Inside

He’d probably had a TV in prison and would again, as long as he behaved himself. “Get dressed. I’m coming to get you.”

“Because…?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“We’ve got work to do.”

“Chief Deputy Adams—”

“Yes?”

“It’d be better if you just…let me do my thing.”

She toyed with the ends of her hair. “Why’s that, Mr. Skinner?”

“There’s no reason for you to invest in what’s going to happen.”

Leaning forward, she smoothed the area rug that covered this part of the hardwood floor. “There is if it’s happening at my prison.”

“But what I’m doing…it isn’t really under your jurisdiction. I thought you understood that. The meeting at the library…it was just Wallace’s attempt to be diplomatic. A courtesy.”

“I realize the department’s calling the shots on this, but I’m responsible for you while you’re at Pelican Bay.” Getting up, she hobbled toward her bedroom, which wasn’t easy to reach with a swollen ankle. It was at the bottom of a narrow, winding staircase, like a cabin one might find on a boat. “Besides, you’re investing in it, aren’t you?” she said. Did he truly think he should do it alone?

“I have a compelling reason.”

“Making sure an undercover operative for the Department of Corrections doesn’t get killed is my compelling reason. From Tuesday on, I’ll be responsible for you. I’m sorry if you’ve got a problem with that, but I plan to do my job.”

He cursed under his breath. “You shouldn’t be working at a prison.”

Tired of hearing that comment, in one form or another, from almost everyone she met—You work at a prison? I didn’t know they hired women like you. The guys must love you—Peyton injected irritation into her voice. “Why not?”

He didn’t back off. “You already know the answer to that question.”

Clinging to the handrail, she took each stair with caution so she wouldn’t tumble down. “Because I’m a woman?”

“Because you’re a constant reminder of everything a convict’s missing.”

“Really? Is that all I do?”

“All that matters.”

Convicts lived in such a male world, one filled with so much testosterone, they often lost a certain…modern sensibility. Peyton was used to it. But that didn’t mean she liked the discrimination it bred. “Quit with all the sexist bullshit.”

“It’s the truth—from someone who knows. You don’t think half the men in that prison are fantasizing about you when they close their eyes?”

Stopping at the foot of the stairs, she decided to hit back. “Is that what you dreamed about last night?”

When he laughed softly, she knew he wasn’t going to deny it. She also realized she was allowing the conversation to drift into dangerous territory, and tried to reel it back in. “Anyway, last I checked, you weren’t in personnel. So until you take over the country and do away with the Equal Rights Amendment, spare me your opinions on hiring women.”

“I’m not talking about all women.”

“Oh, so you’re not a complete jerk. You’d only refuse the ones you deemed too young or attractive or interesting or…whatever? And how, exactly, would you implement such standards, Mr. Skinner? Who would get to determine which female was too good-looking and which wasn’t? Because if a job is open to one woman, it’s open to all women. Beauty is subjective.”

“Your beauty isn’t.”

As angry as he’d made her, she was also perversely flattered. She wanted him to find her attractive, because she found him to be one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. “So are you interested in getting out of the motel today or not?”

She’d left him nowhere to go with the argument he’d started—she suspected purposely—and he seemed to realize it quickly enough. “What do you have planned?”

She moved into her bedroom and began searching through her closet, trying to decide what to wear. “An educational seminar.”

“There’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“We can’t be seen together.”

“I’ve got that covered. When I get there, I’ll call your room and let the phone ring once. Come around the block. I’ll be waiting in a white Volvo SUV.” She removed the sweats she’d been wearing. “And, Virgil?”

“What?”

“Bring the hat and glasses. Leave the knife at the motel.”

“Sorry,” he said. “The knife goes where I do. It’s not much, but…it’s all I’ve got.”

She supposed he could’ve lied to her and brought it anyway. “Fine, but just so you know, I have plenty of steak knives. If someone attacks you, feel free to use one of mine.”

“You’re taking me to your house?”

Finding the jeans she wanted, she held the phone between her shoulder and ear while putting them on. “Do you know of a better place?”

“Yeah. Here.”

“No. The manager’s a good friend.”

This distracted him. “Is that how you broke into my room? I should sue.”

Peyton couldn’t help smiling at the grumble in his voice. “I got the worst of it. Anyway, I think you have bigger problems to worry about. And she didn’t give me the key. I stole it.”

“Do you still have it?”

“You’re afraid I might come back?”

He hesitated. “Would you want me to have a key to your room?”

Part of her actually wanted to say yes, which was why her voice grew solemn. “I took it back. I said I found it on the floor at a restaurant, and she thought one of the maids accidentally carried it off the premises.” Fortunately, Michelle had been more exasperated than angry so Peyton didn’t have to feel bad for getting a maid in trouble. It would’ve been difficult to place blame, anyway. The smocks were used interchangeably.

“She fell for that?”

“Completely.”

“I should rat you out.”

“If only you could show your face.”

“No one would have to see you come here. We could sneak you in,” he said.

“No. If Michelle saw us, she’d ask all kinds of questions.” Especially if she got a good look at him. “And we can’t go to a restaurant. I’m too familiar to the community, since so many people work at the prison. We’d definitely attract attention.”

“That’s your logic for taking me home?”

She pulled a sweater from its hanger. “That’s it.”

“Peyton—”

His use of her first name took her off guard. Both the inmates and staff at the prison called her Chief Deputy Adams, as he’d done only moments ago. “What?”

“There are people who want me dead. You read that letter, you know what they’re doing to my sister. If they’ve found me, if they’re watching me, they could follow us—”

“They haven’t found you.”

“How do you know?”

Deciding to wear her hair down for a change, she ran a brush through it. “Because you’d already be dead.”