“What earlier decision?”
“To take me back to the motel?”
“That was your decision. I would’ve been happy to feed you.”
“I was more interested in dessert.”
She ignored that comment. “I just spoke to Wallace.”
His hand tightened on the phone. “Is Laurel okay?”
“He was getting on a plane and didn’t mention Laurel. Should he have?”
“He’s supposed to be taking care of her.”
“Then that’s where he’s going. Trust me, he doesn’t want to screw up. He has big plans for his future.”
The comments Wallace had made about Peyton rose in his mind again. Wait till you see her. She is so hot. What I wouldn’t give for a piece of that. “In more ways than one.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t like Wallace?”
“Not particularly.” He got up to check the window, saw the same car sitting in the parking lot. Surely it didn’t take more than a few minutes to rent a room…. “Why not?”
“A lot of reasons. But I don’t care who or what he is as long as he keeps his word. He will keep his word, won’t he?”
She hesitated. “He…should.”
“You don’t sound too certain.”
“I can’t promise what’s out of my control, Virgil.”
“That’s one of the reasons you’re worried about this operation, isn’t it? You know they don’t expect me to come out of it alive.” No response.
“It’s a pretty smart plan, really. If I get killed, they won’t have to pay me the money they owe me. Easy way to save a large sum without risking one of their own people.”
“I’m positive that’s not true. No one’s thinking any such thing. And even if they are, you’ll get the money.”
In other words, he’d live to see the day. He could tell she planned to ensure it. But he wasn’t convinced she’d be able to make much of a difference. What went down in prison tended to happen very fast and not right under the nose of the warden or the chief deputy warden, either.
But he didn’t say that. It felt good to have someone on his side. Somehow, he believed Peyton cared about his well-being, that she was sincere even though it would serve her better to look out for her own interests.
“I told Wallace, by the way,” she said.
“Told him what?”
“That I’m aware of who you really are.”
He checked the window again. Car still there. “Why’d you do that?”
“I wanted more information.”
“On…?”
“You.”
“Did you get it?”
“I think so.”
“And now you know all my darkest secrets.”
“I know the basics.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I initially said I’d keep it to myself. But I felt it was only fair to inform you that I’d changed my mind.”
Footsteps sounded outside on the walkway—the footsteps of more than one person, moving fast. “We’ll have to talk later,” he said.
“Is something wrong?” She’d heard the tension in his voice, but he didn’t explain. There was no time. Dropping the phone, he grabbed the knife he’d stolen from the restaurant. A steak knife wouldn’t offer much protection, not from two men toting guns, but he could only use what he had.
Spine to the wall, he waited to see if whoever was coming would kick in the door.
9
What could’ve happened?
Peyton tried calling Skinner again—twice—only to get a busy signal. She wanted to keep calling until she could be reassured that all was well, but she was afraid Lena Stout, who was running the front desk, would recognize her voice and begin to wonder if something was wrong. In case she was worried for nothing, she didn’t want to alert Lena or anyone else.
So…what should she do? She’d been concerned that Virgil might get hurt at Pelican Bay. She’d never seriously entertained the possibility that The Crew would find him before he could be incarcerated. He’d obviously been concerned about it, though. And he should know what they were capable of doing. He’d been one of them.
Is she in real danger? she’d asked Wallace about Virgil’s sister.
As real as it gets. Because Skinner could help the authorities get convictions against most of The Crew….
After putting on her tennis shoes, Peyton limped to her car on her injured ankle, which was improved but not perfect, and drove as fast as she could without causing an accident. She arrived at the motel in ten minutes instead of fifteen, but she knew it could already be too late.
Relying on the fog to cloak her identity from anyone looking out—fortunately, Lena was much less familiar with her than Michelle—she parked in the lot. Then she hurried to room fifteen.
The door was slightly ajar.
“Hello?” she breathed as she poked her head inside. The lights were on. So was the TV. A glance at the phone told her it was off the hook. It looked as if he’d aimed for the base but hadn’t been watching to make sure the handset connected. Why? Clearly, he’d been distracted….
“Virgil?” Afraid she might find him crumpled on the floor between the beds, she crept forward. There was no body, no evidence of a scuffle. But she didn’t think he’d planned on leaving, either. He’d gone through his bag—his clothes weren’t as neatly folded as before—and tossed his sweatshirt over the chair.
It was cold and rainy out. Why hadn’t he worn his sweatshirt? Also, some of the groceries from the sack Wallace had bought were spread out on the desk—peanut butter, jelly, a loaf of bread and some cookies. The files she’d given him lay on the bed.
Heart in her throat, she inched farther into the room. The bathroom door stood open. Would she find him murdered in the shower? That fear had her shaking by the time she reached it. Considering the company he’d kept in prison, nothing would be too gruesome to expect….
But the bathroom turned out to be empty. Did that mean he was safe? Or would his body be discovered in the forest or floating in the sea?
Hoping to catch Wallace before his plane could take off, she dug her phone out of her purse and was dashing from the room when someone came around the corner carrying an ice bucket and nearly knocked her to the floor.
When she realized it was Virgil and that he was fine, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead to his chest instead of stepping away, as she probably should have. “You’re okay.”