Inside b-1

by Brenda Novak

  “They jumped you when you were in USP Tucson?”

  He nodded. “That’s why they moved me…to Florence, because of…what happened. But…they weren’t just looking for a fight. It all happened so fast. I…did what I could to survive.”

  She believed him. “That’s self-defense.”

  His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “It’s only self-defense if you can prove it.”

  “Why can’t you prove it?”

  “The two other men involved…tell a different story.”

  “So? It’s your word against theirs. They’ll never get the charges to stick.”

  “If I could be sure I’d get a fair trial, maybe I’d risk it. But…I don’t have much faith in the system. Besides, they have my reputation for fighting and my gang affiliation. I don’t even want…to go that route. We’ve come this far. I have…to finish. Let me finish.”

  “You’re not giving me any choice.”

  His fingers tightened on hers. “I need you, your support.”

  “What if this kills you?” she whispered.

  “Then it kills me. I have to…do it.”

  “You’re kidding, right? That’s reckless! I was afraid of this.”

  “And you…made your reservations plain to…everyone. Your conscience…is clear.”

  “It’s not my conscience that’s bothering me!”

  He raised his eyelids and those blue eyes drilled into hers. “Careful…”

  More tears welled up. She’d known she was rattled, but she hadn’t realized just how rattled until this moment. Frustrated by her own reaction, she snapped, “Careful of what?”

  He grinned at her. “You’re acting like you care.”

  “I do!”

  “About me,” he clarified, sobering.

  Those two words were more of a question than anything else. He was asking her about her concern, wanting to know if it went any deeper than what she might feel for anyone else in this situation. Did it? She was fairly sure it did. But how much deeper? And how should she respond?

  “All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about you,” she said. “Every time I close my eyes you’re there.”

  She hadn’t expected to make this admission. But now that she had, she thought he’d be pleased. Instead, he frowned as if he’d just changed his mind. “We can’t do this. It’ll only make everything harder on both of us.” The nurse must’ve given him some painkiller because speaking suddenly seemed less difficult, but he was beginning to slur his words. “I have to do what I have to do, Peyton. I can’t change that. And even if I could, even if I already had a fresh start, I don’t have anything to offer a woman like you.”

  She checked for the nurse again. The hall was still empty. “Like me? What do you think you need to offer? I’m not looking for a meal ticket.”

  “Then what are you looking for? A guy who’s been in prison for fourteen years?”

  “You have no control over what your mother and uncle—”

  He refused to let her interrupt. “Or is it my gang connections you find appealing? What if I can’t break free of The Crew, Peyton? What if, because of your association with me, they come after you? Caring about me puts you in danger. Don’t you understand?” He lowered his voice, as if he spoke the next words grudgingly. “And it gives me so much more to lose.”

  “You’re not afraid of losing me. Not like that. You’re afraid to care in the first place.”

  “I can’t care. Not right now.”

  She remembered the tenderness with which he’d touched her on Saturday night. Maybe he didn’t want to feel anything, but he did. He was as susceptible to love and fear and pain as any other man.

  “Nice try.” Even if his statement was true, she didn’t know what to do about it. She felt drawn to him, and that desire wasn’t going away. No matter how sudden, inexplicable or ill-timed it was, she wanted to be with him. His past didn’t change what she felt. Because logic had no place in this.

  Footsteps behind her indicated that the nurse had returned with the doctor. Crossing to the sink to wash her hands, she motioned for them to take over as if she’d merely been helping out in the nurse’s absence.

  The doctor worked on Virgil for several minutes while she watched, but when he began to suture the hole in Virgil’s stomach, she had to turn away. It made her feel faint, even though she wasn’t usually queasy around blood. “Will he be okay?” she asked, finally asking the question that burned in her mind.

  Dr. Pendergast continued to stitch while he spoke. “He’ll be good as new.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. Tell your friend she can rest easy. He’ll have another scar to add to all the rest, and he’ll probably wind up in the SHU for fighting, but he’ll live.”

