It was. She saw a shaving kit on the sink—the source of the smell. The ironing board was out, too, suggesting Simeon had ironed his blue shirt, his dark slacks or both. He’d probably shaved, as well, and brushed his teeth. A tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush resided on the small ledge above the sink.

“At least you have good hygiene.” Talking to herself kept her nerves under control, but now that she was inside, she was once again filled with purpose. If there was anything here to help her figure out what was going on, she’d find it. Then she’d get the hell out….

Kneeling beside his bag, she removed a stack of clothing, all neatly folded and smelling like the shaving lotion in the bathroom. At the bottom, she discovered several letters. Addressed to ADX Florence, a federal penitentiary in a remote, unincorporated part of Fremont County, Colorado, the envelopes bore the name Virgil Skinner, but they had the prisoner ID number she’d seen tattooed on Bennett’s arm—99972-506. At least, she assumed it was the same number, since it started with 9997.

So did this mean Simeon Bennett wasn’t his real name? That was her guess. And the letters weren’t dated a decade earlier. The one she held in her hand had been sent a month ago.

“What the heck?” Opening the first envelope, she took out a picture of a beautiful woman with long blond hair and eyes that appeared to be as blue as Bennett’s…or Skinner’s. Kneeling in some sort of park, she had an arm around two children—a girl who looked about three and a boy of maybe five. There was no writing on the back identifying the subjects, but a date stamp on the front indicated it had been taken recently.

Curious to learn who the woman was and what she meant to Bennett/Skinner—could she be his wife?— Peyton began to read.

Virgil—

I’m so excited to think you’ll be coming home. I can’t tell you how much I miss you. We’re going to live the most boring, safest lives in the whole world. And it’ll all begin in a couple of weeks. God, it’s been so long since I’ve felt bored or safe. I can hardly wait.

To answer your question, Mom is still calling me, begging me to believe her. I won’t, of course. As far as I’m concerned, she deserves to be locked up along with Gary. But she’s the least of my worries right now. I’m pretty sure I’m being watched. There’s a white Ford Fusion that keeps driving by my house. Sometimes, early in the morning, I’ll see it sitting out front. None of my neighbors own a car like that.

I know what you’re thinking—that it has to be Tom. But it doesn’t feel that way. I’m pretty sure he’s finally happy in his new relationship. He doesn’t even care about seeing the kids anymore, makes no effort whatsoever.

So…do you think I’m being paranoid? Maybe I am….

Anyway, prison mail takes forever. I’m not even sure you’ll get this before you’re released, so I’ll close for now. Just know that I love you and miss you and it doesn’t matter what happened in the past. We’ll build a new future.

Love, Laurel

Virgil? Who was Virgil? Judging by the prisoner number, Virgil had to be Simeon. But, if so, this letter proved he hadn’t gotten out of prison nearly as long ago as she’d been told at the library.

Did Wallace know? He had to, didn’t he? So why would he pretend it’d been ten years since Bennett’s release? And what else had they lied about—besides Bennett’s name and what he’d been doing?

There were other letters from the same person who, according to the return address, lived in Colorado. Toward the bottom of the stack, Peyton found letters from another woman living in Los Angeles. She guessed it was his mother, but couldn’t tell for sure. The letters hadn’t been opened and she couldn’t open them without making it obvious that someone had been through his bag.

Voices, coming from outside the door, interrupted her search.

“No need to wake me before you go.”

That was Bennett. Skinner. Wallace answered from farther away. She couldn’t tell what he said. She was too busy shoving as much as she could back into the bag to concentrate on listening.

Then she heard the key in the lock.

Shit! Now what? She couldn’t get under the bed. There wasn’t enough space.

Looking for another alternative, she darted around the ironing board toward the bathroom. But as she glanced back to see if he was opening the door, she spotted one of the letters lying on the carpet. It must’ve fallen in her rush to replace everything.

Knowing she had to grab it, that there wasn’t a chance he’d miss something so out of place, she dashed back….

3

Having been out of prison for less than a week, Virgil hadn’t quit looking over his shoulder, marking the exits in a room, remaining aware of the people around him. He couldn’t stop, not if he wanted to stay alive. As soon as the leadership of The Crew figured out that he’d switched sides, they’d send a couple of foot soldiers to kill him. So he’d started putting a piece of dental floss in motel doors if he planned to return.

Wallace had laughed when he saw him do it. He’d said, “They couldn’t have tracked you all the way up here. Not yet.” That had to be why the government wasn’t in any big hurry to take Laurel into custody. They didn’t understand how quickly The Crew might react, how fast they’d go after anyone connected to Virgil, anyone he loved, if they couldn’t reach him.

Virgil never assumed he’d be safe. If he died, there’d be no one to protect his sister. His service to the department was all he had to trade on her behalf. And right now he was damn glad he’d gone to the trouble of using that floss—because it was gone.

Someone had been in his room.

Maybe the management had sent over a maintenance man to fix a leaky faucet or running toilet. Or a maid had checked to make sure he had his full complement of towels. It could be either of those things—but didn’t have to be.

He considered making Wallace aware that there might be trouble. But the associate director’s TV was already blaring. He didn’t carry a gun and was probably worthless in a fight. And Simeon didn’t want him to know he had a weapon.

Setting his bag of groceries on the ground, he clutched the steak knife he’d stolen from the restaurant in his left hand. Fortunately, he was ambidextrous enough that he often fought with his left just to throw his opponent, who was more often right-handed, off balance. It wasn’t much, especially if he was facing two or three people, but today his experience and prison tactics were all he had.

Fully expecting a bullet to come whizzing out from the interior, he ducked as he threw open the door. But nothing happened. When the door merely shut, he didn’t know what to think. Especially because that floss hadn’t just slipped to the ground; whoever had gone into his room had tracked it inside. In the split second the door had swung wide, he’d spotted it lying on the carpet.

Not only that, the light was on, even though Virgil had turned it off.

He couldn’t imagine a maid would be that sloppy. But a maintenance man? Maybe.

Propping the door open with his groceries so he could get out fast if he had to, he crept inside. If someone was waiting for him, he couldn’t see who. Or where. The chair was tucked under the desk. There was no space under the beds. And only a very skinny man would be able to conceal himself in such a tiny closet. The door of that closet stood open, anyway, from when he’d taken out the ironing board.

Whoever it was had to be in the bathroom.

Pressing his back to the wall so his reflection wouldn’t be visible in the mirror, he listened for movement and heard…nothing. Then, just as he was about to step inside, he caught a slight rustling.

The shower curtain…

His intruder was in the tub.