Inside

“Right. I see that all the time.”

Rick didn’t appreciate the sarcasm, but said nothing as the officer returned his license.

“Tired or not, like I said, this isn’t an appropriate place to stop. You’d better move on.”

Or he’d cite him for endangering other motorists or some such infraction. Rick was sure the cop could come up with a reason if he really wanted to. “Will do.”

The crunch of the patrolman’s boots receded as he walked to his car. Then a semi passed, blasting them both with damp, cold air. “What a crappy day,” Rick grumbled, but he got in and started the engine, clicked on his turn signal and merged into traffic at the first opportunity. There was no reason to linger. He’d already made his decision.

He wouldn’t dismantle the investigation.

He wouldn’t tell Peyton about Eddie Glover, either.

It was a hell of a night. Peyton tossed and turned, drifted into unfriendly dreams and startled into wakefulness again and again. And when it was time to get up, a hot shower couldn’t ease the tension that’d ruined her sleep. She stood beneath the spray longer than she should have, allowing her mind to wander back to her last encounter with Virgil at the motel.

She had such mixed emotions about that incident, and him. He’d been more forceful than anyone she’d ever been with, but she’d encouraged his aggression. The thrill of being able to evoke such a visceral response in a man who thought he was too jaded to need anyone had been very stimulating.

So she wasn’t upset about the sex. It was his rejection afterward.

But what did she expect from him? She hoped to marry someday and start a family, but a man in Virgil’s situation wasn’t husband material, especially for a chief deputy warden.

Virgil wasn’t her only concern. Her confession to Rick Wallace weighed just as heavy. Now that she had some distance on it and wasn’t quite as desperate to drive a permanent wedge between her and Virgil, she felt remorse for telling him what she had. But if she wanted to be different from the men she locked up, she needed to be honest. And the warden probably would’ve written her up or relieved her of duty, so…it could’ve been worse.

Based on your conduct I’m issuing you a letter of reprimand….

With such a large staff, all working in a high-stress environment, she’d signed her share of letters like that since becoming chief deputy. She might have to sign another one today. When she got out of the shower, she checked her day planner and realized that she had a meeting with Lieutenant McCalley of the Investigative Services Unit this morning. They were supposed to come to a decision regarding John’s conduct.

A glance at the clock told her she should quit dawdling and get ready.

She put on her suit and chose a pair of flats—her ankle wasn’t quite healed—but by then she was afraid she’d be late. If she was, it would be the first time since starting at Pelican Bay. Somehow meeting Virgil had thrown her whole world off-kilter….

She needed to get back in control. Besides her usual workload, she had to make arrangements for his arrival at the prison tomorrow.

After rushing through a cup of coffee and a bagel, she flew out the door in such a hurry she almost didn’t see the flower lying on her picnic table. As it was, she caught barely a glimpse of pink petals and was halfway down the stairs before realizing it didn’t belong. Turning back despite the pressure she felt to keep going, she crossed the deck and was soon staring down at a perfect long-stemmed rose.

Where could this have come from? she wondered. It wasn’t even summer. Someone had purchased it from a florist, a grocery store or maybe a gas station, and that person had brought it here. There weren’t any roses growing in the forest surrounding her house.

She looked over the railing to see if she could spot anyone leaving. But she appeared to be alone. Whoever had brought this had done so earlier.

She thought that was it—all she was going to find— until she noticed a white card that’d blown off the table. Hoping it would explain what the flower was for, she bent to retrieve it from the floor of the deck.

The sender hadn’t signed his name. But he didn’t need to. There were only two words written in a man’s blocky print: I’m sorry.

Peyton hadn’t been nervous about meeting with an inmate in years. She’d grown too accustomed to working in a prison for that. Even the most dangerous convicts typically treated her with respect. She got the impression the majority of the men liked her. Or maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe they enjoyed seeing a woman dressed in something besides a uniform.

According to one study on the impact of females working in all-male prisons, the inmates behaved better when women were present. Women symbolized gentleness and caring, providing a counterbalance to the harsh realities of prison life. And that was how it’d worked since she’d come to Pelican Bay. To some degree she helped offset Warden Fischer’s hard-ass image. It was the “good cop, bad cop” routine, and it worked quite well. She gave the men hope that their difficulties, fears and complaints might reach a sympathetic ear. And often they did. She was certainly more sympathetic than Fischer.

But this was no normal meeting. She’d sent for Buzz Criven. She knew it would take a while for Sergeant Hostetler to bring him to the conference room she was using—unlike her office, it was inside the prison—but she couldn’t sit still while she waited. Lieutenant McCalley of the ISU had just left. After reviewing the medical report and the testimony of the men involved, as well as various witnesses, they’d arrived at a conclusion on the incident with Sergeant Hutchinson. She wasn’t looking forward to sharing that conclusion with anyone, least of all him. Based on what he’d said after dinner last night, she knew he didn’t feel he’d done anything wrong. But he’d overstepped his bounds and had to be disciplined, or she wouldn’t be doing her job.

She’d deal with that later, once she’d talked to Buzz. It was only eleven; she’d have time.

Getting to her feet, Peyton walked over to pour herself a fresh cup of coffee. She didn’t need any more caffeine, but holding the cup would keep her hands busy and camouflage her anxiety. The last thing she wanted was to let on—to Buzz or Sergeant Hostetler—that this interview was a test.

The knock, which came sooner than she’d expected, startled her. “Peyton?”

It wasn’t Buzz; it was the warden. Somehow, he’d tracked her down. “Come in,” she called.

Fischer stepped into the room. Careful to close the door behind him, he lowered his voice. “I wanted to confirm that everything’s going as planned for…Wallace’s project.”

Obviously he was being cautious in case anyone was within earshot.

“I’m still working on it,” she said. “But don’t worry. We’ll be ready.” Hopefully Buzz would be the right man. If not, she’d have to find someone else.

Pivoting, she returned to the head of the table. “Why, have you spoken to Wallace?”

“He called this morning to say he’s taken care of that other business he had to attend to. He’ll be here tomorrow.”

She hoped that nothing on her face revealed her personal interest in this situation. “Great. Glad to hear it,” she said, but as far as she was concerned, Wallace hadn’t taken care of that other business at all. A woman had been shot and killed. Trinity Woods was dead because he hadn’t taken Virgil’s warnings seriously enough—although she had to concede that maybe it wasn’t entirely fair to blame Wallace. The Crew had no reason to murder the babysitter. They’d done it to make a statement, which was taking the situation further than she’d expected it to go, too. She was just angry at Rick because she’d called him herself this morning, twice, and he hadn’t bothered to respond. He knew it would leave her worrying about what she’d revealed, yet he’d contacted Fischer instead.

Did that mean he was more upset with her than she thought? It was a pretty safe guess. But there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She considered telling the warden what she’d told Rick, but decided it was too late. Since she couldn’t convince the associate director to call off the investigation, it wouldn’t be wise to make any more of an issue of it. That would only leave Virgil friendless in an environment she could help him navigate.

For better or worse, she was suddenly committed to secrecy. And celibacy.

“There’s just one thing,” Fischer said.

Setting her cup on the table, she waited for the warden to continue.

“You haven’t said anything about this to anyone, have you?”

The gravity of his tone caused a trickle of fear. “You mean what we discussed at the library?”

“Yes.”

“Of course not, why?”