In Seconds

“That’s about my only option, isn’t it?” She shrugged but there was a tension in her body that hadn’t been there before. He could see it in the way she held herself. “I’m the bait that’ll draw them out.”

He felt his eyebrows shoot up. “And then what?”

“As far as plans go, it’s not complicated. I try to kill them before they kill me.”

“Have you ever killed anyone before?”

“No. But I’ve seen men killed.” Her voice fell until he could scarcely hear her. “And I’ve been the reason others have died.”

As terrible as that must have been, it wasn’t the same. That was outside her control. This wouldn’t be. She’d have to squeeze the trigger herself. But he didn’t see the point in trying to differentiate. “That doesn’t matter. If you think I’m going to let you go it alone, you’re crazy.”

“You don’t have any choice. I don’t want you involved. These men…nothing deters them. I couldn’t take it if someone else was killed. Maybe you don’t think much of me after everything that’s happened, but I…I don’t want to see you hurt.”

He ignored her reference to what he thought of her. He thought more of her than she realized, but it wouldn’t help him maintain any emotional distance to admit it. “No one’s going to get hurt. Not on my watch. Grab whatever you’re going to need. Tonight we’re staying at my place.”

She hopped off the bed. “I can’t do that!”

He finally came inside the room. “Why not?”

“For the same reason I wouldn’t stay with Claire. If you’re not worried about your own safety, what about Marley?”

“She’s not home. She’s with a friend.”

She reached out to grab his arm, but caught herself before making contact. “Please, don’t. Every time I think of you trying to stop them, I see…I see the U.S. marshal who…” She choked up so much she couldn’t finish.

He wanted to relent and hold her. But he couldn’t, not without rekindling the desire he’d experienced at the cabin. And doing that would only make the rest of the night too difficult to get through. Not to mention the rest of the week, the month, the year.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he told himself he didn’t want to feel her against him. “It’s going to be okay,” he promised. “You’re tired, overwrought. You need some rest.”

“I’ll be fine. I know what I’m up against.”

“Vivian…Laurel—God, I don’t even know what to call you anymore.”

“It’s Vivian,” she said softly.

“Why choose that persona?”

“Because that’s who I am to you. That’s who I’ve become even to me. At least for now.”

He had a feeling those words held more meaning than their easiest interpretation—that he was most familiar with that name—but he refused to examine it. He had to convince her to stay with him; if he wanted to keep her safe, he had no choice about that. “Vivian, then. Let me take care of you for a little while.”

Her eyes, so pretty and yet so haunted, pleaded with him to understand. “But what if—”

“I’m not going to be hurt.” Suddenly angry, he scowled at her. “Stop turning down the help you need, okay?”

He started taking clothes out of her drawers. He didn’t care what they were; he figured if she wouldn’t cooperate he’d gather up as much as he could hold, and that would have to be good enough. There was no way she was staying here even if he had to carry her out. “Tomorrow we’ll put you in a safe place, somewhere no one else in town knows about and—”

“No.” She grabbed his arm. He meant to shake her off so he could continue, but he turned and stared at her instead and the memories he’d been fighting flooded through his mind—the taste of her kiss, the softness of her skin, the moment he’d first buried himself inside her.

Surprised by whatever she’d seen in his face, she let go.

Frustrated with himself for wanting her so badly regardless of all the reasons he should leave her alone, he went back to collecting her clothes. “Work with me here. Just until we can find these men. They’re strangers in Pineview. And we have their pictures plastered all over town. They can’t remain hidden forever.”

He didn’t get the impression she believed it would be that easy. But, with a resigned nod, she got a bag and helped him finish packing.

After what seemed like an interminable silence, Virgil checked the minutes he’d used on the prepaid cell phone he’d purchased for this call. Fifteen. Already. Shit. He thought he’d bought more than enough. How long did it take to threaten somebody? He should’ve guessed it wouldn’t go smoothly. Nothing involving The Crew ever did…?.

Pivoting in front of the windows overlooking the parking lot at his office, he waited for the guy who’d answered his call to bring Horse to the phone. He’d never actually spoken to Horse before. He knew his real name was Harold Pew, but he’d never actually used it. As with most prison gangs, everyone went by nicknames—and Virgil didn’t have to think too hard to guess how Horse had gotten his.

At least he had something to offer the ladies. From what Virgil had heard, Horse was a big, pockmarked ugly son of a bitch—and a mean one, too. Since Horse had taken over leadership of The Crew’s foot soldiers living in Los Angeles, the power had gone to his head.

“Is this some sort of joke?” A deep, raspy voice barked this question into the phone. Since Virgil had asked for Horse, he could only assume it was him.

Finally. Virgil had been about to hang up, return to the store to load the phone with more minutes and call back. “Surprise!” he crooned. “Must be your birthday, eh?”

“Is this really Virgil Skinner?”

“Do other people call you up and impersonate me?”

“Considering how I feel about you, no one would be that stupid.”

“Then you’ve answered your own question.” Turning his back to the view, Virgil eyed his office. There were times when he woke up expecting to see the cell he’d lived in for fourteen years instead of the beautiful home he owned with Peyton. He still couldn’t believe he’d been able to change his life, that he had so much he cared about when he’d started with absolutely nothing. He was happy. Why did this have to keep cropping up?

“You have some balls, you know that?” Horse said. “What do you think you’re doing, calling me up as if we’re friends?”

“I could’ve sent an email saying, ‘I’m going to fuck you up if you don’t stop what you’re doing’ to [email protected], but I was afraid you’d discard it as just another idle threat.”

Horse laughed a bit too loudly and a bit too long. “But it is an idle threat. There’s nothing you can do to me.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

“Why not?”

“I have one advantage.”

“You don’t have shit.”

“I know where you are. You can’t say the same about me.”

“But to reach me, you’d have to come through fifty other Crew.”

Virgil manufactured a laugh of his own. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, wouldn’t you say? Day to day there are maybe…five guys around at any one time.” The Crew couldn’t hang out with Horse all day. They had prostitutes to pimp, debtors to rough up, dope to pedal. “Five to one. Those were good odds where I learned to fight.”

“You mean four years ago? Before you settled down and became a family man? I’m guessing you’re a bit rusty.”

Apparently Horse didn’t know Virgil owned his own bodyguard service. The Crew must’ve missed that detail when they came after them in D.C. All they cared about was an address, and they’d come up with Laurel’s somehow. Virgil would never forget the call he’d received from her after the attack. If not for Rex, she’d be dead.

But Horse wasn’t entirely wrong. In the four years Virgil had been protecting others, the worst he’d had to do was shove someone out of the way or toss a few drunks out of a club, and even that was before he’d hired others.