Текст книги "Inside"

Автор книги: Brenda Novak

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Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 25 страниц)

29

Rick Wallace hadn’t been picking up his cell phone or returning the messages she’d left, so Laurel wasn’t expecting it when he answered.

“Mr. Wallace?” she said, startled by his hello.

“Yes?”

She cleared her throat. “This is Laurel Hodges.”

She got the impression he wasn’t happy to hear from her. “Who gave you this number?”

“You did. Don’t you remember? You said if I ever needed anything to give you a call.”

“Oh, right. That night in Gunnison.” He sighed loudly enough that she could hear. “That seems so long ago.”

He sounded stressed. She felt guilty for bothering him, but she couldn’t believe that he was dealing with any more than she was. And this wouldn’t take more than a second. “Not to me,” she said. “I feel as if a tornado’s picked me up and is still whipping me around. I have no idea where it might drop me, or when.” Although two men from the U.S. Marshal Service had taken her to a different safe house, this one in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the man who’d stayed with her had told her it wasn’t a permanent location. The government was still working on the details of her new identity, which made everything even more difficult for her because she couldn’t settle anywhere. They’d left her waiting on pins and needles. And with no work, no friends, nothing except her children to distract her, she was going crazy, especially during naptime when the house was quiet. The marshal spent most of his time in his bedroom.

“I’m sorry, but I’m late for a meeting.” He didn’t seem to care about her plight. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m calling to check on my brother. If you won’t give me any way to reach him directly, you have to at least give me periodic updates. I’m in an unfamiliar house in an unfamiliar city. The Crew killed the last marshal, and I saw one man gun down two others. I think it’s understandable that I’d be a little rattled and need some reassurance to help me adjust to all this upheaval.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you. You can’t call me every day. I’m busy. I’ve got a lot going in my life, too.”

Was he joking? Could it be anything close to what she was going through? Was someone out to kill him and his family? She doubted it. “Then give me another number. Someone I can talk to now and then. That’s the only way I can get through this. If I know Virgil’s okay, I can go on. But when I’m not sure—”

“We’ll let you know if anything happens to him,” he broke in. “No news is good news, as they say.”

Judging by the curtness of his voice, he was hoping to brush her off, but she wouldn’t have it. “That’s not good enough, Mr. Wallace. If I can’t hear from Virgil himself, I have to hear that he’s making progress so…so I can believe he’ll put an end to this for all of us.”

“I’m not at the prison,” he said. “I have no idea what’s going on there. I’m not as involved in this as you might’ve thought.”

“Then who is? Will you give me the warden’s number? There can’t be any danger in that. How hard could it be for him to tell me that my brother’s fine?”

“You don’t understand. I can’t—”

She tightened her grip on the phone. “Don’t say that, please. You don’t know how frightening it is wondering if I’m really as alone as I feel! If I have to, I’ll call you day and night until—”

“Stop. I get it.” He grunted in frustration, but when he spoke again, she was glad she’d pushed. “Call Peyton Adams. She’s at Pelican Bay State Prison.”

That was where they’d taken Virgil? Wallace had just told her? She hadn’t expected him to give her that much. “And the number?”

“Wait, scratch that. Whatever you do, don’t call the prison or speak to the warden. Let me get you Peyton’s cell phone. Hang on.” She didn’t get a chance to ask who Peyton was. She didn’t care as long as this person was close enough to Virgil to keep her informed.

“I should never have gotten involved in this…. I’ll be damn glad when it’s over,” she heard Rick mutter. Then he recited ten digits and hung up.

Peyton had never dreamed she’d hear from Virgil’s sister. When the call came in, she’d just gotten out of a budget meeting and only answered because she hoped it was Virgil. She had to warn him that the HF was doing what it could to check him out—at least, she thought that was what the call from Buzz signified. And because Buzz’s phone probably wasn’t the only one in the prison, Virgil could be calling from any number, even numbers with area codes from faraway places. There were pay phones on the tiers, but the men had to sign up in order to use them, had limited access and every conversation was monitored.

“Who are you?” Laurel asked once she’d identified herself and was sure she had someone named Peyton on the phone.

“I’m the chief deputy warden.”

“Oh, now I get it.” Peyton wished she did.

