“She’ll have to if she stays. And she’s aware of that. She knows what these people are capable of. She’s seen it before. I gotta go.”
Myles followed him to the door, stopped him at the last minute. “But you still love her, right?” In the midst of everything else, Myles wasn’t sure why he wanted to know this, but he did.
“I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”
At least he was honest. Myles had guessed correctly, but that only confirmed everything he’d been telling himself. He’d been stupid to get mixed up in Vivian’s love life. For his own good, and Marley’s, he needed to stay out of it in the future. But now that The Crew had come to his community, there was a lot more at stake than protecting his heart. “Where does her brother live? How will I be able to reach you?”
“You won’t.”
“You’re asking me to look out for her, but you don’t trust me enough to tell me where to find you?”
“The less you know, the better. Just in case.”
Myles shook his head. “You don’t have much confidence in me.”
“I could say the same.”
There was no answer to that. They regarded each other with equal distrust.
“You’re a small-town cop who’s probably never come up against people like this,” Rex added. “The odds aren’t in your favor.”
Myles stopped him once again. “Before you walk
away, tell me what you know about the men who’re coming after her.”
“I’m guessing there’re two. They busted out of a California prison ten days ago.”
“What makes you think they’re coming here?”
“That Realtor dude who was killed, for one.”
“What connection does The Crew have with Pat?”
“None. Except for how senseless the killing was. Whoever did it was probably looking for a place to stay or money or something else and negotiations didn’t go as planned.”
“You said, ‘for one.’ What else makes you think they’re coming here?”
“Besides the fact that they’ve sworn to see us all dead?”
“Yeah.”
“They’ve already started to make good on that promise. They stabbed Vivian’s mother to death sometime in the past week.”
Myles felt his eyebrows jerk up. “They killed her
mother?
”
“Neighbor found her.”
Shit…
This was serious, all right. “And Vivian knows?”
“About her mother? As of this morning, she does.”
How was he supposed to react to that? Vivian was caught up in something bigger than he could ever have imagined. “And the names of the men who broke out of prison are…”
“I only know one of them. He’s called Ink. Spent a lot of time with him back in the day but don’t remember his real name because I never used it. All I know is that he’s a crazy son of a bitch.”
“What does he look like?”
“He’s got tattoos—”
With a scowl, Myles pulled his shirt out of his pants in preparation for removing his uniform once Rex left. “Let me guess. Those tattoos are all over, including his face. Lightning bolts for eyebrows?”
Rex stopped trying to make his escape and actually advanced toward him. “You’ve seen him.”
He recalled the uneasiness he’d felt in the presence of “Ron Howard” and his younger buddy. “Yesterday. With a kid maybe nineteen, driving a stolen truck. Only I didn’t know it was stolen at the time, or I would’ve arrested them.”
This news seemed to infuse Rex with enough adrenaline to overcome the physical symptoms of his addiction. He quit shaking, became extremely focused. “Were you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t try. Where are they now?”
That was the million-dollar question. “I wish I knew.” Especially because he was pretty sure that Rex was right. These escapees had killed Pat. Two men fresh out of prison would need to buy some regular shoes. They might even buy the same shoes. And those shoes would likely be cheap, common and brand-spanking-new.
Rex cursed, paced and cursed some more. “You have to find them before they find Laurel. You realize that.”
“Who’s Laurel?” This was getting more complicated by the minute.
He waved impatiently. “Vivian. Of course I’m talking about Vivian.”
“Her real name’s
Laurel?
”
“Used to be. Laurel Hodges. At least, that was her married name.”
TH. Those were the initials of her husband. His name was Tom Hodges. Myles finally knew, but that was little consolation. The woman he’d slept with at the cabin wasn’t even the person he thought she was. No wonder she’d been so secretive, so hard to know. Understanding brought a touch of comfort because it explained so much. And yet…he’d already lost Amber Rose. Only a fool would get emotionally involved in this.
Myles thought of a dozen additional questions he needed to ask. But Rex wouldn’t wait any longer. “She’ll have to tell you the rest,” he said. “She’s got enough going on over there packing up her kids’ stuff. I don’t want her to realize you know until after I’m gone. It’ll only upset her that I told you.” He paused. “There’s just one more thing you need to understand.”
“What’s that?”
“You can’t trust
anyone.
Especially anyone from California or the Federal Bureau of Prisons.”
Myles frowned. “Don’t tell me you’ve concocted some conspiracy theory. You were just gaining a little credibility.”
Rex didn’t like that response. He came over and got right in Myles’s face. “Listen to me. This gang is more powerful than you think. They bribe, threaten, coerce, do whatever they need to do in order to gain information. If you put Laurel’s location out there, they’ll access it, and they’ll show up long before the cavalry. Or they’ll wait until she’s supposedly safe, and then they’ll make their move.”