  She folded her arms. “He’s not going to the SHU. No one starts a fight that’s four on one.”

  “He did almost as much damage to them as they did to him,” the doctor pointed out.

  “Doesn’t matter. He didn’t start the fight. And he wasn’t the one with a weapon.”

  The blood covering Dr. Pendergast’s gloves seemed at odds with his cavalier attitude. “That’s not what the others are saying. They’re saying he started the fight, that they took the shank away from him.”

  Because the one with the weapon would get into more trouble than the others. They had good reason to make the claim.

  Peyton didn’t argue. This wasn’t any of the doctor’s affair. She’d handle the situation herself.

  “I’ll get to the bottom of it,” she promised. Then she left to see what had happened to Weston and the other two. Apparently Buzz hadn’t sustained more than a few bruises. If he’d caused this fight, he deserved more, but she felt somewhat vindicated once she visited his pals. Westy had a busted nose, a fat lip and a cut on the eye that required a couple of stitches. Ace Anderson, Westy’s cell mate, cradled a swollen hand in his lap. And Doug Lachette had what he swore were broken ribs as well as the more obvious bloody mouth and lost tooth.

  “Way to hold your own,” she murmured, silently applauding Virgil as she left the infirmary. But she knew the next time a fight broke out, someone might be carried to the morgue in a body bag.

  And that someone could just as easily be Virgil.

  23

  Wallace’s car was sitting in her drive when Peyton returned home. After the day she’d spent, he was the last person she wanted to see. Especially since she’d already made it clear that she preferred he go back to Sacramento. Why hadn’t he gone? What made him think he could hang out at her place indefinitely?

  The fact that he was still here felt like an invasion of privacy. But she knew he wouldn’t understand why. She’d left him and Virgil alone in the house when she went to work as if she was fine with it—but she was more fine with Virgil being in her space than Wallace.

  That she preferred Virgil seemed crazy, even to her. She knew Rick better. And Rick didn’t have a past.

  “God, what’s going on with me?” she moaned. Then she collected her briefcase and purse from the car and took a deep breath before heading to the house. She was tempted to march up to Wallace and demand he pull Virgil from the prison. But Virgil would never forgive her if she did. He’d blame her if he was brought up on charges and sentenced to another prison term, or if Laurel ended up getting hurt. He preferred to handle this his own way and, while she respected that, she felt torn about his methods.

  So what should she do? What could she do? Let Operation Inside run its course? Allow Virgil to continue risking his life? Or bring it all to a stop—and leave Crescent City without a job?

  She wished the warden would play the heavy, take the decision out of her hands. He had more power than she did. But there wasn’t any chance of that. Fischer had decided to support the CDCR and was doing it with his eyes closed.

  “Here we go,” she muttered as she climbed the stairs to her deck.

  Rick was pacing in her living room. He was on the phone, in the middle of a hea
ted argument, and barely turned to look at her when she came in.

  Other than giving him a short wave, she ignored him, too, and went into the kitchen, where she dumped her belongings on the counter before opening the freezer. What was she going to have for dinner? She wished she’d gone out. If she’d known her company hadn’t left, she would have, if only to delay her return.

  “You stupid bitch!” Rick yelled. “You can’t leave California! Don’t you dare! I’ll fight you every step of the way! Those are my kids, too.”

  Flinching at his language and his anger, Peyton rolled her eyes. She shouldn’t have to put up with this. What was it he’d said about his divorce being less acrimonious than his parents’? That didn’t seem likely. And, lucky her, she got to hear this latest battle….

  Unable to tolerate it, she shut the freezer and snatched up her purse. Rick didn’t even notice when she left. He had only one thing on his mind—verbally destroying his soon-to-be ex-wife.

  Head down, she hurried to her car and peeled out of the drive. She told herself she was going to Michelle’s. She needed a break, a chance to think about something else. But she didn’t actually go to her friend’s. She went into town to purchase a veggie burger. Then she turned around and drove right past Michelle’s house—and all the way to the prison.