“Is Virgil okay? I’ve been going crazy worrying about him. I just…I need someone to tell me that everything’s fine.”

Peyton ducked into the women’s restroom. She’d been walking through the bull-pen area, wasn’t quite at her office, and didn’t want to pass Shelley. She was afraid something in her conversation would pique her assistant’s interest. Shelley had already been watching her a little more closely than usual today. As hard as she strove for normality, her agitation would give her away.

At least the bathroom, which was empty, afforded her a small amount of privacy. This late in the day, most of the support staff were packing up to head home. Shelley would be going, too. Hopefully soon.

“He’s fine,” she told Laurel. “Well, as fine as can be expected.” She considered mentioning his injury but decided to put it off for the moment, in favor of satisfying her own curiosity. “I have to admit I’m surprised to hear from you. How did you get my number?” Last she’d heard, they weren’t revealing Virgil’s whereabouts to anyone, even Laurel.

“Rick Wallace gave it to me,” Laurel said. “I hope that doesn’t upset you. He didn’t want to. But I wouldn’t take no for an answer. He doesn’t know what it’s like waiting and wondering. I’m not even in a familiar place, you know?”

“I know.” Peyton tried to imbue her voice with understanding. She certainly sympathized with Laurel and was well aware she’d been through hell. But her mind wasn’t on what she was saying. Virgil had made it clear that he didn’t want Laurel to know where he was, that he didn’t want any link between them. He was afraid The Crew would exploit it in some way. So why had Wallace suddenly coughed up this information as if he was no longer worried about that? And why hadn’t he returned her calls today? She’d wanted to talk about getting some information on The Crew. The police must have a few details about the leaders, at least. Maybe they even had pictures. After what had happened to Laurel, Peyton thought it might be wise to learn a little more about Virgil’s adversaries. That could help protect him. At a minimum, they should send descriptions to the local police, tell them to be on the lookout. It was such a simple thing to do and as far as she was concerned, should’ve been done already. She’d said as much in her last two messages to Rick, but she’d received no response. It felt almost as if he was…avoiding her.

Was he embarrassed about the way he’d behaved? He should be. But he wasn’t that hard on himself. More likely, he was wrapped up in his divorce.

Why did he have to split up with his wife now?

“Virgil’s my only family,” Laurel was saying.

“He’s worried about you, too,” Peyton told her.

“I know. Can you tell him I’m okay? I mean…I’m not really okay. Some days it feels like I’m losing it.” She chuckled awkwardly. “But I’ll hang on. I’ve managed this long.”

“How’s the marshal treating you?” Peyton asked.

“Fine. He doesn’t say much. He does routine checks every hour or so but spends the rest of the time in the bedroom, watching movie after movie.”

“Why does he go to the bedroom?”

“Because I don’t want my children to see the violent movies he watches, especially after what they’ve already seen.”

Peyton stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. “How are Jake and Mia? Are they okay after witnessing the shootings?”

“You know their names?”

“Yes. I’ve seen their picture, too. They’re beautiful children.”

“They’re coping. I’ve told them what they saw wasn’t real, just some actors pretending. They’re young enough to buy it. I think. They also believe we’re on vacation for a few weeks. That’s the only thing I could come up with.”

“This will all be over soon, okay?” She wished there was more she could say to comfort Laurel, but there wasn’t.

“Do you know that?” Laurel asked hopefully. “Or are you just saying it?”

“Like you, I’m praying for it. We have to have faith, right?”

“Right. I get it. Okay. Will you do me a favor?”

“I’ll do anything I can.”

“Tell Virgil I love him. I—I didn’t tell him on the phone when we talked. I…couldn’t.”

“I can do that. Sure.”

“And…can I call you again? Just to check in and make sure everything’s fine?”

“Of course. Call whenever you feel you need to.”

“Thank you,” she said, and they hung up, but Peyton didn’t immediately go to her office. She leaned against the sink and tried to imagine what would make Rick Wallace tell Laurel where Virgil was.

“Wow, you’re working late again?”

Shelley stood in the doorway. Peyton smiled as pleasantly as possible but she resented the interruption. “I won’t be here much longer.” She’d just found some fabulous information online about The Crew. A cop in Los Angeles had posted a website dedicated to L.A. gangs, their signs, colors, philosophy, known leaders, even a bit of their history, and he’d included a whole page on The Crew.