Myles refused to back away. “I can’t let anyone know she’s here. Is that what you’re saying?”
“If you do, she’ll wind up dead.”
And with that he walked out, letting the screen door slam behind him.
Myles blew out a sigh as he tried to take in everything he’d just learned—the fact that it was Vivian who’d brought Pat’s killer to Pineview, that she must’ve suspected and hadn’t told him, that she was probably too scared to trust anyone but should’ve trusted him…?.
Sometime later, he sat on the couch and leaned his head back as he continued to think. He must’ve fallen into an uneasy sleep because that sleep was disturbed the following morning when he heard car doors opening and shutting outside.
Leaning up to peer out the window, he saw Jake and Mia standing in Vivian’s driveway while Vivian—or Laurel—and Rex loaded her car.
“How long will we be gone, Mommy?” he could hear Mia ask.
“For a few weeks. It’ll be a great vacation. You’ll get to play with your cousin, see the new baby after she’s born, be with your aunt and uncle.” Vivian’s voice sounded unnaturally high, too high to be as excited as she was pretending.
“I can’t wait!” Jake seemed genuinely enthusiastic. “It’s been
so
long since we’ve seen Uncle Virgil. I’m going to tell him about the fish I caught.”
Vivian said something Myles couldn’t quite hear; he guessed it was about how proud his uncle would be. Then Mia spoke up again. “Will we get to see Daddy when we’re there?”
The slight delay in Vivian’s response suggested this wasn’t an easy question to answer. “No, sweetheart. I’m
sorry. Not this time. Maybe later. Daddy doesn’t live anywhere near Uncle Virgil.”
“Will we get to see Dad for Christmas, then?” Jake asked.
“Maybe,” she replied. “I’m working on it.”
By trying to stop the men who were trying to kill her so she could come out of hiding? Was that what she meant?
“I’m going to ask Santa to bring Daddy to our house for Christmas,” Mia said, which obviously meant it
had
to happen because Santa would never disappoint her the way mere mortals would.
Neither adult argued with her. Rex kept loading the luggage; Vivian got Mia and Jake buckled into their seats.
“You have everything?” Myles heard Rex ask.
“I think so,” she said.
Rex grabbed her arm before she could climb behind the wheel. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind and go with us?
Please?
”
She slipped out of his grasp. “I can’t,” she said, and Myles could tell she was weeping.
“Y
ou look worried.”
Virgil glanced up to see his pregnant wife at the door to their home office. “I don’t know what to do.”
“She won’t come?”
They’d discussed Laurel before, lying in bed last night, whispering so they wouldn’t wake Brady. “No.”
“Do you feel you need to go to Montana?”
The strain in her voice let him know she wouldn’t be glad to see him do that. She was scared of losing him. He was equally scared of losing her. After all he’d been through in his life, he was happy, whole, at last. But he wouldn’t be happy or whole without her.
“I’d go if we weren’t so close to having the baby. I hate leaving Laurel on her own. But…this has been such a difficult pregnancy.”
Peyton came over and sat on his lap, and he rested his forehead on her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. “Are you sorry you married me yet?”
Her hands covered his. She knew he was teasing, but she answered seriously. “I could never be sorry about that.”
He rubbed her big belly, trying to get his baby to move. There was nothing more reassuring to him than
feeling their tiny daughter shift inside Peyton’s womb. Peyton had endured so many fertility treatments and dealt with so many complications since those treatments had worked—gestational diabetes, water retention, early cramping. He couldn’t wait to cradle this latest addition to their family in his arms and feel he had half a chance of protecting what they’d fought so hard to create. Fifteen months ago, they’d lost a little boy to a very late miscarriage, and it was worse than anything he’d ever experienced, mostly because the pain wasn’t just his. Peyton had been devastated.
“Why’d this have to come up
now?
” he grumbled. “Right before the baby?”
“It wouldn’t be any easier afterward,” she said. “You wouldn’t want to leave me with Brady and a newborn.”
True, but what about Laurel? She’d always been so close to him, so loyal, and regardless of what she thought she could do with that gun he’d given her, she wasn’t capable of defending herself. Not against The Crew. They were determined, brutal, relentless. Ink, especially, had no conscience. He’d rape and torture her before he killed her, if he ever got the chance. Rex had called from the airport in Montana to say he’d alerted local law enforcement to what was happening. The sheriff lived next door to Laurel. But was that enough?
It was so hard for Virgil to rely on anyone else, even the police. In the past, they’d had the protection of federal marshals and it hadn’t helped.
“No, I guess I wouldn’t be able to leave then, either,” he admitted.
“How are you feeling about the murder of your mother?”
This question surprised him. Other than what Ellen’s
murder said about The Crew and what they might or might not be doing, he’d put it out of his mind. He’d never wished her dead, but her death was easier to take than her betrayal had been. “The same,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned, she was a complete stranger to me.”