  The sound that woke Laurel in the middle of the night wasn’t very loud. Just a creak, really. And yet…it roused her from a deep sleep.

  It’s the marshal. Every night when she retired, Jimmy Keegan, the U.S. marshal who’d been staying with her since Rick Wallace left, called his wife, watched another hour of TV, then retired. They’d only been together for three days, but they’d already established this routine. Probably because there wasn’t much else to do. It wasn’t as if they could go anywhere. Although Keegan slipped out occasionally for very brief periods, to buy them a treat or some more milk, he wouldn’t even let the kids play in the yard because it was too risky. He was that strict.

  Laurel didn’t mind. She felt safe for the first time in a long while. Vigilant as he was, she couldn’t imagine anyone getting past him, so she disregarded whatever had disturbed her and allowed her eyes to drift shut.

  Shuffling, coming from the direction of the laundry room, made her eyes snap open again. What was going on?

  A sliver of moonlight filtered through the blinds, falling over her son, who was sleeping on the twin bed against the wall. Mia curled against her in the double bed. Her daughter’s warmth was reassuring. Both Jake and Mia were fine. But something was wrong….

  What time was it?

  Late.

  Careful to move very slowly so she wouldn’t wake Mia, she reached over to the nightstand to get her cell phone. The rental house in which they were staying had been furnished when they arrived, but very sparsely. No clocks or pictures hung on the walls. Only the furniture had been provided—the kitchenette set, the sofa, recliner and TV in the living room, the beds, dressers and nightstands in the bedrooms.

  Sure enough, it was 2:30 a.m. Late, as she’d thought.

  Creak…

  She caught her breath. That had to be Jimmy, didn’t it?

  Of course. If The Crew had followed her and Rick Wallace that first night, they would’ve struck before now. They had no reason to wait. But the noises she’d heard were all wrong. There wasn’t just one person moving around. There were two.

  She broke into a cold sweat. Jimmy would never invite someone in during the night, especially without telling her. He wasn’t even from this area. Like her, he didn’t know a single soul.

  Her lungs burned from lack of oxygen as she held her breath again and listened. What was that? It sounded like whispering….

  Adrenaline hit her, making it hard to get up, but she managed to climb out of bed, creep across the room and open the door slightly so she could peer out. It was too dark to see anything. But she heard a man cursing about getting blood all over him. Then her legs nearly turned to rubber.

  Blood? Whose blood? But in her heart she knew. She wasn’t sure what had happened to the marshal, but she was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to help her.

  If he was dead, or even incapacitated, she had mere seconds. Did she spend those seconds trying to call the police? Or did she get her children out of the house?

  Ultimately, she had no choice. She had to go for the children. They’d have a much better chance of survival if she attended to them immediately. And they were what she cared about most.

  Wishing she had the marshal’s gun or some other weapon to defend herself, she closed the door and locked it as quietly as possible. Then she woke Jake with a warning not to say a word. But of course, he did. He was too sleepy and confused to understand, let alone obey.

  “What’s the matter, Mommy?”

  At least he’d followed her lead and whispered. “Don’t talk,” she breathed in his ear. “There are strangers in the house and they might be dangerous. Just do exactly as I say. I’m going to help you through the window. Run next door and ring the bell until someone answers. Tell them to call the police. Then stay there until I come for you.”

  Worry pinched his small face. “What about Mia?”

  Mia was beginning to stir.

  “She’s going with you. Hold her hand the whole way and keep her safe. But you first.”

  He got up as bravely as any man and put on his shoes and coat without her having to ask.

  Footsteps came down the hall as she cranked open the window. Then the doorknob turned. Click, click…click, click.

  Oh, God…

  A man’s voice carried to their ears, even though he was talking to someone else. “I don’t give a rat’s ass. Kick it in.”

  Fortunately, the screen gave her no trouble. It was warped, barely hanging on to begin with. She shoved it out, but the old pane would swing open only so far. Would Jake fit through?

