He was about to call the police and ask them to look for her, or try to send the officers at his door, when the phone on the table beside him rang. Assuming it had to be her, he relaxed and answered, but the person on the other end of the line wasn’t Peyton.
“Skin?”
Pretty Boy. Virgil couldn’t believe it. When he’d left Florence, he’d prepared himself never to hear from his best friend again. But he should’ve known it couldn’t end that way. “Hey, man. How are you?”
“I’m surviving. You?”
“I’m still around.”
“I hear you’re in a bad way.”
“Not so bad anymore. Where are you?”
“Here in Crescent City.” He groaned. “Only you could make me drive those winding roads for hours on end. I had to pull over and throw up twice.”
“What a kid,” he teased.
“I came to help. I’m not sure what I can do, but when the damn warden wouldn’t take my calls I just kept driving. Next thing I knew…here I was. I figured maybe I’d show up on his doorstep, make the bastard listen. But everything went down before I could get here.”
“It was close there for a second. So…how’d you find me? How’d you learn I was in the hospital?”
“The whole town knows you’re in the hospital. What happened at the prison is on the front page of the Daily Triplicate. Article says you, going by the name ‘Simeon Bennett,’ and a C.O. were in an ‘altercation’ last night and that you’re now in intensive care under armed guard. Intensive care,” he repeated. “I read that shit and I thought maybe you weren’t going to make it.”
“So you just called me up.”
“I wasn’t sure what name you were admitted under, so I told the operator, ‘That guy who almost got killed at the prison last night.’”
“And she put you through?” Virgil asked with a laugh.
“I told her I was your brother.”
Until now, Virgil hadn’t realized how badly he’d missed Rex. God, it was great to hear his voice, to feel his support. Rex had pulled him through those early years in prison. Their friendship had made the past fourteen years worth living. “I owe you for what you did for Laurel and her kids.”
“Don’t mention it. I never liked Ink, anyway.”
But he’d liked Pointblank. He was trying to shrug it off, but Virgil knew what protecting Laurel had cost him. His entire life had changed. “You gonna be okay without The Crew?”
“I don’t need The Crew. I’ve got you, right?”
Virgil grinned. “Yeah, you got me.”
“Good. Then it won’t be so f**kin’ lonely anymore. I’d come see ya right now, but those armed guards sound a bit off-putting. I wouldn’t want to have to kill them, you know? That wouldn’t be in keeping with my new stand-up life.”
“No need to get yourself in trouble. I’ll be out of here soon enough. We’ll catch up then.” His thoughts returned to Peyton and the worry simmering in his gut. “But could you do me a favor while you’re here?”
“Anything.”
“You got a car, right?” He had to have some type of transportation; he’d mentioned driving. “I have borrowed a vehicle, yes, Mr. Skinner.”
Virgil couldn’t help laughing. Stealing a car was a hell of a way to go legit, but he knew Rex didn’t have many options, and if he gave the car back when he was done with it, maybe they wouldn’t add that to the list of charges against him if he was caught. What he’d done at the safe house had been done to protect a woman and two children. If he wasn’t the one who killed the marshal, he could probably clear up his legal troubles without having to serve too much time.
“My…woman hasn’t shown up here and I’m getting worried that—”
“Your woman?” he interrupted. “Damn, you move fast.”
“Just making up for lost time. Will you check on her for me?” he asked, and gave Rex directions to Peyton’s house.
32
Peyton wasn’t sure exactly what drew her attention. One minute she was happily stuffing a change of clothes into a small overnight case, eager and excited to see Virgil. The next she felt a trickle of fear slide down her spine like a cold, wet hand, leaving goose bumps in its wake. It might’ve been a creak or a rustle that didn’t sound like the usual settling noises. Whatever set her off hadn’t been big because she couldn’t identify it. She just had the impression that she was no longer alone.
Standing over the bag she’d been packing, she listened more carefully. She was imagining things, wasn’t she? Virgil had been frightened for her, hadn’t wanted her to be out by herself. But surely The Crew wouldn’t be able to find out where she lived and come after her this fast.
Or maybe they could….
She glanced at the bed, the nightstand, the floor, searching for her cell phone, even patted the pockets of the jeans she’d just pulled on before remembering—she’d left it in her purse out in the Volvo. At least she had the home phone. She hurried around the bed to the nightstand and dialed 9-1-1, but before the operator could come on, footsteps, moving on the floor above her, nearly made her pee her pants. She didn’t want to be trapped in her bedroom, with nowhere to run and no way to defend herself. There wasn’t even a door to the outside down here, or a window that opened. She’d either have to break the glass overlooking the sea and figure out how to scramble through it, or she’d have to get out the way she’d gotten in—by the stairs.
Then she heard a different sound, this one much closer, and realized the stairs weren’t an option. Someone was already coming down them. She could see a man’s tennis shoes and denim-covered legs just before a tatted hand came into view gripping a giant knife.
“Emergency Services. Can you give me the nature of your emergency, please?”
She gulped for enough air to be able to talk. “There’s a man in my house!” she screamed.
The second he found her, Shady grabbed the handrail and used it to support himself so he could jump the rest of the stairs. He was hoping to reach the chief deputy before she could get the door shut, but he didn’t make it. Dropping the phone, she darted forward and managed to slam and lock the door as he landed. Which only enraged him. Now he wanted to kill her just for trying to resist. And he would. He had her cornered. All he had to do was get through one flimsy barrier.