“Because I initially said I’d keep it to myself. But I felt it was only fair to inform you that I’d changed my mind.”

Footsteps sounded outside on the walkway—the footsteps of more than one person, moving fast. “We’ll have to talk later,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” She’d heard the tension in his voice, but he didn’t explain. There was no time. Dropping the phone, he grabbed the knife he’d stolen from the restaurant. A steak knife wouldn’t offer much protection, not from two men toting guns, but he could only use what he had.

Spine to the wall, he waited to see if whoever was coming would kick in the door.

9

What could’ve happened?

Peyton tried calling Skinner again—twice—only to get a busy signal. She wanted to keep calling until she could be reassured that all was well, but she was afraid Lena Stout, who was running the front desk, would recognize her voice and begin to wonder if something was wrong. In case she was worried for nothing, she didn’t want to alert Lena or anyone else.

So…what should she do? She’d been concerned that Virgil might get hurt at Pelican Bay. She’d never seriously entertained the possibility that The Crew would find him before he could be incarcerated. He’d obviously been concerned about it, though. And he should know what they were capable of doing. He’d been one of them.

Is she in real danger? she’d asked Wallace about Virgil’s sister.

As real as it gets. Because Skinner could help the authorities get convictions against most of The Crew….

After putting on her tennis shoes, Peyton limped to her car on her injured ankle, which was improved but not perfect, and drove as fast as she could without causing an accident. She arrived at the motel in ten minutes instead of fifteen, but she knew it could already be too late.

Relying on the fog to cloak her identity from anyone looking out—fortunately, Lena was much less familiar with her than Michelle—she parked in the lot. Then she hurried to room fifteen.

The door was slightly ajar.

“Hello?” she breathed as she poked her head inside. The lights were on. So was the TV. A glance at the phone told her it was off the hook. It looked as if he’d aimed for the base but hadn’t been watching to make sure the handset connected. Why? Clearly, he’d been distracted….

“Virgil?” Afraid she might find him crumpled on the floor between the beds, she crept forward. There was no body, no evidence of a scuffle. But she didn’t think he’d planned on leaving, either. He’d gone through his bag—his clothes weren’t as neatly folded as before—and tossed his sweatshirt over the chair.

It was cold and rainy out. Why hadn’t he worn his sweatshirt? Also, some of the groceries from the sack Wallace had bought were spread out on the desk—peanut butter, jelly, a loaf of bread and some cookies. The files she’d given him lay on the bed.

Heart in her throat, she inched farther into the room. The bathroom door stood open. Would she find him murdered in the shower? That fear had her shaking by the time she reached it. Considering the company he’d kept in prison, nothing would be too gruesome to expect….

But the bathroom turned out to be empty. Did that mean he was safe? Or would his body be discovered in the forest or floating in the sea?

Hoping to catch Wallace before his plane could take off, she dug her phone out of her purse and was dashing from the room when someone came around the corner carrying an ice bucket and nearly knocked her to the floor.

When she realized it was Virgil and that he was fine, she threw her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead to his chest instead of stepping away, as she probably should have. “You’re okay.”

He didn’t seem to know how to react, didn’t put down the ice bucket and hold her, although she wanted him to. She could use the reassurance.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she muttered into his clean-smelling T-shirt.

“Sorry.” His lips grazed her temple as he spoke. She got the impression that was very much on purpose, although he wouldn’t allow himself to actually put his arms around her.

Feeling awkward when he didn’t make any other move, she let go. “Why’d you hang up on me?”

“I heard people approaching outside.”

“And?”

He shrugged. “Two teenage boys and their mother hurrying through the rain so they could get to their room. That’s all.”

“You thought it was…someone else?”

“A guy called right before that, asking for Hal. It made me wonder.”

Frowning, she took stock of his few belongings. She couldn’t leave him here. No way would she be able to sleep. She didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, either, not if he feared every footstep outside his door could be that of a man sent to shoot him. If she took him to her place, The Crew wouldn’t have a prayer of finding him. Not unless her car was followed. But the drive to her house was a lonely one. She’d definitely notice any vehicle behind her.

“Get your stuff.”

He’d just put down the ice bucket and was opening a Coke. “Am I going somewhere?”

“You’re not staying here.”

“Peyton, I appreciate this…mothering instinct of yours, but I don’t need you to babysit me.” He scowled as if she was being ridiculous, but she knew he was scared. If not for himself, then for his sister. “I’m not babysittting you. I’m giving you a safe place to stay.” What she felt was very different from what a mother would feel. As much as she knew she shouldn’t let herself care about him, she couldn’t help it. Probably because she was the only person who did seem to care.

He deserved more than that….

“It’s not wise for me to go home with you.”

“I don’t give a damn. Nothing is more important than your life. And I happen to feel you should get to enjoy the next two days without having to look over your shoulder all the time. We’re talking about a short stint at my place. No big deal.”

He poured the soda into a plastic cup with ice. “Wallace would never agree with this.”

“You don’t care what Wallace thinks, and neither do I.”

“What if he decides it’s irresponsible? What if he decides it’s a good reason to go after your job?”

“He won’t.”

He offered her the Coke. When she refused, he took a drink himself. “He could.”

“So we won’t tell him,” she said with a shrug.

“Peyton, no.” Setting his soda aside, he retrieved the television remote.

Why wouldn’t he let her do this for him? Couldn’t he accept a good turn? Had it been so long since he’d received one? “Why not?” she demanded and took the remote away so he’d have to focus on her.

She’d expected him to enumerate the many practical reasons or at least grab for the remote, but he didn’t. “I don’t want to care about you,” he murmured.

His honesty caused a flutter in her stomach the likes of which she hadn’t felt since she was a teenager. They weren’t touching, but the moment felt so intimate—because he’d just given her a glimpse of his soul.

Drawing a deep breath, she cleared her throat. Maybe they had no business sleeping in the same house, but she couldn’t leave him here, wouldn’t leave him here. And there wasn’t another place she could take him, not where they’d go unnoticed. It was nearly midnight. “If caring about me is the worst thing that happens while you’re here, I’ll feel you got off easy,” she said. “Are you going to get your duffel? Or shall I?”

He didn’t move. “You’ll be sorry. We’ll both be sorry.”

“No, we won’t. I refuse to believe that.”

A truck pulled up outside, one with a big diesel engine. When he glanced over his shoulder as if he wanted to check the window, she knew she had him. “See what I mean? You’ll be able to sleep at my house. There will be good food, a beautiful view, serenity.”