“Okay, well, I’m heading out,” Shelley said. “But before I do, I thought I’d see if you wanted to deal with this.”

“With what?” Peyton asked.

Shelley walked in and plopped a stack of messages on her desk.

Peyton shoved away from her computer. “What’re those?”

“They’re all from the same guy. Rosalee delivered them to me before she left for the night. She said he’s been trying to reach the warden all day long.”

Rosalee was the warden’s assistant. “And Fischer wouldn’t talk to him?”

“He’s been too busy. And let’s face it. This guy’s probably a family member of one of the cons, all in a tiff about how we’re violating his constitutional rights by not serving enough pudding for dessert.” She laughed. “But he said it was urgent and he was so insistent, Rosalee asked me to see if you’d be willing to talk to him the next time he calls.”

Peyton wasn’t particularly interested. She had too much going on already. Virgil and his safety took precedence over everything else. But Shelley’s comment about talking to this guy the next time he called struck her as odd and made her look through the messages. There were at least ten slips in the stack, but not one included a telephone number.

“He wouldn’t leave his contact information?”

“Said he doesn’t have a phone. He’s calling from pay phones.” She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that pathetic? He’s probably on drugs. Everyone has a phone these days.”

If he was on drugs, wouldn’t he have given up after two or three attempts? Peyton glanced at the times the calls had come in. Almost once an hour all day long. That was too regular, too consistent, for someone who was high and not thinking straight. “Did he say what it was about?”

“No. Wouldn’t give her any idea. What a nutcase, huh?”

“Rex McCready.” Peyton read the name aloud. She didn’t recognize it. Or…did she?

Swiveling back to her computer, she scanned the webpage she’d just pulled up and, about two-thirds of the way down, spotted the name—Rex “Pretty Boy” McCready. Pretty Boy. The man who’d saved Laurel and her children. The name must’ve registered even though she’d barely had time to skim over what she’d found before Shelley interrupted.

Holy hell… What did he need? Why was he so determined to get hold of the warden?

He wouldn’t have called unless he had a good reason. He was a wanted man.

He obviously knew Virgil was here. Why else would he call? And if he knew Virgil’s whereabouts, so did The Crew. Was that what he was trying to tell them?

If so, it was okay for the moment. The Crew wouldn’t be able to reach Virgil while he was inside.

But gangs sometimes formed alliances, if it was in the interests of both groups. And The Crew would know Virgil’s name wasn’t Simeon Bennett. They’d know he wasn’t a legitimate con here because he’d been exonerated and released from ADX Florence. All they had to do was share that information with the HF, and together with what Weston already suspected, they’d all know the truth.

Pulse racing, Peyton dropped the messages and looked up at Shelley. “What’s today? It’s Thursday, right?”

“Yeah, it’s Thursday,” she said, nonplussed. “Is something wrong?”

Yes, something was wrong. Thursday was visiting day for the SHU. Shit! What were the chances?

“I need you to do an errand for me before you go.”

Shelley didn’t seem happy to hear this. She had her purse on her shoulder and her car keys in her hand. “What?” she asked hesitantly.

“Go over to visitation and get me a list of everyone who came to the prison today. Ask specifically if anyone requested a meeting with Detric Whitehead or Weston Jager.”

“That’ll be a pretty short list. Can’t you just call over there?”

Peyton didn’t have time for any argument. An inmate was most vulnerable when he was in the yard or the dining hall. And it was the dinner hour. “I want a list of all visitors, and I want you to get it and bring it to me now. If you don’t move your ass, you can find yourself another job.”

The sharpness of her response made Shelley’s eyes flare wide. “Okay, jeez. I wasn’t saying I wouldn’t do it. I was just saying, if you’re only looking for a list of SHU visitors, there probably aren’t more than two or three,” she grumbled as she trudged off.

Peyton didn’t respond. Her mind was racing through possibilities, hoping it wasn’t already too late to pull Virgil out of the dining hall, if necessary. She would’ve sent word to the C.O.s in gen pop to get over there, but she was afraid her concern was making her imagine danger where there was none. She didn’t really know what Pretty Boy wanted to impart; she was guessing at all of it.