“Her murder hasn’t changed
anything?
”
“Nothing.” Maybe Martin had been a lazy, selfish, abusive asshole who deserved what he got as much as anyone could. But Ellen’s compulsion to save herself at any cost, even at the cost of her own children? That wasn’t a mother to him. What made her actions even more reprehensible was that she’d waited so long to take responsibility for what she’d done. She’d lied and lied, and she’d kept lying, forcing him and Laurel to writhe in uncertainty for years. Ellen had waited so long to come clean that, when she finally told him, it made very little difference in his life.
Peyton twisted around to see his face. “Are you ever going to tell Laurel what you learned two years ago?”
He’d had the opportunity when he’d talked to his sister on the phone and hadn’t taken it. He wasn’t sure why. When Ellen was alive, he’d justified keeping her confession to himself because his silence gave Laurel the best possible chance of establishing a relationship with her, which was what he thought Laurel secretly wanted. But now? Their mother was dead. He could no longer use that excuse, and yet he was
still
reluctant to divulge the ugly truth.
Why? Was it due to some inexplicable urge to protect his mother by hiding her true nature from Laurel? Or was he trying to protect his sister from the disappoint
ment he’d felt? He wasn’t convinced she needed to learn at this late date. Would it help her in any way?
He couldn’t see how. Not knowing was torture, but so was facing the harsh reality. Maybe it would be different if Ellen had been innocent. But she’d been guilty as hell. And there’d been nothing to redeem her, even in her confession. She only told him when she did because she’d been between boyfriends, was getting older and feeling lonely, and she’d hoped she could use her children to fill the emptiness in her life.
“Well?” Peyton prompted when he hesitated.
Virgil rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept last night. He’d tossed and turned, worrying about Laurel, Peyton and Brady, the new baby, Rex. “Eventually. Maybe. But not yet. She’s going through enough right now.”
“You should’ve turned Ellen in.”
“Why? She was my mother. Besides, I’d already paid the price for her crime. There wasn’t anything to be gained by sending her to prison.”
“Some people would argue with that.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Some? Like my deputy warden wife?”
“
Former
deputy warden. And, yes, I would like to have seen her charged.”
“My testimony might not have made a difference. You know that. She didn’t give me any damning details. She just told me she asked Gary to ‘take care’ of Martin, like he claims. That was all I could get out of her.”
“You believe she might’ve denied what she told you? Later on?”
“If the police came calling? Sure. Why wouldn’t she, after everything else she did?”
Peyton tucked her long hair behind her ears. “I guess I wouldn’t put it past her.”
Deciding whether or not to turn his mother in hadn’t been difficult for Virgil. It was deciding whether to tell Laurel that’d been tough. And it still was. He didn’t want to give his sister another emotional hurdle to clear. Maybe, with Ellen gone, it would be easier for both of them to leave the past in the past. As much as Virgil hated to admit it, they were both better off without her in the world. There was no manual on how to act when you had a selfish, lying murderer for a mother. Ellen was always so soft-spoken and nice. Pretty, too. Dealing with her was confusing as hell. Should they sympathize with the desperation that’d made her resort to murder? Chalk up her behavior to a few months of insanity and then too much fear to ever attempt to right her wrong? Assume she was sorry, that she’d changed even though she’d never taken responsibility for her actions?
Peyton stood. “So what are you going to do?”
“Maybe I’ll tell her later. When we have a chance to be together.”
Maybe
being the operative word…
“I’m talking about The Crew.”
Pursing his lips, he rocked back in his chair and said what had been going around and around in his head since he’d first learned of Ellen’s murder and realized what it meant. “I’m going to call Horse.”
His wife’s eyes latched onto his. “You can’t mean that.”
“I have to do
something.
”
“And this is what you’ve come up with? What on earth will you say to him?”
“Mommy, what’s wrong?”
Brady stood by the door, frowning at the tension in the room. He wasn’t used to seeing them at odds.
“Nothing, honey,” she responded, but the fact that she didn’t so much as glance back at him told Virgil she was completely involved in their conversation. He understood why. Calling Horse was a huge risk. But doing nothing could prove to be an even greater one.
Spotting his father, Brady scampered past Peyton. Virgil wouldn’t let Peyton lift him up, not while she was pregnant, so these days Brady relied primarily on Virgil to carry him when he wanted it. He snuggled with his mother only when she was sitting on the couch or lying down. “Can we throw the baseball, Daddy?” he asked as he climbed into Virgil’s lap where Peyton had sat just seconds before.
“In a minute, bud.” For now, Peyton still had him pinned beneath a disapproving stare.
“I asked you a question,” she reminded him.
Virgil drew a deep breath. “I’ll explain that he’d better not pick this fight.”
“Or…”
“I’ll finish it.”
