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.”
“You’re taking me to your house?”
Finding the jeans she wanted, she held the phone between her shoulder and ear while putting them on. “Do you know of a better place?”
“Yeah. Here.”
“No. The manager’s a good friend.”
This distracted him. “Is that how you broke into my room? I should sue.”
Peyton couldn’t help smiling at the grumble in his voice. “I got the worst of it. Anyway, I think you have bigger problems to worry about. And she didn’t give me the key. I stole it.”
“Do you still have it?”
“You’re afraid I might come back?”
He hesitated. “Would you want me to have a key to your room?”
Part of her actually wanted to say yes, which was why her voice grew solemn. “I took it back. I said I found it on the floor at a restaurant, and she thought one of the maids accidentally carried it off the premises.” Fortunately, Michelle had been more exasperated than angry so Peyton didn’t have to feel bad for getting a maid in trouble. It would’ve been difficult to place blame, anyway. The smocks were used interchangeably.
“She fell for that?”
“Completely.”
“I should rat you out.”
“If only you could show your face.”
“No one would have to see you come here. We could sneak you in,” he said.
“No. If Michelle saw us, she’d ask all kinds of questions.” Especially if she got a good look at him. “And we can’t go to a restaurant. I’m too familiar to the community, since so many people work at the prison. We’d definitely attract attention.”
“That’s your logic for taking me home?”
She pulled a sweater from its hanger. “That’s it.”
“Peyton—”
His use of her first name took her off guard. Both the inmates and staff at the prison called her Chief Deputy Adams, as he’d done only moments ago. “What?”
“There are people who want me dead. You read that letter, you know what they’re doing to my sister. If they’ve found me, if they’re watching me, they could follow us—”
“They haven’t found you.”
“How do you know?”
Deciding to wear her hair down for a change, she ran a brush through it. “Because you’d already be dead.”
His silence implied that he agreed, but he hadn’t given up arguing with her. “There is one other thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I was just released from prison, remember?”
“I’m not likely to forget.”
“It doesn’t bother you—make you afraid?”
“According to what I’ve been told, you were innocent.”
“That doesn’t mean I remained innocent. You’re the one who suggested I’ve become…warped.”
She remembered the comment she’d made in the meeting. “Have you ever raped or killed a woman, Virgil?” she asked. “No.”
“Would you if you had the chance?”
“I had the chance yesterday, didn’t I?”
She set her brush on the vanity. “Exactly.”
His voice deepened. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you.”
The flutter in her stomach surprised her even more than his unexpected admission. She’d been propositioned by a lot of inmates in her day. She’d reacted with annoyance, revulsion, fear, sometimes amusement, but she’d never felt breathtaking excitement. She couldn’t imagine why she’d feel it now, except that it’d been a long time for her, too. Maybe not fourteen years, but two or three. And since Crescent City offered so little in the way of romantic possibility, the future didn’t seem very promising.
“What you want is a woman, any woman,” she said. “That’s hardly flattering.”
“Maybe not any woman,” he responded.
She grinned at the wry note in his voice. “Humor, from an intense guy like you?”
“When everything’s a matter of life and death you tend to get serious very fast.”
“I understand. I’m serious, too, about bringing down the Hells Fury. That means we need to get to work—and I can’t show you pictures over the phone. I guess we could rent a motel room in a different city, where we wouldn’t have to worry about being spotted, but I don’t see how that would be an improvement. If we’re going to be alone it might as well be here.”