“It’s the Hells Fury who’ll be hurt. Irreparably, I hope.”

He could imagine the headlines. But she feared those headlines would say something different than he hoped. “You don’t know that the damage will stop there.”

“I’ve got too much riding on this investigation to flush it down the toilet over a little bump and grind. So you gave him a ride. What does it really matter? You’re two consenting adults, right? Hell, I was thinking I should hire the poor guy a hooker considering how long he’s been behind bars. Now I won’t have to.”

Peyton straightened her spine. “Thanks for treating me with respect despite my mistake,” she said in a withering voice. “It means a lot to me.”

“Hey, you can thank me when I come back to town.”

“What do you mean?”

“As long as you’re giving it away for free, I’m next in line,” he said, and hung up.

Surely he was joking. Wallace was married; she wouldn’t let him near her. She hoped he understood that, but it didn’t matter whether he did or not. He’d learn. She just needed to keep her distance from Virgil, and she’d soon be in control of her life again.

Dropping her phone on the couch to free her hands, she removed his medallion and went to hide it in a drawer.

16

Eddie Glover felt like the walking dead. Because his wife had recently taken a job working afternoons and evenings at a craft store, he’d switched to nights at ADX Florence. Someone had to be available for the kids after school. But a week into the change, his body hadn’t made the adjustment yet. Eight hours on his feet during the time he normally slept left him dragging, feeling punchy, dim-witted, slow to react.

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Apparently he was slow to react, and none too observant. He didn’t notice the car that turned down his street until it drove up onto his lawn and three white men, all of them wearing beanies and overlarge sweatshirts, jumped out. Once he understood what was happening, he stood slack-jawed as the tallest of the three waved a pistol in his face.

“Glover?”

Eddie didn’t bother denying his identity. Although he was wearing a heavy coat, his uniform bore a tag and would be easy enough to check. “What’s going on?”

With the help of the others, the man who’d verified his name started dragging him to the front porch. But Eddie couldn’t let these men in the house. His wife and two little girls were there.

Adrenaline blasted away the cobwebs in his mind, but there wasn’t much he could do to gain the upper hand, not when he was surrounded by three thugs toting guns. His cell phone was in his shirt pocket, but he knew they’d shoot him the minute he tried to get it out. He had only the lock on the front door and his ability to reason with them.

As soon as they realized the house was locked up, the tall man with a thin line of hair along his jaw—and a pointy chin reminiscent of pictures representing the devil—nudged him. “Get your keys.”

They were in his pants pocket, but he made no move to retrieve them. “No.”

“You’re joking, right?” Devil said.

“Not at all. I won’t let you in my house.”

They stiffened as if he’d surprised them. But he couldn’t imagine why. If these men thought he’d give them access to his house under any conditions, they had no idea how much he loved his family.

“What did you say?” Devil demanded.

He eyed the storm drain, judging the distance. If they tried to get his keys, he’d throw them in there, he decided. “I can’t let you in the house. You can do what you want with me, but that won’t change.”

“Are you stupid?” This came from a much shorter man with tattoos covering every inch of visible skin, including his face. His wild eyes made Eddie nervous. He’d seen that look before, plenty of times. It usually indicated drug use and often preceded violence.

Struggling to remain calm, he drew measured breaths. Panic would get him nowhere. But it would be easier to figure out how to defuse this situation if only he understood why it was happening. He’d worked at the prison for ten years and never had an incident. “Not stupid enough to let you in my house.”

“Then we’ll shoot you here.” Wild Eyes shoved the muzzle of his gun between Eddie’s ribs. Eddie wished his neighbors were early risers, but it wasn’t even light yet. The ones who were up were probably getting into a hot shower, not peering out their windows to see if he’d made it home safe. Even his house was dark.

“If you’d just tell me what you want, maybe I could help you instead,” he said, hoping to calm them. “I’ve got my wallet. It’s right here. We could go down to the ATM.” He’d seen enough gang members to know these guys were affiliated. Their tattoos told him that much. The third man—dark hair and eyes, average height, average build—had a clover tattoo with AB on the back of his hand. Eddie recognized it as an Aryan Brotherhood tattoo and guessed they were after money. That had to be it. There wasn’t any other reason for the AB to come after him. He had good relationships with the convicts at Florence. That didn’t mean he condoned their actions; it just meant that, in his opinion, anyone who expected to be treated like a decent human being should treat others the same way.

Devil nudged his compatriot aside. “If he doesn’t want to go in the house, we’ll put him in the car.”

The car wasn’t any less dangerous for Eddie, but he was willing to go with them to draw any threat away from the house.

Devil jumped behind the wheel and fired up the engine. The more aggressive Wild Eyes shoved Eddie in the passenger seat before getting in behind him, and Clover Tattoo, who hadn’t said a word and didn’t seem all that thrilled to be there, took the other seat.

“Are we going to the bank?” Eddie asked as they ran up over the sidewalk and spun out, tearing up his lawn.

No one responded. They lurched into the street and careered around several turns, but when they headed away from the city, Eddie knew this wasn’t a robbery.

Eventually they found a dirt road leading into the countryside. Judging by the way they hurtled over grooves and potholes without any consideration for the vehicle, Eddie wondered if they were driving a stolen car. But it had very little wear and tear.

It smelled like a rental….

These boys were from out of town.

But that only added to his confusion. What was going on?

Spotting a rental agreement lying on the floor with several fast-food wrappers, he tried to get a glimpse of the name. But it wasn’t easy. The agreement had been stepped on and torn, and he was trying not to be obvious.




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