“Those stairs are so steep,” Michelle complained. “They’re dangerous.”

But they provided an incredible view of the sea. Peyton loved her small, cabinlike home, and the deck was her favorite part of it. “They’re fine as long as you watch where you’re going.”

“Are you on crutches?”

“Not quite.”

“So will you be coming to dinner?”

“Dinner’s still on?”

“Of course.”

“What did Jodie and Kim say?”

“Jodie’s fighting with her ex and doesn’t feel she can leave the kids. But Kim’s coming.”

Peyton wanted to say she’d go. But she couldn’t take the time, not when she only had three days to prepare Virgil. She got the impression that Wallace planned to toss him inside and let him learn it all from the ground up, but she felt Virgil’s stint at Pelican Bay could be shortened if she gave him a crash course on who was who inside the Hells Fury and what to expect from them. Now that she was in charge of the investigation, at least the on-site part, she had every reason to make sure it ran smoothly, and that was what she intended to do. Skinner wouldn’t be killed on her watch.

“I wish I could, but I should stay off my ankle. I’m behind at the prison, anyway, and had to bring some paperwork home with me.”

“You work too hard, you know?”

“That’s what it takes.”

“Come on, I can’t believe you’re bailing out.”

Knowing how much Michelle counted on the escape their evenings provided, Peyton felt a twinge of guilt. But she wouldn’t be good company. Not tonight. She was too distracted, too caught up in what would be happening at the prison on Tuesday. “I’m sorry.”

“Okay. We’ll miss you, but—” Michelle sighed “—I guess it’s not a big deal.”

“Have fun.”

“We will. Someone just walked in. I have to go.”

“Wait—will you put me through to Rick Wallace’s room?”

“Mr. Wallace is gone.” Michelle sounded surprised.

Wincing, Peyton lowered her foot to the carpet. “He left? Already?”

“You thought he’d stay for the weekend?”

“He told me he might.”

“Nope. Checked out this morning. But he said he’d see me in a few days, if that helps.”

Peyton remembered the groceries Virgil had brought into his room last night. Maybe Wallace had left, but Virgil was still around. “Fine. Try room fifteen instead.”

“You got it.”

There was a click and the phone began to ring.

After five rings, Peyton expected her call to transfer to an automated message service, but then she heard a gruff hello.

“Hey,” she said.

A moment of silence ensued. “Is this my new friend?” he asked at length.

“Your new…work associate for lack of a better term. But don’t pretend you can’t use a friend. What are you doing?”

“Just got out of the shower.”

Although she tried to banish the image, she pictured him standing at the nightstand in a towel—or maybe nothing at all. “You slept in?”

“Went hiking.”

Leaning her head back against the sofa, she stared up at her wood-plank ceiling, stained a beautiful mahogany color, and the fan that hung from one of the rafters. “How do you like the area?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” Peyton smiled as she imagined Virgil experiencing the redwoods for the first time. “What are your plans for this afternoon?”

“I’ve got a TV.”

He’d probably had a TV in prison and would again, as long as he behaved himself. “Get dressed. I’m coming to get you.”

“Because…?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“We’ve got work to do.”

“Chief Deputy Adams—”

“Yes?”

“It’d be better if you just…let me do my thing.”

She toyed with the ends of her hair. “Why’s that, Mr. Skinner?”

“There’s no reason for you to invest in what’s going to happen.”

Leaning forward, she smoothed the area rug that covered this part of the hardwood floor. “There is if it’s happening at my prison.”

“But what I’m doing…it isn’t really under your jurisdiction. I thought you understood that. The meeting at the library…it was just Wallace’s attempt to be diplomatic. A courtesy.”

“I realize the department’s calling the shots on this, but I’m responsible for you while you’re at Pelican Bay.” Getting up, she hobbled toward her bedroom, which wasn’t easy to reach with a swollen ankle. It was at the bottom of a narrow, winding staircase, like a cabin one might find on a boat. “Besides, you’re investing in it, aren’t you?” she said. Did he truly think he should do it alone?

“I have a compelling reason.”

“Making sure an undercover operative for the Department of Corrections doesn’t get killed is my compelling reason. From Tuesday on, I’ll be responsible for you. I’m sorry if you’ve got a problem with that, but I plan to do my job.”

He cursed under his breath. “You shouldn’t be working at a prison.”

Tired of hearing that comment, in one form or another, from almost everyone she met—You work at a prison? I didn’t know they hired women like you. The guys must love you—Peyton injected irritation into her voice. “Why not?”

He didn’t back off. “You already know the answer to that question.”

Clinging to the handrail, she took each stair with caution so she wouldn’t tumble down. “Because I’m a woman?”

“Because you’re a constant reminder of everything a convict’s missing.”

“Really? Is that all I do?”

“All that matters.”

Convicts lived in such a male world, one filled with so much testosterone, they often lost a certain…modern sensibility. Peyton was used to it. But that didn’t mean she liked the discrimination it bred. “Quit with all the sexist bullshit.”

“It’s the truth—from someone who knows. You don’t think half the men in that prison are fantasizing about you when they close their eyes?”

Stopping at the foot of the stairs, she decided to hit back. “Is that what you dreamed about last night?”

When he laughed softly, she knew he wasn’t going to deny it. She also realized she was allowing the conversation to drift into dangerous territory, and tried to reel it back in. “Anyway, last I checked, you weren’t in personnel. So until you take over the country and do away with the Equal Rights Amendment, spare me your opinions on hiring women.”

“I’m not talking about all women.”

“Oh, so you’re not a complete jerk. You’d only refuse the ones you deemed too young or attractive or interesting or…whatever? And how, exactly, would you implement such standards, Mr. Skinner? Who would get to determine which female was too good-looking and which wasn’t? Because if a job is open to one woman, it’s open to all women. Beauty is subjective.”

“Your beauty isn’t.”

As angry as he’d made her, she was also perversely flattered. She wanted him to find her attractive, because she found him to be one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said. “So are you interested in getting out of the motel today or not?”

She’d left him nowhere to go with the argument he’d started—she suspected purposely—and he seemed to realize it quickly enough. “What do you have planned?”

She moved into her bedroom and began searching through her closet, trying to decide what to wear. “An educational seminar.”

“There’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“We can’t be seen together.”

“I’ve got that covered. When I get there, I’ll call your room and let the phone ring once. Come around the block. I’ll be waiting in a white Volvo SUV.” She removed the sweats she’d been wearing. “And, Virgil?”

“What?”

“Bring the hat and glasses. Leave the knife at the motel.”

“Sorry,” he said. “The knife goes where I do. It’s not much, but…it’s all I’ve got.”

She supposed he could’ve lied to her and brought it anyway. “Fine, but just so you know, I have plenty of steak knives. If someone attacks you, feel free to use one of mine.”