Inside

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?”