Inside b-1

by Brenda Novak

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I should never have told you.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Why would you be glad?” She seemed appalled by his reaction, but she didn’t understand that everything had changed.

  “Because it shows that you trust me. And that prodded me into making a decision I should’ve made when I first met you.”

  When he took her arm, she glanced at his hand as if ready to bolt. “What decision?”

  “I split with my wife today.”

  He couldn’t help hoping she’d act excited about the news. But she didn’t. She pulled away, looking shocked, upset. He had to admit the breakup of his marriage had been sudden. He’d never indicated to anyone that he might take such drastic action, almost couldn’t believe it himself. If Peyton hadn’t told him about her and Virgil, he might’ve struggled along with Mercedes indefinitely, but the knowledge that she’d slept with another man, especially a man so unworthy of her, had galvanized him into action. If he couldn’t fix his marriage, why was he hanging on? It was better to toss out what was already ruined and start fresh with someone who wasn’t angry and bitter and run-down. Someone who understood his work—who was part of it. With his support, her star could continue to rise, too. Getting together would be perfect for both of them.

  “What did you say?” she whispered.

  “I left my wife.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it wasn’t working. I didn’t even realize how miserable I’d become until this morning, when I suddenly understood how…different my life could be.” Peyton’s, too, but he didn’t say that.

  “What about your kids?”

  “We’ll share custody, like millions of other divorced parents. It’s not what I wanted for them, but they’ll survive. Hell, I survived, didn’t I? And no divorce could’ve been more acrimonious than my parents’. Mercedes and I won’t make it that hard.”

  Fortunately, she didn’t point out that he couldn’t control Mercedes, that he might not have a choice about the level of difficulty. He was counting on his wife’s love for their children, but she’d grown so depressed in recent years he wasn’t entirely sure what she might do. He didn’t like the financial repercussions of divorce, either, but he figured it was preferable to get that over with and start rebuilding rather than let the marriage drag on until he had even more to lose. Peyton made a nice living. If they got together, her income would help compensate for the money he’d have to forfeit.

  “But…” She seemed at a loss. “I didn’t even know you were having problems.”

  “It’s not something I wanted to face. But now that I’ve made the break, I feel like a new man.”

  She said nothing.

  “And it’s been coming for a long time,” he added. When he’d gone home and broken the news to Mercedes she didn’t even cry. She’d acted relieved, and that was how he felt, too.

  Peyton set her purse and briefcase on the picnic table as if they’d become too heavy. “Rick, I’m getting some weird vibes here. Please tell me this has nothing to do with me.”

  “You didn’t cause it. You just showed me it doesn’t have to be the way it is.”

  When she hugged herself, he nearly repeated his suggestion that they go inside. She was cold. And if he could have a few minutes to explain everything in the warmth and quiet of her house, he felt confident she’d understand.

  But if he pushed her to go in she’d just tell him to find Skinner. She was set on making that happen, and she was right to be anxious about it. Today he’d let his personal problems intrude, but that wasn’t like him, not when he had so much riding on this investigation. He was counting on the goodwill and gratitude that would be generated among his superiors when he made it possible to curtail the criminal activities of the Hells Fury.

  “How?” she said. “I don’t understand the sudden switch.”

  “Like I said, it’s not as sudden as it seems.”

  “I’m not only talking about your divorce. It’s…your attitude toward me. Where is this coming from?”

  “I’m attracted to you, Peyton. I have been for a few years.”

  “But…”

  “I just never let myself consider it. Thinking about it scared me because I knew I’d feel too unsatisfied with Mercedes.”

  “Rick, don’t do this—”

  He had to stop her before she made up her mind. She was exhausted, stressed, preoccupied, wasn’t really taking in what he was telling her. “I realize it’s a lot to grasp with everything else that’s going on. Just…know that I’m interested, okay? You don’t have to settle for someone like Virgil. You have options.”

  “Options? You’re my boss!”

  “I don’t work at the prison. That should alleviate the department’s potential concerns. It’s not as if the director would ever encourage a relationship, but you and I both know it happens and it doesn’t necessarily mean a loss of employment. I think we can get Tillamont’s blessing to at least start dating. After that, we’ll take it one day at a time.”

  She covered her face. “This can’t be happening.”

  “Just think about it.”

  “Fine.” She dropped her hands. “I’ll think about it if you’ll make me a promise.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll keep what I told you to yourself and wait until this investigation is over before we deal with anything between us. Operation Inside is all I can focus on right now. It scares me, as you know. So will you go get Virgil?”

  That she kept going back to Virgil brought a fresh twinge of jealousy. She could act a little grateful that he was willing to speak to the director so they could see each other, couldn’t she?

  But maybe he was expecting too much. She was as ragged as he was. So he tamped down the negative emotion. “If it’ll make you happy, I’ll go and grab him.”

  “You might want to drop him off here, then go to the motel for his bag. I don’t think he should show up there at all, do you?”

