He didn’t seem to know how to react, didn’t put down the ice bucket and hold her, although she wanted him to. She could use the reassurance.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she muttered into his clean-smelling T-shirt.
“Sorry.” His lips grazed her temple as he spoke. She got the impression that was very much on purpose, although he wouldn’t allow himself to actually put his arms around her.
Feeling awkward when he didn’t make any other move, she let go. “Why’d you hang up on me?”
“I heard people approaching outside.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “Two teenage boys and their mother hurrying through the rain so they could get to their room. That’s all.”
“You thought it was…someone else?”
“A guy called right before that, asking for Hal. It made me wonder.”
Frowning, she took stock of his few belongings. She couldn’t leave him here. No way would she be able to sleep. She didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, either, not if he feared every footstep outside his door could be that of a man sent to shoot him. If she took him to her place, The Crew wouldn’t have a prayer of finding him. Not unless her car was followed. But the drive to her house was a lonely one. She’d definitely notice any vehicle behind her.
“Get your stuff.”
He’d just put down the ice bucket and was opening a Coke. “Am I going somewhere?”
“You’re not staying here.”
“Peyton, I appreciate this…mothering instinct of yours, but I don’t need you to babysit me.” He scowled as if she was being ridiculous, but she knew he was scared. If not for himself, then for his sister. “I’m not babysittting you. I’m giving you a safe place to stay.” What she felt was very different from what a mother would feel. As much as she knew she shouldn’t let herself care about him, she couldn’t help it. Probably because she was the only person who did seem to care.
He deserved more than that….
“It’s not wise for me to go home with you.”
“I don’t give a damn. Nothing is more important than your life. And I happen to feel you should get to enjoy the next two days without having to look over your shoulder all the time. We’re talking about a short stint at my place. No big deal.”
He poured the soda into a plastic cup with ice. “Wallace would never agree with this.”
“You don’t care what Wallace thinks, and neither do I.”
“What if he decides it’s irresponsible? What if he decides it’s a good reason to go after your job?”
“He won’t.”
He offered her the Coke. When she refused, he took a drink himself. “He could.”
“So we won’t tell him,” she said with a shrug.
“Peyton, no.” Setting his soda aside, he retrieved the television remote.
Why wouldn’t he let her do this for him? Couldn’t he accept a good turn? Had it been so long since he’d received one? “Why not?” she demanded and took the remote away so he’d have to focus on her.
She’d expected him to enumerate the many practical reasons or at least grab for the remote, but he didn’t. “I don’t want to care about you,” he murmured.
His honesty caused a flutter in her stomach the likes of which she hadn’t felt since she was a teenager. They weren’t touching, but the moment felt so intimate—because he’d just given her a glimpse of his soul.
Drawing a deep breath, she cleared her throat. Maybe they had no business sleeping in the same house, but she couldn’t leave him here, wouldn’t leave him here. And there wasn’t another place she could take him, not where they’d go unnoticed. It was nearly midnight. “If caring about me is the worst thing that happens while you’re here, I’ll feel you got off easy,” she said. “Are you going to get your duffel? Or shall I?”
He didn’t move. “You’ll be sorry. We’ll both be sorry.”
“No, we won’t. I refuse to believe that.”
A truck pulled up outside, one with a big diesel engine. When he glanced over his shoulder as if he wanted to check the window, she knew she had him. “See what I mean? You’ll be able to sleep at my house. There will be good food, a beautiful view, serenity.”
“What about you?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine. I won’t be on pins and needles wondering if it was a mistake to leave you here. I won’t have to feel responsible if something happens because I didn’t try hard enough to stop it. And, like I said, it’s only for two days.”
He blew out a sigh. “Your plan is to bring me back here before Wallace comes for me? To keep this little arrangement to ourselves?”
Doing so would risk her job, but she’d rather risk her job than a person’s life. If working in a prison had taught her anything, it was the necessity of feeling valued by someone. She wanted to give Virgil that. “I’ll drop you off at a safe distance on my way to work bright and early Tuesday morning. Transfers don’t generally arrive until later in the day. We’re a bit of a drive from anywhere else, in case you haven’t noticed.” She laughed to create the illusion that what she was doing was fine, that it wasn’t a major breach of protocol. “You’ll be on your own while you’re waiting for him, but it’ll be daytime and you’ll only have to be on guard for hours instead of days.”
She could see the exhaustion in his face. Let go, she silently urged. Let me help you.
“Fine. Go get in the car. We can’t be seen leaving together.”
“No, we should grab everything and go. It’s so late and foggy, no one will see us. Michelle’s not even working tonight.”
“But someone else is. Do as I say. I’ll meet you around the block.”
Their eyes connected in a silent contest of wills, but she didn’t keep arguing. He wouldn’t relent on this. “I’ll be waiting,” she said, and ducked out into the rain.
“There’s no way.” Pretty Boy paced the length of the threadbare carpet in the dirtbag motel they’d rented not far from Laurel’s house.
Neither Pointblank nor Ink, both of whom were with him, appreciated his dissenting voice. Their expressions reflected that, as did Pointblank’s tone. “What did you say?”
This wasn’t a position Pretty Boy had ever wanted to find himself in. If it’d been anyone else, anyone besides Skin, he would’ve kept his damn mouth shut. He didn’t like the politics of The Crew, just the drinking, the joyriding, the easy money and even easier women, the camaraderie. But they were talking about Virgil Skinner—Skin. There wasn’t another man alive Pretty Boy respected more than his old cellie. If not for Skin, he would’ve been dead ages ago. The man could fight better than anyone and had never hesitated when it came to getting his back.