by Brenda Novak
“He’ll be fine. I just… I wanted to tell you that I’m not letting him go back to Montana. Not if I can stop him. I’m going to take him to the hospital.”
Peyton didn’t need any additional worries. The pressure of everything already going on was bad enough. “Laurel tried to tell me,” he said.
“She was right. But if he won’t cooperate, there won’t be a lot I can do.”
Virgil imagined the concern on her face, feared what the stress of this was doing to her and the baby. “Pey, don’t let any of this upset you, okay?”
“How can I avoid that with you in L.A., heading straight back to the people who want to kill you?”
Hearing the tears in her voice, he began to knead his forehead. He wished he could be in two places at once.
“I don’t even know if you’ll survive,” she added.
“Have I ever let you down before?”
“You’ll come through if you can, Virgil. There’s no question about that. It’s just—”
“Quit thinking the worst,” he broke in. “I need you to have faith.”
There was a brief moment of silence during which she seemed to muster her strength, and he prayed she’d be able to hang on—and keep all the children safe. “Okay. I can do that. I’m with you. You know that, don’t you?”
“You’re always with me, babe. Just take it easy until I get back.”
“I understand.”
“Can I talk to Rex?”
“Hang on.”
Rex’s deeper voice came across the line a second later. “Hey, buddy.”
“You’re sick, huh?”
“Hell, no. I’m fine.”
“Let her take you to the hospital.”
“What? No way! I’m going back to Montana as soon as I can get a change of clothes and buy a ticket. I left all the shit I took to L.A. at some motel.”
They’d opened the plane door. The line was finally beginning to move. Virgil could feel the balmy evening air so distinctive to this part of the country waft into the aircraft.
Hefting his bag over one shoulder, he nodded at the flight attendant who wished him a good night. “You must’ve been out of your mind in L.A.,” he murmured to Rex.
“Sort of,” came the response.
“Listen, I really need you to do something.”
“What’s that?”
“I need you to let Peyton take you to the emergency room and get you some help.”
“No. I just told you—”
“Rex, please. Will you do it? For me?” Virgil couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever had to plead with Rex about anything. They always understood each other. He knew about Jack, doubted he could’ve handled what had happened himself. So he gave Rex a lot of latitude and tried not to ask for much. But he was pleading with him now.
It obviously set Rex back on his heels, made him go silent.
“You still there?” Virgil asked at length.
He made a sound of frustration. “Yeah, I’m here. I’m trying to decide what the hell to do. I can’t leave Laurel alone. Not against Ink and whoever else he has with him.”
“I’m going to cut off Ink’s support and direction just as soon as possible. That way he’ll be left without reinforcements if he fails and no one to report to for praise or promotion. I doubt it’ll remove all his incentive, but if Laurel and the sheriff can take care of what’s happening in Pineview, we’ll make it through this. All of us. Peyton’s about to have a baby, one that’s been trying to come early. She can’t look after all three kids and worry about you, too, not if she goes into labor. So I need you to step up, and the way you can do that is to get yourself some help so I can rest assured that she and the kids are in good hands. You feel me?”
There was another long silence.
“Rex?”
“But this town. Pineview. You should see it. It’s not prepared for what Ink is capable of doing.”
“Just stay in Buffalo with Peyton until I call. Then one of us will go to Pineview. Laurel means as much to me as she does to you, but this has to happen in a certain way or we’re all screwed.”
Rex’s response, when it finally came, was grudging. But an agreement from him was an agreement. Virgil trusted him to stand by his word. “Okay.”
The terminal opened up ahead of him, wide and cavernous, with people flowing in both directions, and he lengthened his stride. “Thanks,” he said, and he meant it.
“So what are you going to do now?” Rex asked.
“First thing? I’ve got to buy a gun. I couldn’t exactly bring one on the plane.”
“From where?”
“A few bucks spread around the right neighborhood, and I should be able to come up with something.”
“I’ve got a friend,” Rex said. “He’ll fix you up if you call him.”
“Can I trust this guy?”
“Completely. He doesn’t even know any of The Crew.”
Which meant Rex’s contact with this guy came before his gang involvement, before he went to prison. “What’s his name and number?”
As Rex gave it to him, Virgil put the information in his phone.
“And once you have…what you need?” Rex said.
“It’ll be time to pay Horse a little visit.”
Rex’s voice, which was muffled now, told Virgil he’d turned or moved away from Peyton, and for that, he was grateful. “What you’re planning—it’s suicide, you know that, right? You don’t have a prayer of pulling it off. Not alone.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, and pushed the End button.
24
Myles checked outside his front windows. He saw no truck parked at Vivian’s, no vehicle at all, except for hers, which was in the drive. From what he could tell, there were no lights on in the front of her house, and no squad car rolling down the street. The view looked exactly like it did every other night. The houses sat dark and quiet, the lake glimmered, placid, beneath the moon, and the stars dangled like Christmas ornaments above.
Because he doubted Ink and Lloyd would’ve approached Vivian’s house from the front, and he figured they’d probably come out the same way they went in, he hurried through his kitchen and exited onto the deck. There he paused to listen. He could hear his heart pounding with urgency, maybe even fear despite the gun in his hand, but he couldn’t hear voices or movement.