But she was pretty sure she’d guessed right when Shelley returned. She didn’t recognize any of the visitors on the list Shelley slapped down in front of her. None of them matched the known gang members mentioned on the website, either. She’d been scrolling through it and doing internet searches, looking for other names affiliated with The Crew. But the fact that none of the names matched didn’t bring her any relief. Visitors for men in the SHU had to get clearance, which meant The Crew wouldn’t send someone who was likely to be rejected. They’d send someone who didn’t have a record. What was significant was that, after going God knew how long without any visitors at all, Detric Whitehead had a man by the name of Donald Mechem visit him about five hours ago.

30

Virgil thought he was running a fever. He kept breaking into a cold sweat and he felt nauseous. But he wasn’t about to let the Hells Fury know he wasn’t in good shape. Not when they were huddled over in the corner like they’d been the night they attacked him.

Something had changed. He wasn’t sure what, but even Buzz, who’d been promising gang sponsorship, wouldn’t come close to him. Several members of the Nuestra Family had sauntered over to invite him to join them, but he could tell that the HF was looking for any excuse to jump him again and he didn’t want that to be the trigger. He didn’t feel well enough to be up on his feet, let alone swinging his fists.

After telling anyone who approached to leave him the hell alone, he moved his food around his plate to make it look like he was eating and hoped to survive dinner without an altercation. He had no chance out in the open. He didn’t even think he could handle Buzz if it came to a fight in the cell. His arms and legs seemed to weigh a ton, and his head kept spinning and pounding. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he needed to see a doctor.

He’d just decided that he’d ask to visit the infirmary when that guard who’d approached him in his cell– Hutchinson—came up. “Hey, big guy, how ya doin’?” he asked, popping his gum as he talked.

Virgil drew a deep breath. Steady. Hang on. “Not so good,” he said. “I think my wound’s infected.”

“That’ll knock your legs out from under ya.”

The C.O. seemed to be speaking too loudly, but Virgil thought that might be a misperception caused by his fever. When he didn’t respond, Hutchinson leaned down and whispered, “You want me to notify Peyton? She can get you out of here, you know. Get you to a decent hospital. The doctors at the infirmary suck. And it’s no wonder. If you were a talented physician, would you want to work here?”

Virgil pushed his tray aside. “Are you going to take me there or not?”

“You’re an arrogant bastard, aren’t you?” He straightened. “Sure, I’ll take you there. When everyone goes back, you just stay put and I’ll escort you myself.”

Virgil didn’t argue. He didn’t realize he should’ve objected until the dining hall began to clear and he wasn’t the only one who lingered behind. One of the other C.O.s waved to get the Hells Fury up and moving, but Hutchinson said, “I got the trailers, no worries, Greg.”

“Greg” turned away and headed out with the rest of the prisoners.

Then, as beleaguered and dimwitted as Virgil felt, he knew he was in trouble even before Hutchinson snapped, “If you’re gonna do it, do it now and make it good. Because this time he can’t come out of it alive.”

Peyton felt a measure of relief when she called the guard station at Facility A and was assured that the dinner hour was over, all had gone smoothly and the men were on the way back to their cells. She figured Buzz might try something once he and Virgil were alone. But she doubted that while Virgil was awake Buzz would take him on. If he did, Virgil stood a good chance against only one man.

That didn’t mean she was willing to risk his life by leaving him vulnerable to a surprise attack, however. She was going to get him out of Pelican Bay as soon as possible. Now that The Crew had most likely found him, there was no point in trying to continue the operation, not if his cover had been blown. She just hoped to extract him without causing too much of a scene. She knew Fischer wouldn’t like it if the staff discovered what they’d been up to. Because the C.O.s hadn’t been told about Virgil’s true identity and purpose, they’d feel distrusted; they might wonder if they were being targeted by the investigation, too. And keeping up morale was key to running a prison successfully. So was avoiding any unexpected developments or the chaos they could create. She needed to handle this as quickly and quietly as possible.

“Please bring me Simeon Bennett,” she told Sergeant Hostetler, who was still on the phone with her. “I need to talk to him.”

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

The worry clawing at her gut must have seeped into her voice. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm down. “No, nothing serious. Just…some rumors I need to address.”

“You bet,” he said. “Or…wait just a sec.” A moment later, he came on the line again. “Looks like he’s not back in his cell yet. I’ll bring him over as soon as I see him.”