  He’d be leaving them alone together; that registered immediately. But he was crazy to worry. Peyton wouldn’t want someone like Virgil now that he’d let her know she could hope for so much better. “You’re probably right,” he said, and strode off.

  “God, if I hang on to my job, it’ll be a miracle,” Peyton muttered as she stood on the deck listening to the sound of Wallace’s car growing fainter. She was so shocked by what he’d told her she hadn’t known how to respond. She wasn’t interested in him. She’d never be interested in him. But there was no reason to make that as clear as she wanted to. Not right now. They were all in a very tenuous position. She needed to keep Rick on her side for Virgil’s sake, if for no other reason. It would be smarter to get through the coming weeks without defining anything that might upset the delicate balance of ego, desire, jealousy, pride, ambition—even survival instinct—ebbing and flowing between the three of them. If she kept Rick mollified, she’d have a greater chance of retaining control of the situation at Pelican Bay, and that meant Virgil would have a greater chance of surviving his experience there.

  Telling herself that Rick would soon go back to Sacramento, which would make it easier to ignore everything he’d just said, she went inside to change and make dinner. Never would she have guessed that she’d have both Virgil and Rick Wallace over for a meal, let alone staying the night.

  But without knowing what was causing the unrest in gen pop, she wanted to be as cautious about Virgil’s safety as possible.

  “You told him, didn’t you.”

  Peyton jerked around to find Virgil standing in the kitchen doorway. She’d been so focused on preparing the fish she’d taken from the freezer she hadn’t heard him come in. She hadn’t even heard Rick’s car, but in this part of the house, she didn’t always know when a vehicle pulled up. “Is he here?” she whispered, angling her head to look past him.

  “No. He went to get my things from the motel.”


  Pretending not to notice the spark she felt at his proximity, Peyton slipped past him and went into the living room so she could check a side window, just to be sure. Her driveway was empty.

  Virgil didn’t leave his post in the kitchen doorway, but he turned to face her. “Well?”

  “I did,” she admitted.

  Muttering a curse, he took his hand from his pocket long enough to scrub his face. “What were you thinking?”

  “I was putting a stop to our…affair or whatever you want to call it.”

  “By trying to get me killed?”

  His words scraped her nerves like sandpaper. “No. Of course not.”

  “You’ve given him the perfect excuse to make my life miserable. You know that, right? Don’t you understand how much he wants you? How much it’ll bother him to think I got there first?”

  She did now. Rick had just explained it to her. But she didn’t want to dwell on that uncomfortable conversation. It distressed her that she had to deal with unwanted interest from one man while trying to control her desire for another. “He’s not like that. Maybe he’s not particularly deep. Or much of a humanitarian. But…he wouldn’t purposely put you in harm’s way.”

  When Virgil chuckled without mirth, she knew he had to be thinking that Pelican Bay was practically a synonym for being “in harm’s way.”

  “Look, if you want to know the truth, I regret telling him, okay?” she said. “I should’ve waited, thought it out. Maybe then I would’ve realized the pitfalls of going in that direction. But it was late last night when I got back from your motel room and…and I wasn’t feeling too great about what we did. I would’ve called the warden instead, but I knew he wouldn’t be up. I went to Rick because he was available, and I wanted to be honest.”

  He lowered his voice. “You could’ve called me if you needed to talk.”

  “You caused the problem in the first place, remember?”

  She saw a pained expression on his face. He thought she was blaming him for more than she really was. “I didn’t mean to be rough with you. I feel…bad about that.”

  “I got over it,” she said, but that was an understatement. If she was being completely honest, she would’ve said she enjoyed it.

  “Apparently not as well as I’d hoped.”

  “I would’ve confessed anyway,” she told him. “It’s the way I live my life.”

  He shoved away from the wall but didn’t approach her. He circled the coffee table going toward the living room instead and checked the drive himself. “What, exactly, did you say to him?”

  “I was vague but truthful. I said we’d had an inappropriate relationship.”

  “How did he react?”

  “He wasn’t pleased.”

  He chuckled again but didn’t comment.

  “When I said I was going to tell the warden, too, he told me not to.”

  This seemed to surprise him. “Why?”

  “He was afraid it would interfere with our little…operation.”

  “Taking down the Hells Fury means a lot to him.”

  “He wants the glory of doing what no one else has been able to do. If this works out, he’ll be a hero, and being a hero can really boost a man’s career.” Remembering the fish, she headed back to the kitchen. “What did he say to you about…us?”

  “Nothing.”

  She paused at the entrance. “Then how did you know?”

  “I could tell by the way he was treating me.”

  “Which was…?”

  “Like a rival.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to create a jealous monster. I was feeling guilty for not being more responsible and…removing temptation seemed like the right thing to do.”

  She went into the kitchen, but he followed her. “There’s a law that says you can’t sleep with an informant?” he asked.

  “Maybe not a law, but definitely a rule. If my behavior threatens everything the CDCR has put together in order to bring down the Hells Fury, I’m wrong for doing it. That could be considered malfeasance of office and might get me fired.” And yet the possibility hadn’t stopped her. That was why she’d resorted to such desperate measures. But telling on herself, however well-intentioned, had only made matters more tenuous and frightening—and done nothing to diminish the desire she’d hoped to eliminate.