Had he already missed them?
That upstairs light didn’t allow him to see in the first-floor windows. Maybe when they found her gone they’d left without bothering to turn it off. Or they were ransacking her house right now, looking for clues or leaving surprises…?.
Guessing they’d be too disappointed and angry at finding her gone to simply go away, he walked as quickly and quietly as possible through Vivian’s garden. He had no idea what vegetables he happened to be trampling, but he wasn’t worried about it. If he could arrest Ink and Lloyd, send them back to prison where they belonged, it’d be worth a few smashed tomatoes.
Although Myles had put on his bulletproof vest along with his utility belt, he hadn’t taken the time to change into his uniform. He wore the vest over his T-shirt, knew it probably looked a little ridiculous, but he had what was necessary. That was all that mattered.
When he discovered the broken door, which stood slightly ajar, and the glass on the floor inside, he was especially glad he’d had the presence of mind to put on some shoes.
Someone had been in her house, all right.
Hinges squealing as he pushed the door wider, Myles stepped over the shards of glass and stopped again to listen. He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything, either. There was no light whatsoever in this room. The moon slanted into the front of the house and didn’t filter to the back. Myles had brought his flashlight, but he didn’t dare use it. He wanted to find Ink and Lloyd before they realized he was there, so he felt his way through instead, hoping he wouldn’t knock something over in the process.
He hadn’t even made it out of the laundry room and i
nto the kitchen when he heard footsteps pounding down the stairs. Whoever was here seemed to be leaving.
Without seeing where he was going, he couldn’t move fast so he snapped on his flashlight and charged through the swinging doors between the kitchen and the living room.
The shifting glow of his flashlight landed on the back of a man who was opening the door. Ink. He turned at that second, giving Myles a glimpse of his face. Then Myles spotted a second man, Lloyd, standing behind Ink across the threshold.
Lloyd had a gun. Ducking behind the sofa, Myles called out, “Hold it right there or I’ll shoot!”
They didn’t stop. Myles hadn’t really expected them to. Ink shoved Lloyd to the side, and attempted to shut the door behind him, so Myles squeezed the trigger. He felt the familiar recoil travel up his arm and hoped to God he’d hit something. He was peering around the sofa to see, when someone flung the door open again. It crashed against the wall with a bang that reverberated through the house just before the sound of a second shot, this one coming from the bad guys.
Ink had taken control of the firearm. Blinded by Myles’s flashlight, he was shooting into the dark, but he’d come darn close. Too close. When Myles heard the bullet whiz past his ear, he tossed the flashlight into the living room so it couldn’t give his location away and dropped to the floor. But there wasn’t any time for the Oh, shit! that was going through his mind. He had to act and he had to act now.
Lifting his Glock, he fired once, twice, three times.
And he hit someone. He heard the grunt of pain, the curse.
Hoping the squad car he’d ordered would come and hem them in at the front, he waited. Without his flashlight, he couldn’t see them anymore. “Ink?” he called out. “Drop your weapon!”
“Go to hell!” came the reply. Then someone started to run.
It had to be Lloyd. Myles didn’t believe Ink could move that fast, not with his handicap. That meant he had a good chance of apprehending Ink, even if Lloyd managed to escape. But he wouldn’t get anyone if he stayed where he was. He had to sacrifice the cover of the sofa in order to advance.
First, he wanted to reload. The clip he’d been using wasn’t out of bullets, but he didn’t want to be down to two or three shots if he got into another exchange. So he changed clips by feel alone, then rose cautiously to his feet.
His abandoned flashlight painted a steady white circle on the wall. It was the only thing he could see as he darted for the door. He reached it without incident, but as soon as he stepped through it he heard another blast.
This one wasn’t from his gun, either.
Then he felt the pain.
The sound of gunshots woke Laurel from a deep sleep. She blinked against the darkness, wondering if she could’ve dreamed the sound. Had she been reliving that night in Colorado as she so often did?
She didn’t think so. After a few seconds of trying to catch her breath and sort out the thoughts and feelings bombarding her from all sides, she heard another shot.
That was when she knew it was real.
“Myles?” she called.
No answer. It felt as if she was completely alone in the house, but she knew he’d never leave her without someone else being there. Not in her current predicament. And not without good reason.
“Myles?” she called again.
The familiar influx of adrenaline began to pour through her. Something was wrong. Something terrible.
Where was her gun?
She had to rack her brain to remember. It was in her purse. But she hadn’t fallen asleep in this room, hadn’t brought it upstairs with her. The last she remembered was that she’d had it in Myles’s kitchen while he was cooking her meal.
“God, please,” she mumbled. She wasn’t praying for anything specific. Nothing she could identify in this hellish moment. She was praying for all of it. Safety. For herself, for Myles, for everyone in Pineview. For Virgil and Rex and the children. She didn’t want to find the sheriff dead. She couldn’t take that. Not after what she’d seen that night in Colorado.
More shots rang out. Whatever was going on hadn’t ended. She had to get out there and help, if she could. But she didn’t even have her jeans. After Myles had carried her to bed, she’d shed them for the sake of comfort and curled up under Marley’s blankets.
