Rick didn’t back off. “But there’s something else you should know.”
“And that is…?” With his eyelids half-closed, Virgil’s expression revealed the contempt he felt for Rick.
“The Crew found your sister, too. Last night.”
Virgil’s face went blank. He didn’t move. He made no sound. And yet Peyton could sense the intensity of his reaction.
“Are Laurel and the kids okay?” She was afraid of what Virgil would do if they weren’t.
“They’re a little shaken up but otherwise fine,” Rick said. “I wish I could say the same for the U.S. marshal who was with her.”
Peyton’s stomach knotted. “He’s dead?”
Rick’s eyes grew even cooler when they shifted to her. He seemed to feel she’d let him down, that she’d owed him some debt of gratitude and commitment just because he’d wanted her. “That’s right.” And because he knew it would upset her, he seemed almost happy to add, “They slit his throat.”
This was exactly the type of thing Peyton had feared. She covered her mouth as she tried to absorb this news.
Virgil’s nostrils flared. “You’re sure Laurel and the kids got away? Because if you’re lying to me—”
Wallace pulled out his cell phone and showed Virgil the text he’d received. “See for yourself. They’ve been moved out of Colorado and are in protective custody again.”
Virgil stared at the floor for several seconds before speaking. “How’d they get away?”
“There were three men who came to the house. One ended up turning on the others.”
Confusion drew his eyebrows together. “Who turned?”
“You can’t guess? You were one of them.”
Virgil didn’t appreciate Wallace’s smirk. “I don’t even know who was there.”
“Pretty Boy, Pointblank and Ink. You recognize them by their nicknames, don’t you?”
“Pretty Boy.”
“That’s right. He told Laurel he was your best friend.” Rick looked at Peyton. “You have yourself quite a man here. He keeps company with the crème de la crème.”
“Are you trying to completely ruin my opinion of you?” she muttered.
“Why not?” he replied. “You’ve ruined mine of you.”
If Virgil heard their exchange, he didn’t react to it. Was he regretting his decision to leave The Crew? Was he tempted to put an end to all of this by returning to the gang? Had Rick convinced him that he was reaching too far by wanting more than he had, by wanting her?
Virgil was so hard to read; it was difficult to say. But Peyton knew she ran the risk of losing him to The Crew as much as anything else. He was a good man, but he was still a product of his past. Changing his life that drastically was almost impossible. Everyone he knew, everything he’d done, even the people he met now—people like Rick who judged him by his past—worked, like gravity, to hold him in place. And if he went back, those he loved would no longer be at risk. That had to be the biggest draw of all.
“Where’s Pretty Boy?” he asked.
“If we knew that, we’d have him arrested,” Rick said.
A muscle jumped in Virgil’s cheek. “For saving Laurel’s life?”
“For killing the marshal.”
Virgil stared down his nose at the smaller man. “Too bad you weren’t still standing guard.”
His meaning was too clear to miss. Rick’s cheeks grew mottled. “Pardon me?”
Virgil didn’t bother repeating it. “What about Pointblank and Ink?”
Rick’s voice was sulky. “Pointblank’s dead. Ink’s in the ICU, with two police officers guarding him.”
His mind filled with God knew what, Virgil squared his shoulders. “Does it look as if Ink will recover?”
How much did he care about Ink? Peyton wondered. And what about Pointblank, who’d died? Those men had been his friends. What he was feeling couldn’t be pleasant. People he’d once cared about had shot someone named Eddie, who seemed important to him, and tried to do the same to his sister. The casualties were mounting….
“Who can say?” Wallace replied. “Right now he’s hanging on by a thread.” To add more emphasis to what he was about to say, he stepped closer. “So does this change where we’re at? Do you still want to play it without bringing Weston Jager into our confidence?”
Peyton didn’t appreciate the challenge in his tone. “Wait a second. You can’t expect him to go back inside after learning that Eddie—”
“Eddie didn’t tell them,” Virgil interrupted. “And if I give up now, Eddie’s pain, my sister’s fear, that fight in the dining hall, what Pretty Boy did…it’ll all be for nothing.”
“But even if Weston didn’t know about you before, he probably does now,” Peyton argued. “Maybe Eddie didn’t tell them but they found your sister somehow. There has to be a leak.”
“It’s a gamble we’ve got to take.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. The odds have gotten worse. Much worse.”
He brushed off her concern. “I’ll just have to be more convincing.” Chains rattling, he gestured toward the phone with his cuffed hands. “Call for an escort. I’m going to my cell.”
It wasn’t easy to concentrate. Virgil was playing chess with Buzz on the tier, trying to keep up appearances, but his wound hurt and his mind kept returning to Peyton and what had occurred in that conference room. He had so much to worry about—and yet she overshadowed it all. Was Rick Wallace right? Would he be able to keep her? Considering their circumstances, he had little faith in that, and yet…he couldn’t stop wanting her, couldn’t stop hoping.
At least thinking about her helped him escape the guilt that plagued him. Pretty Boy had done him the biggest favor in the world, had saved the people he loved most, and by doing so had put himself in a terrible position—all for the sake of a friendship Virgil couldn’t even maintain. Where had Rex gone after leaving the safe house? He didn’t have anywhere to go, did he? He couldn’t go back to The Crew. They’d be looking to put a bullet in him.
I’ve made a mess of the lives of everyone around me, everyone I care about. But there was no way to tear himself from the fabric of The Crew without making a hole. Had he been wrong to accept the government’s offer? He’d justified it by telling himself he should put Laurel ahead of his brothers in The Crew. He’d never believed in their ideology. He didn’t want to be like them or continue to associate with them. But that didn’t mean he didn’t care about certain members. Pretty Boy had been part of his life for fourteen years, Pointblank for six. It wasn’t as if he saw them as bad people. In prison the line between good and evil blurred too much, especially in that length of time.