And if Skinner did get hurt…well, Rick couldn’t say he’d be too upset. Not after Peyton’s call.
I’ve had an inappropriate relationship with him….
Does inappropriate mean what I think it means?
Yes.
Just the thought of the two of them together made him shake his head in disbelief. Where did Virgil get off thinking he could show up with all his tats and prison swagger and jump into bed with the woman Rick had been dreaming about for months? Virgil was a lowlife. Rick couldn’t figure out how he’d managed to overcome Peyton’s resistance. There had to be something about him, something she liked. She’d never shown any interest in Rick.
But she might have. If he wasn’t married…
Leaning back against the headrest, he thought about the promises he’d given his wife to get counseling. After the argument this morning, which had nearly turned to blows, he knew that was never going to work. Not in a million years. It was too late. He didn’t dream about Mercedes anymore. He didn’t think of her at all, at least not when he was away from her. And if they made love? She became Peyton….
Maybe he’d needed a shocking event like this to wake him up and make him realize his marriage was over. If not for Mercedes, he could move on and be with someone who did turn him on, someone like Peyton.
The flash of lights reflecting off his mirror startled him. Sitting up, he checked to see where those lights were coming from and found a black-and-white tucked behind his vehicle. A highway patrolman was running his license plate. A few seconds later, he used a loudspeaker to ask Rick to get out of the car.
Feeling a little self-conscious about his appearance, Rick located his driver’s license and registration and stepped outside. He’d thrown on some sweats when he stormed out of the house and hadn’t shaved or combed his hair. That plus having minimal sleep in the past twenty-four hours, and he knew he looked like hell.
“Why are you here?” the officer demanded.
Had Rick been wearing his suit, ready for the day, he might’ve played on his position within the CDCR. But, as it was, he didn’t want to mention where he worked, so he simply handed over his license. “Drowsy driving kills, right? I was sleepy so I pulled over.”
“You been drinking?”
God, he must look worse than he’d thought. “At nine o’clock on a Monday morning? Do I act like I’m drunk? Do you smell alcohol?”
Apparently his irritation was convincing because the cop didn’t ask for a sobriety test. He angled his head to peer inside the car and, when he didn’t spot anything suspicious, said, “This isn’t a good place to rest, Mr. Wallace. The cars that come past here are going too fast. One swerve and it could all be over.”
So it was safer having him get out of the car to stand on the shoulder?
“I suggest you pull off at the next exit.” He studied Rick’s license. “You only live five or ten minutes away.”
Rick’s proximity to the airport and his comment about being too tired to drive had obviously led the officer to believe he’d been traveling all night. “I didn’t say I was from out of town. I said I was tired. I was resting my eyes for a few seconds, that’s all.”
“Right. I see that all the time.”
Rick didn’t appreciate the sarcasm, but said nothing as the officer returned his license.
“Tired or not, like I said, this isn’t an appropriate place to stop. You’d better move on.”
Or he’d cite him for endangering other motorists or some such infraction. Rick was sure the cop could come up with a reason if he really wanted to. “Will do.”
The crunch of the patrolman’s boots receded as he walked to his car. Then a semi passed, blasting them both with damp, cold air. “What a crappy day,” Rick grumbled, but he got in and started the engine, clicked on his turn signal and merged into traffic at the first opportunity. There was no reason to linger. He’d already made his decision.
He wouldn’t dismantle the investigation.
He wouldn’t tell Peyton about Eddie Glover, either.
It was a hell of a night. Peyton tossed and turned, drifted into unfriendly dreams and startled into wakefulness again and again. And when it was time to get up, a hot shower couldn’t ease the tension that’d ruined her sleep. She stood beneath the spray longer than she should have, allowing her mind to wander back to her last encounter with Virgil at the motel.
She had such mixed emotions about that incident, and him. He’d been more forceful than anyone she’d ever been with, but she’d encouraged his aggression. The thrill of being able to evoke such a visceral response in a man who thought he was too jaded to need anyone had been very stimulating.
So she wasn’t upset about the sex. It was his rejection afterward.
But what did she expect from him? She hoped to marry someday and start a family, but a man in Virgil’s situation wasn’t husband material, especially for a chief deputy warden.
Virgil wasn’t her only concern. Her confession to Rick Wallace weighed just as heavy. Now that she had some distance on it and wasn’t quite as desperate to drive a permanent wedge between her and Virgil, she felt remorse for telling him what she had. But if she wanted to be different from the men she locked up, she needed to be honest. And the warden probably would’ve written her up or relieved her of duty, so…it could’ve been worse.
Based on your conduct I’m issuing you a letter of reprimand….
With such a large staff, all working in a high-stress environment, she’d signed her share of letters like that since becoming chief deputy. She might have to sign another one today. When she got out of the shower, she checked her day planner and realized that she had a meeting with Lieutenant McCalley of the Investigative Services Unit this morning. They were supposed to come to a decision regarding John’s conduct.
A glance at the clock told her she should quit dawdling and get ready.
She put on her suit and chose a pair of flats—her ankle wasn’t quite healed—but by then she was afraid she’d be late. If she was, it would be the first time since starting at Pelican Bay. Somehow meeting Virgil had thrown her whole world off-kilter….
She needed to get back in control. Besides her usual workload, she had to make arrangements for his arrival at the prison tomorrow.
After rushing through a cup of coffee and a bagel, she flew out the door in such a hurry she almost didn’t see the flower lying on her picnic table. As it was, she caught barely a glimpse of pink petals and was halfway down the stairs before realizing it didn’t belong. Turning back despite the pressure she felt to keep going, she crossed the deck and was soon staring down at a perfect long-stemmed rose.