Did he go to Montana to try and protect Laurel?
Or did he go to L.A. to support Virgil?
Ultimately, he’d chosen L.A. He knew Virgil was walking straight into trouble; Laurel was at least trying to avoid it. And, as much as he claimed not to have any confidence in the small-town sheriff he’d entrusted with her care, he knew Myles King would do all he could to keep her safe—and was probably more capable than he wanted to admit.
She sniffled, evidence that she was wrestling with her own emotions. “How—how’s Virgil?”
An old woman approached with a question for the nurse and talked far too loudly. In an effort to block out the noise, Rex covered his free ear. “Took three bullets. Two in the back, one in the arm. He was already a mess by the time I could reach him. It’s a miracle he’s alive.” Question was, would he stay that way? Rex didn’t come out and say that, but he knew Laurel had to be thinking it.
“What was he doing in L.A.?” she asked. “How could he leave Peyton?”
He studied the flecked pattern on the floor. “He felt he had no choice. That he had to put a stop to The Crew once and for all, or none of us would ever be safe.”
“So he went to them?”
Wincing when her raised voice lanced through his aching head, he moved the phone to his other ear. “Yeah. To a club Horse owns.”
“And you followed him there?”
“Unfortunately, he was ahead of me.”
“Or you’d probably be under a doctor’s care, too. Or at the morgue.”
“Maybe. I was lucky. No one expected a latecomer. They were so busy trying to kill Virgil they didn’t even notice when I walked in.”
“And that’s how you got him out?”
“That’s how.” After shooting at least five men.
“What happened to Horse?”
“Dead.” He didn’t specify that it was Virgil who’d hit Horse. He wanted to save her from the more graphic details as much as possible.
“And the other Crew members who were there?”
Rex wasn’t sure if they were dead or he’d just wounded them. He’d gone in shooting, but there was no other alternative. It was the only way to save Virgil—and himself, since they would’ve turned on him next. Sick as he was, he still didn’t quite know how he’d managed to pull it off.
“Are the police involved yet?” she asked.
Rex tried not to notice the way the nurse kept staring at him. He was sweating again and having heart palpitations. But he was determined to tough it out on his own. He braced himself against the counter. “I don’t know. They might be there now. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out. I didn’t even wait for an ambulance. Some guy—a neighbor I roused—helped me load Virgil into my rental car and I took off.”
“They’ll get to you eventually,” she said. “But it was self-defense.”
“With as much as they’ve done—and tried to do—to us, I think that should be easy to prove.”
“Virgil would be dead if it wasn’t for you,” she said. “Thank you.” Another sniff indicated that Laurel was losing the battle with her emotions.
“I would’ve been dead long ago without the two of you,” he said quietly. As far as he was concerned, they’d saved one another.
“You have to get off the pills, Rex. Please.”
Wondering when his withdrawal symptoms would finally abate, he drew a steadying breath. “I’m off, I swear it.”
When she didn’t respond, he nearly sank to the floor. His legs simply didn’t want to hold him up anymore. “You don’t believe me.”
“Actually, I do.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “That helps. I’m there this time, Laurel.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” She covered the phone and spoke with someone else. Then she came back on the line. “Is there any way Ink might know that Horse is dead?”
“I doubt it. It happened too recently. And I don’t think it’ll stop him, even if he finds out.”
“Then why did Virgil do it?”
The anguish in that question seared Rex to the bone. But he knew the answer. He understood it completely. “To cut The Crew off at the head. That’s the only way to stop them for good.”
“But do you think it’ll work?”
He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, felt the dampness of his sweat. “Only time will tell.” The nurse eyed him as if he’d been on the phone long enough, but he averted his gaze. “So there’s been no sign of Ink?”
“He came to the house last night.”
“And?” Rex felt himself tense.
“Got away.”
With a curse, he began to massage his temple. “Where was the sheriff?”
“Trying to stop him. He got shot in the process, but he’s fine. It could’ve been a lot worse.”
“I’m glad he’s okay.” Rex was pretty sure he meant that, despite how he felt about Laurel. “I gotta get off this phone. I’ll call you when Virgil comes out of surgery, okay?”
She gave him the sheriff’s cell number as well as the motel number and said goodbye. But when he handed the phone back to the nurse, he saw her lip curl as if she didn’t approve of him, as if she knew he was some low-life addict and, for a split second, the craving for OxyContin intensified.
But then he realized—it couldn’t get any worse than what he’d already been through. Regardless of what this woman thought, what anyone thought, he’d overcome that craving for nearly three weeks. And three weeks was longer than most people could fight it.
He was going to make it. He just had to believe he could.
With a smile that said he didn’t give a shit about her judgments, he walked away.
While Vivian took a shower, Myles called Janet Rogers. He’d spoken to her earlier. He’d gotten both her and Marley out of bed this morning to tell them what had happened and to warn Marley to stay away from home until Ink and Lloyd could be captured. But he was afraid his injury had scared his daughter and wanted to check in with her again.
“She’s doing great,” Janet said.
“I hope it’s not too much trouble to have her there.”
“Not at all. You know how much she and Elizabeth love each other. She’s been worried about you, of course, but we’ve talked about it, and she understands that you weren’t hit in a vital area.”