  “You knew you could be fired, but you told him, anyway?”

  What astonished her was that she’d risked her job in the first place. Didn’t he get that? Probably not. Why would he? He didn’t understand how important her career was to her, how much she wanted to change the system because of her father. “I won’t pretend to be one thing while being another. I hate hypocrites. I felt if I confessed it would put an end to the conflict I was feeling.”

  “How?”

  “By raising the stakes so I wouldn’t dare take that risk again, I guess.”

  “Did it solve the problem?” he challenged, obviously not pleased.

  No. The same raw magnetism that had drawn her to him before was still at work. But no way would she make the mess she’d created any worse. Not after last night. The few minutes she’d spent in Virgil’s motel room had shown her just how much power she was willing to give him. And that wasn’t in keeping with who she was, or at least who she wanted to be. It was frightening to lose control of any relationship, but especially one with someone like Virgil. “Yes.”

  He came into the kitchen. “Look at me when you say that.”

  She forced her eyes to meet his. “Yes,” she said again, but when she glanced away she knew her body language called her a liar.

  Taking her by the shoulders, he gently turned her toward him and parted the opening of her blouse.

  Preparing to slip out of his grasp if he tried to unfasten her buttons or touch her intimately, she tensed, but soon realized that wasn’t his intent. He was looking for his medallion. He wanted to know if she was still wearing it.

  When he saw that she wasn’t, his gaze dropped to the floor and he stepped back. “Can you ever forgive me for last night?” he asked.

  His remorse troubled her. She knew he’d been dealing with a lot and still was. “Don’t be sweet,” she whispered. She didn’t need anything to undermine her sagging resistance.

  That wasn’t a yes, but it was the best she could do. Assuming she was rejecting his apology since she hadn’t really accepted it, he started to walk away, but she caught his arm. Removing his medallion had been a symbolic gesture meant to signify that she was also removing him from the areas of her life where he didn’t belong. But now she regretted doing it as much as she regretted telling Rick about them, and she couldn’t even say why.

  “We’ll get through this somehow,” she promised.

  “Sure, piece of cake,” he responded, but she could tell his mood was nowhere near as light as his tone. She also knew it was far easier for her to be optimistic; over the next weeks or months he’d be coping with much more than she would.

  That was Rick Wallace!

  Sitting in his truck, John put down his laptop and twisted around to get a better look at the associate director, who’d parked his blue Impala at the perimeter of the lot and walked to room fifteen.

  “What do you know,” he muttered, slapping the steering wheel. Coming to the Redwood Inn was going to pay off, after all. When he’d decided to watch the place to see if he could figure out what was going on with the CDCR, he’d never dreamed he’d see action quite this early. He’d thought Peyton might return later and had wanted to see what she might do, or try to catch a glimpse of the person she’d come to visit last night.

  But this was the next best thing. Especially since the wait hadn’t been that long, barely an hour, and he’d been surfing the internet for much of that time.

  Hoping to strike up a conversation with Wallace—and get a look inside the room—he climbed out and hurried down the walk.

  The blinds were drawn, as they’d been since John had become aware of this particular room, but
he knew Wallace was in there. Pasting a friendly smile on his face, one he hoped conveyed enough awe and respect, he ignored the do not disturb sign dangling from the knob and knocked.

  “Who is it?”

  Wallace sounded nervous, suspicious, as if he was reluctant to open the door.

  John found that strange, too, especially here in Crescent City. For all the hardened criminals housed seven miles away, this had to be one of the safest cities in America. There was probably more law enforcement per capita than anywhere else.

  “It’s Sergeant John Hutchinson, sir.”

  “Sergeant John who?”

  Had Wallace heard about the Bentley Riggs incident? John didn’t see how he could, not so soon. It looked as if Wallace had just gotten into town. He certainly hadn’t been at the prison earlier when John had received the bad news.

  But something was making Wallace act suspicious….

  Clearing his throat, John spoke louder. “Hutchinson, sir. I’m a C.O. at the prison. We met once, almost a year ago?”

  The delay was so long, John believed Wallace wasn’t going to respond. He stood there, feeling awkward and uncertain, and wondering if he dared knock again, when he noticed a curtain fluttering in his peripheral vision. The associate director had come to the window.

  What was wrong with him? Was he afraid to answer?

  Waving to reassure him, John waited another second—and then the door opened.

  “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

  Brisk and to the point—the associate director didn’t seem pleased to be interrupted. So John upped the wattage of his smile and changed the excuse he’d prepared. Instead of saying he’d stopped to let Wallace know what a difference his leadership was making, he decided to ask for his understanding and support over the Riggs debacle, because even if he hadn’t heard about it yet, John had no doubt he would eventually, in a report if nothing else. If he broached the subject himself, he’d at least have the chance to convince the associate director that he’d acted without malice.