallace turned away. “That’s a good question,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“This morning the manager of the motel called to ask if I was all right.”

“So?”

“I got the impression she was more curious than concerned. So I left.”

“You’re being paranoid.”

Had he forgotten Trinity Woods? “That’s what you thought when I told you my sister was in danger. I had to push you to go to Florence to get her. If you’d waited until Monday, like you planned, she’d be dead instead of the babysitter.”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“Why would the manager of the Redwood Inn be curious about you? You’re just some guy who rented a room.”

“Not quite. The room’s on your tab, so that connects us. And there are a lot of people in this town who keep an eye on whatever you do, since their livelihoods depend on the prison.”

“So what? I stay at that motel all the time, and I often bring people to town, to tour the prison or for meetings. What did the manager do that made you think she was acting suspicious?”

“She gave me a funny feeling, so I decided to get out of there. Why take chances?”

With a sigh that signaled a small concession, Wallace put his briefcase on the picnic table. “Did she get a good look at you?”

“I don’t see how she could have. I slipped out while she was handling a delivery.”

“And that’s when you called Peyton to come to your rescue.” The steely note was back in his voice.

“I haven’t called Peyton for anything. I don’t even have her number. It’s not like the phone at the motel has caller ID.”

“If she didn’t drive you, how’d you get here?”

“I walked.”

“Ten miles?”

“I’m not helpless.” Virgil had made the same trek last night to leave her the rose. It took him a little over two hours each way. But he didn’t mind the exercise. After being locked up, it was empowering just to be able to go where he pleased.

How would he handle being locked up again? It wouldn’t be easy; he understood that. The freedom he’d enjoyed these past few days had been intoxicating.

Knowing Peyton would be there, at the prison, was the only thing that made it tolerable. He didn’t want to acknowledge why.

Wallace glanced around. “So where is she?”

“Haven’t seen her.”

He checked his watch. “She’s probably not home from the prison yet. You ready for tomorrow?”

“I am.”

“Peyton briefed you on who’s who in the Hells Fury?”

“She did. She brought me here on Friday, showed me photos, told me everything she knows about them.”

They both heard a car coming up the drive. Rick was closer to the edge of the deck and walked over first, so Virgil hung back. Neither of them spoke as she climbed the stairs. Wallace’s car would’ve alerted her to the fact that she had company.

“What are you doing here?” she asked Rick.

Maybe he hadn’t communicated with her, either….

“I figured I’d better come back to…protect my interests.”

“Which are…?”

“A successful operation, of course.”

“Coming today instead of tomorrow is somehow going to help?”

“I’m needed here.” He motioned to Virgil. “Our friend is afraid to stay at the motel. I guess Michelle’s been showing some interest. And I wouldn’t want him becoming an imposition on you.”

When her gaze swung his way, Virgil could tell she hadn’t realized he was there. Her lips parted, but she didn’t reveal any more surprise than that.

Thanks to Wallace, Virgil felt completely exposed. He could’ve lain low without showing up here as Wallace had just pointed out. He’d come because he wanted to see her. And that had to be apparent. “It’s dark now, so I can go back,” he said, and skirted past them.

He wished she’d do something to show she’d forgiven him. But she didn’t. She averted her eyes as if she couldn’t bear to look at him and let him go.