  “Come on,” she whispered.

  As he climbed onto the bed, Mia sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Where are you going?”

  Laurel put a finger to her lips. “Shh.”

  Her daughter’s eyebrows bunched together. “Why do I have to be quiet?”

  “You’re going outside with your brother, okay?” She pulled Mia into her arms. “Stay with him. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “But it’s cold outside!”

  “Be quiet!” Laurel snapped.

  Someone hit the door at the same time, frightening Mia into silence. Eyes huge, she threw her arms around Laurel and clung tight.

  Another blow to the door seemed to shake the whole house. Laurel had no idea what these men would do once they managed to get in, but she didn’t want her children to be there when it happened.

  She gestured to her son, who was standing on the bed, staring at her in a terrified trance. “Hurry! Let’s go, Jake.”

  Praying that he’d be able to fit, she guided his feet through the opening. Once he was halfway out, she realized he was going to make it, but that brought little relief. She couldn’t tell how much longer the door would hold.

  She hung on to Jake until he dropped to the grass. “Mia, now you.” Her cell phone lay tantalizingly close, just beyond her daughter on the bed. She’d call for help just as soon as Mia was out, even though she knew there was almost no chance the police could arrive in time….

  “What about you, Mommy?” Mia asked, refusing to let go.

  “I’m coming. Go with Jake.”

  “No! I want you!”

  There was no time to be gentle. Yanking her daughter’s locked hands from around her neck, she grabbed her face. “Yes, go! Now!”

  The shock of her response caused Mia to cry.

  “Don’t!” Laurel gasped. “They’ll kill you!”

  Tears slipped down the girl’s round cheeks, but she made no sound.

  “Open this door or you’re dead!” someone screamed from the hallway.

  Laurel felt certain it was the man with all the tattoos who’d threatened her before: Ink. The Crew had fo
und her.

  “Mommy?” Mia whispered in panic.

  Safety. That was all that mattered. She pushed her daughter through the window and, fortunately, Mia didn’t put up a fight.

  Laurel watched her children only long enough to see Mia’s feet touch the ground and Jake clasp her hand. Then she closed the window. She didn’t want Ink to know she’d let them into the yard. She hoped he’d be so focused on her he wouldn’t notice their absence until after they got away.

  Because of her terror, she lacked the physical strength to close the window tightly enough to latch it. But she did the best she could so they wouldn’t guess it’d been opened. Then she dove for her phone.

  She had it in her hand, was already punching in 9-1-1, when the door splintered and crashed against the inside wall.

  “He what?” Peyton gaped at Regina Murray, the nurse who’d replaced Belinda Rogers at the shift change.

  Regina’s size and mannerisms had always reminded Peyton of the nurse in Stephen King’s Misery. But hard as Regina was to like, Peyton tried to treat her as cordially as possible. “The dumb cluck insisted on being taken back to his cell,” she said, and gestured toward the empty room where Peyton had seen Virgil earlier.

  Apparently he’d left shortly after she did, because the room was already clean and ready for the next occupant. “But it’s only been a couple of hours since he was here.”

  Regina hugged the chart she held. “I know. I can’t quite figure it out. Most guys will say they’re sick when they’re not just to get in here. It gives them a break from the tedium and a little female attention.”

  It wasn’t female attention they wanted as much as prescription painkillers. And Regina was no attraction. Instead of whistling or admiring her, like they did with Belinda, they made unkind comments. I’d rather sleep with my own grandmother….

  Peyton was infinitely glad Regina didn’t seem to pick up on that behavior, since there was no way to stop it. At least she tried, by denying privileges to the men who persisted. When she’d first started as a C.O. there was one inmate who’d masturbate in front of her at every opportunity without fear of reprisal because the warden refused to punish him. That’s what you’re gonna get inside a maximum security prison, he’d tell her. Prison officials weren’t quite as accommodating of women sixteen years ago. Most believed they had no place in corrections. There were some who still felt that way.