Where were they? Probably on the floor somewhere, but she was already in the hall and wasn’t willing to waste so much as a second going back.
Running down the stairs, she rushed into the kitchen to get her gun. She could see a light burning upstairs at her house, but that didn’t surprise her. What did was that she didn’t hear any sirens or police activity out front.
Where was the rest of the police force? Had Myles gone over there by himself? If so, what had motivated him to do that?
She found her purse on the table, where she’d left it, and pulled out her gun. Then she ran through the living room and out the front door. There’d been no new shots since she’d left Marley’s bedroom, but she didn’t hear Myles making an arrest, or coming back home, either.
Why not?
“Myles? Where are you?”
“Get back…in the house…and lock the door!”
Relief flooded through her as she recognized his voice, but she didn’t turn back as he asked. It sounded as if he was in pain, as if he could hardly talk, let alone yell.
She imagined him bleeding on her front porch.
She glanced around, looking for danger, but saw nothing and hurried closer. A series of dark, amorphous shapes surrounded her, but she realized those shapes were her car, her chairs, her hibiscus plant, the columns on her porch. Whatever had happened was over.
“Myles?”
“Didn’t you…hear me?” he said hoarsely. “I have a deputy…on the way. He’ll…help me. Get…inside. Now!”
If Ink and his partner were around, they would’ve fired again. At her, if not him. But she wasn’t sure it would’ve stopped her. She had to get to Myles right away, before it was too late. That was all she cared about. So she lowered her gun and ran hell-bent for her porch.
She found him lying, alone, on her welcome mat. “Have you been shot?”
“Just…in the leg. I’m…okay.”
He was okay if the bullet hadn’t struck a major artery. She stepped over him to turn on the porch light and saw that he’d actually been shot twice. Once in the leg and once in the neck.
“Turn that off!” he growled, but she didn’t. She could hear a siren now. The deputy was on his way. Ink and his partner were gone. She had to stop the bleeding.
Tears streamed down her face as she ran inside to get a clean sheet she could cut up and tie around his leg. This was exactly what she’d been afraid of. She’d brought The Crew to town, and now they were hurting the people who meant the most to her.
She returned as a parade of cop cars drove down their street. The neighbors closest to the corner had been roused from sleep. They stumbled out of their house and stood in front, rubbing their eyes and yawning as they watched to see what was going on. A few began to walk over. But she ignored them. In situations like this, seconds mattered.
Using a pair of scissors, she cut the sheet and tied a strip above Myles’s thigh, where he’d been shot. The leg injury looked worse than the wound in his neck, which appeared to be a simple grazing. She was wiping the blood away when she felt his hand slip beneath her underwear and cup her ass.
“What are you doing?” She sniffled, surprised. The porch railing blocked any view of her from the oncoming cop and the neighbors, but that would change within seconds.
His teeth flashed as he gave her a lopsided grin. “Hey, stop crying. I don’t think I’d want to touch you so badly if I was about to die.”
Laughing, she pushed his hand away and laid her head on his chest. The bulletproof vest wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but nothing had ever felt better than the tenderness he showed her by running his fingers through her hair. “It’s going to be okay,” he m
urmured. “I’m fine.”
And that was when she knew. He might be fighting it—might be as scared of falling in love again as she was—but he cared about her every bit as much as she cared about him.
“What the hell’s wrong with you? Run!” L.J. whispered harshly. They didn’t have time for Ink to limp along. They were dead if they didn’t get out of Pineview fast. It seemed as if the police were coming from every direction. The flashing lights on top of their cruisers made L.J. dizzy with their strobe effect.
He moved deeper into the forest, into the welcoming shelter of the trees, but the red of those lights seemed to reflect all around him, and the sirens were deafening. The cops were too close…?.
“I’m…coming,” Ink gasped, but he wasn’t making great progress, and L.J. didn’t want to wait. Why should he? Ink was nothing but a crazy old gimp. The heartless son of a bitch had dragged him into some deep shit, and now it was all going wrong, just as he’d known it would.
Ink could go down for it alone. No way would L.J. be caught with him, not if he could help it.
Once he’d made that decision, L.J.’s path seemed so ridiculously obvious he almost couldn’t believe he hadn’t broken away from Ink sooner. He’d leave his old cellie; Ink would never know where he’d gone. Then he wouldn’t be tied to this nightmare, this…this violent nut job. After the gunfight that had just occurred, Ink wouldn’t make it till morning before they dragged his ass off to jail.
Picking up speed, L.J. put more distance between them. But it wasn’t that much easier for him to run. He’d been shot in the left shoulder. He had no idea how bad his injury was, but he knew it hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced before. Pain radiated through his whole chest, and blood flowed down the front of his shirt, causing the fabric to stick to him. With his luck, he’d lose too much blood and be unable to continue moving at all. Then Ink would catch up and kill him for trying to get away. He was already making guttural threats as loudly as he dared.
“You leave me behind, you little prick, and I’ll kill you. I swear to God I will. If I have to hunt you across the entire country, I’ll be there someday when you least expect it.”