He was transferred several times before he spoke to someone at California’s Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation who could help him, but it wasn’t long before Myles had the information he was looking for. The mug shots for the inmates who’d broken out of the California Men’s Colony had come through the fax machine and, sure enough, he recognized them. One was “Ron Howard.” Nickname Ink. Real name Eugene Rider. The kid who’d claimed to be Peter Ferguson was Lloyd Beachum, age nineteen. Lloyd had three priors for drug
possession and grand larceny, but Eugene’s arrest record made Lloyd’s look like child’s play. Rape. Armed robbery. Arson. Several counts of murder.
With a curse, Myles dialed the number he’d just gotten from the CDCR.
A woman answered. “Warden Wright’s office.”
To avoid the noise two of his deputies were making as they reported for work, Myles got up and closed his office door. “Is the warden in?”
“He is, but I’m afraid he’s not available. Can I take a message?”
“This is Sheriff King in Pineview, Montana. Tell him I spotted your boys and believe they’re still in this area.”
“Excuse me?”
He returned to his seat. “The two convicts who cut a hole in the fence and slipped out ten days ago? They’re in Montana.”
“Oh, dear! Um, in that case, hang on. I’m sure he’ll want to speak with you sooner rather than later.”
Two or three minutes dragged by before a male voice boomed across the line. “Sheriff?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for calling. You have something to report on our escapees?”
Propping his elbows on the desk, Myles smoothed his eyebrows with a finger and one thumb. “I wish I had more than I do, but I’ll give you what I’ve got. They stole a red Toyota truck from a Quentin J. Ferguson in Monrovia, which they drove here. A leak in the radiator stranded them on the side of the road. That’s where I found them yesterday.”
“Tell me you have them in custody.”
“I’m afraid not.” Myles explained what had happened, then mentioned Pat Stueben’s murder.
“Eugene Ryder should never have been transferred from Pelican Bay. He’s a level-four prisoner if I’ve ever met one.” The stress in the warden’s voice revealed just how much he wanted to get these particular inmates back where they belonged.
Myles had wondered what someone convicted of so many counts of murder was doing in anything less than maximum security. But it happened sometimes. Due to good behavior, time served, overcrowding or myriad other reasons, their points dropped. “Considering his long list of offenses, why’d they reclassify him?”
“Four years ago, Ryder tried to kill a woman who was going into WitSec. Murdered the federal marshal who was protecting her, but he took a bullet that night that nearly severed his spinal cord. He was never supposed to walk again. He’s done much better than the doctors predicted, but he’s in constant pain. No one dreamed he’d leave his free and ready supply of codeine and head for the hills. When his back gets bad, he can barely limp around. And it’s bad almost all the time.”
Was the warden joking? Prison doctors didn’t have a corner on the painkiller market. “But there are plenty of alternatives to codeine available on the street. Including some drugs, both legal and illegal, that are a lot stronger.”
“He spent two years in Pelican Bay after the shooting, seemed like a different man. And they’re so crowded up there.”
Myles read over Ryder’s arrest record again. They thought he was a different man? This was obviously a screwup, and the warden didn’t want to admit it. So Myles changed tactics. “Who shot him?”
“Don’t know. Until ten days ago, he was just another inmate to me. Now all I care about is dragging his ass back here.”
Myles remembered the stories Mia had shared with her friend at school. Had she witnessed the shooting that’d injured Ryder? Or the slaying of the marshal?
Rex had mentioned that The Crew had been out to get Vivian and her brother for a long time, that they’d been in protective custody. “Was it the woman he was trying to rape who shot him?”
“Could’ve been. I haven’t looked into those details. They don’t matter. All that matters is what’s happening now. We gotta get these boys back in prison before they hurt someone else.”
But they’d have a far greater chance of catching their “boys” if they could figure out where they might be going and why. And that could be linked to their pasts. “What can you tell me that might help me locate Eugene? Does he have family in Montana? Friends?”
“No. His family lives in San Diego, and he lost touch with them years ago. This guy’s a career criminal and not right in the head. His family’s as scared of him as everyone else, especially his mother. When he was only twelve he tried to set her bed on fire while she was sleeping.”
Nice son…
“So he won’t be reaching out to them anytime soon.”
“They certainly hope not. But we’ve been in touch, just in case.”
“What about the guy who escaped with him? Beachum? Where’s his family?”
“He’s from Modesto, here in California. We’re in contact with his family, too, or what’s left of it. He was born
to a crack addict who lost him to Child Protective Services when he was eleven. From there he bounced around the foster system for three or four years. Finally wound up on the street. Mother claims she hasn’t heard from him, but she’s still on the pipe so who knows if she’d even remember.”
Myles groped for some other way to track Eugene Ryder. “
Someone
had to help these men escape. Someone on the outside. A girlfriend. A family member. A buddy. Isn’t that how it usually works?”
“More often than not.”