Inside

wound’s infected.”

“That’ll knock your legs out from under ya.”

The C.O. seemed to be speaking too loudly, but Virgil thought that might be a misperception caused by his fever. When he didn’t respond, Hutchinson leaned down and whispered, “You want me to notify Peyton? She can get you out of here, you know. Get you to a decent hospital. The doctors at the infirmary suck. And it’s no wonder. If you were a talented physician, would you want to work here?”

Virgil pushed his tray aside. “Are you going to take me there or not?”

“You’re an arrogant bastard, aren’t you?” He straightened. “Sure, I’ll take you there. When everyone goes back, you just stay put and I’ll escort you myself.”

Virgil didn’t argue. He didn’t realize he should’ve objected until the dining hall began to clear and he wasn’t the only one who lingered behind. One of the other C.O.s waved to get the Hells Fury up and moving, but Hutchinson said, “I got the trailers, no worries, Greg.”

“Greg” turned away and headed out with the rest of the prisoners.

Then, as beleaguered and dimwitted as Virgil felt, he knew he was in trouble even before Hutchinson snapped, “If you’re gonna do it, do it now and make it good. Because this time he can’t come out of it alive.”

Peyton felt a measure of relief when she called the guard station at Facility A and was assured that the dinner hour was over, all had gone smoothly and the men were on the way back to their cells. She figured Buzz might try something once he and Virgil were alone. But she doubted that while Virgil was awake Buzz would take him on. If he did, Virgil stood a good chance against only one man.

That didn’t mean she was willing to risk his life by leaving him vulnerable to a surprise attack, however. She was going to get him out of Pelican Bay as soon as possible. Now that The Crew had most likely found him, there was no point in trying to continue the operation, not if his cover had been blown. She just hoped to extract him without causing too much of a scene. She knew Fischer wouldn’t like it if the staff discovered what they’d been up to. Because the C.O.s hadn’t been told about Virgil’s true identity and purpose, they’d feel distrusted; they might wonder if they were being targeted by the investigation, too. And keeping up morale was key to running a prison successfully. So was avoiding any unexpected developments or the chaos they could create. She needed to handle this as quickly and quietly as possible.

“Please bring me Simeon Bennett,” she told Sergeant Hostetler, who was still on the phone with her. “I need to talk to him.”

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

The worry clawing at her gut must have seeped into her voice. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm down. “No, nothing serious. Just…some rumors I need to address.”

“You bet,” he said. “Or…wait just a sec.” A moment later, he came on the line again. “Looks like he’s not back in his cell yet. I’ll bring him over as soon as I see him.”

Peyton glanced at the clock. Most of the men were back from dinner by six. They were given only so much time to walk from the dining hall to the cell block. Why wasn’t Virgil there? She didn’t want him lingering behind… ever. “Don’t wait. Go look for him.”

“Look for him? He’ll show up any second. There isn’t anywhere for him to go.”

The emergency in her voice had confused Hostetler; she’d just told him what she wanted wasn’t serious. But this time she didn’t try to cloak the fear that was rapidly turning into panic. “I said go look for him!” she yelled, and slammed down the phone. Unable to trust the C.O.s to move fast enough—they didn’t understand what was on the line—she hurried around her desk to race across the yard and into the prison herself.

I’m going to die, Virgil thought. Thanks to an infected wound, a dirty C.O. and three gang members, one of whom included his cellie, he wouldn’t make it back from the dining hall, let alone walk out of Pelican Bay with a new chance at life.

He’d known that accepting the government’s offer would put his future at risk. He wasn’t surprised by this attack. He’d felt it coming long before he’d noticed the unrest during dinner. This was how he’d expected to die back when he first went to prison at eighteen. All the other stuff—the exoneration, meeting Peyton, loving Peyton—that was what really surprised him. And now that brief flash of hope was about to be extinguished.

What would Peyton think? She’d fought so hard against this. And what would happen to Laurel and Mia and Jake?

“You bastard.” Buzz held a shank, the handle of which appeared to be a ballpoint pen, the sharp end a nail. But he hadn’t struck yet. Virgil could sense his reluctance. He was so close to being free; he didn’t want to bury himself under another prison sentence. That partially fueled his rage. He blamed Virgil instead of the leaders of the Hells Fury for forcing his hand. “I was plannin’ to get you in, help you become one of us!” he growled, keeping his voice low.

The others acted as a wall to block the view of anyone who might glance back.

“You sure you want another ten to fifteen for murder?” Virgil breathed.

“I do what has to be done.” He pounded his chest with his free hand. “I’m loyal! I’m HF!”

Virgil struggled to remain on his feet. “And you think Detric Whitehead would sacrifice a decade or two of his life for you? That’s the lie, man. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He’s using you.”

“Get it over with,” Hutchinson barked. “We only have a few seconds. You get me in trouble again and I’ll tell the cops who killed that judge.”

Eyes shining with adrenaline-fueled fury, Buzz lunged forward.

Virgil managed to sidestep the first jab. He had almost no energy, but his own adrenaline had helped him that much. Then he went for the guard. The C.O. was his only hope because he wasn’t expecting to be attacked. No one else expected him to go after the C.O., either. But the guard had a can of pepper spray on his belt. If Virgil was going to use the last of his strength to do something, he needed it to be effective against more than one person.

Buzz thrust again just as Virgil reached for the pepper spray, but Virgil saw the shank coming and, in a motion born more of instinct than intent, pulled John in front of him.

The C.O. stumbled, nearly fell, then jerked and cried out as the shank went into his neck.

Virgil didn’t have the strength to bear John’s weight. He had to let go of his human shield as the others pressed forward to finish what Buzz had started.

Another guard came running, screaming for the cons to stand down. Virgil could hear the pounding of his feet, the shouting of the other men, and yet it all seemed to be coming from a distance. Even if that C.O. was closer than he thought, Virgil doubted he’d act quickly enough to help. The guard didn’t know what was going on, would need to take precious seconds to assess the situation.

Fumbling to get hold of the pepper spray before it was too late, Virgil grabbed the canister despite John’s thrashing around on the floor. He pulled it from the C.O.’s belt and sprayed—but not before someone got him from the side.

When Peyton arrived at the dining hall and found Virgil lying on the floor, her panic turned to anguish. She was too late. Judging by the blood on his shirt, he’d been stabbed again, this time on his right side.

Was he dead? He wasn’t moving….

John Hutchinson lay next to him, writhing in pain. A shank protruded from his neck. He gasped for breath while the C.O.s who’d responded when the alarm sounded herded Buzz, Ace Anderson and an inmate by the name of Felix Smith against the wall.

“Medical personnel are on the way,” Hostetler told her. His manner was matter-of-fact, businesslike. He’d handled this situation by the book. But this wasn’t just another violent episode that they had to process according to a set of rules. One of the people affected by this incident meant everything to her.

Images of what it must’ve been like for her father, dying in much the same way, ran through Peyton’s mind as she sank to her knees. Had she lost someone else? After all the years she’d worked in corrections, trying to make a difference?

Succumbing to tears, she reached for Virgil’s hand. It’d taken her thirty-six years to fall in love, and then she’d done it against her better judgment and in only a matter of days. Was it over before it had really begun?

“Virgil?” she whispered, cupping his cheek. She could feel the surprise and attention of the others. Their eyes