Inside

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.

She needed to tell the truth, anyway. She couldn’t be hypocritical enough to hide such a secret while acting as if she’d done nothing wrong. A liar wasn’t the kind of person she aspired to be.

But would opening her mouth mean the loss of her job?

Possibly. The CDCR could call it malfeasance of office and put her on probation. They could transfer her somewhere else, maybe demote her. They could even dismiss her. It depended on how flagrantly, in their opinion, her actions had crossed the line. Virgil wasn’t on the state’s payroll. She had that going for her. He wasn’t a ward of the state, either. At least, not yet. Even after he went in, he wouldn’t be exactly like the other inmates because he’d be there voluntarily.

He fell into a gray area; and the gray aspects of the situation were what had gotten her in trouble. Maybe they’d save her, too. But her lack of professionalism had complicated an investigation on which the CDCR, even the governor, had pinned high hopes. She’d been told that she and Virgil would be working together—yet she’d slept with him.

That wasn’t right.

So who should she tell?

Determined to recover some dignity, she blinked rapidly to avoid the tears that threatened and scrolled through her electronic address book until she reached the warden’s number. Based on the chain of command, she should tell him. But it was almost midnight. She couldn’t disturb him this late.

Afraid she’d lose her nerve or attempt to justify her behavior if she waited, she thought about telling Rick instead. She was pretty sure he’d be awake. Last she heard from him, the marshal had arrived at the safe house to guard Laurel and he was boarding a plane to Sacramento. He’d said it was a direct flight, so he should’ve landed by now—or would be landing any minute.

“I really don’t want to do this,” she moaned. Rick wouldn’t be happy to hear she’d undermined their chances of success. But he was younger than the warden, more flexible about this type of thing, and she had a feeling he’d made his share of mistakes. Maybe that would inspire him to be at least a little understanding.