Peyton glanced at the clock. Most of the men were back from dinner by six. They were given only so much time to walk from the dining hall to the cell block. Why wasn’t Virgil there? She didn’t want him lingering behind…ever. “Don’t wait. Go look for him.”

“Look for him? He’ll show up any second. There isn’t anywhere for him to go.”

The emergency in her voice had confused Hostetler; she’d just told him what she wanted wasn’t serious. But this time she didn’t try to cloak the fear that was rapidly turning into panic. “I said go look for him!” she yelled, and slammed down the phone. Unable to trust the C.O.s to move fast enough—they didn’t understand what was on the line—she hurried around her desk to race across the yard and into the prison herself.

I’m going to die, Virgil thought. Thanks to an infected wound, a dirty C.O. and three gang members, one of whom included his cellie, he wouldn’t make it back from the dining hall, let alone walk out of Pelican Bay with a new chance at life.

He’d known that accepting the government’s offer would put his future at risk. He wasn’t surprised by this attack. He’d felt it coming long before he’d noticed the unrest during dinner. This was how he’d expected to die back when he first went to prison at eighteen. All the other stuff—the exoneration, meeting Peyton, loving Peyton—that was what really surprised him. And now that brief flash of hope was about to be extinguished.

What would Peyton think? She’d fought so hard against this. And what would happen to Laurel and Mia and Jake?

“You bastard.” Buzz held a shank, the handle of which appeared to be a ballpoint pen, the sharp end a nail. But he hadn’t struck yet. Virgil could sense his reluctance. He was so close to being free; he didn’t want to bury himself under another prison sentence. That partially fueled his rage. He blamed Virgil instead of the leaders of the Hells Fury for forcing his hand. “I was plannin’ to get you in, help you become one of us!” he growled, keeping his voice low.

The others acted as a wall to block the view of anyone who might glance back.

“You sure you want another ten to fifteen for murder?” Virgil breathed.

“I do what has to be done.” He pounded his chest with his free hand. “I’m loyal! I’m HF!”

Virgil struggled to remain on his feet. “And you think Detric Whitehead would sacrifice a decade or two of his life for you? That’s the lie, man. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He’s using you.”

“Get it over with,” Hutchinson barked. “We only have a few seconds. You get me in trouble again and I’ll tell the cops who killed that judge.”

Eyes shining with adrenaline-fueled fury, Buzz lunged forward.

Virgil managed to sidestep the first jab. He had almost no energy, but his own adrenaline had helped him that much. Then he went for the guard. The C.O. was his only hope because he wasn’t expecting to be attacked. No one else expected him to go after the C.O., either. But the guard had a can of pepper spray on his belt. If Virgil was going to use the last of his strength to do something, he needed it to be effective against more than one person.

Buzz thrust again just as Virgil reached for the pepper spray, but Virgil saw the shank coming and, in a motion born more of instinct than intent, pulled John in front of him.

The C.O. stumbled, nearly fell, then jerked and cried out as the shank went into his neck.

Virgil didn’t have the strength to bear John’s weight. He had to let go of his human shield as the others pressed forward to finish what Buzz had started.

Another guard came running, screaming for the cons to stand down. Virgil could hear the pounding of his feet, the shouting of the other men, and yet it all seemed to be coming from a distance. Even if that C.O. was closer than he thought, Virgil doubted he’d act quickly enough to help. The guard didn’t know what was going on, would need to take precious seconds to assess the situation.

Fumbling to get hold of the pepper spray before it was too late, Virgil grabbed the canister despite John’s thrashing around on the floor. He pulled it from the C.O.’s belt and sprayed—but not before someone got him from the side.

When Peyton arrived at the dining hall and found Virgil lying on the floor, her panic turned to anguish. She was too late. Judging by the blood on his shirt, he’d been stabbed again, this time on his right side.

Was he dead? He wasn’t moving….

John Hutchinson lay next to him, writhing in pain. A shank protruded from his neck. He gasped for breath while the C.O.s who’d responded when the alarm sounded herded Buzz, Ace Anderson and an inmate by the name of Felix Smith against the wall.

“Medical personnel are on the way,” Hostetler told her. His manner was matter-of-fact, businesslike. He’d handled this situation by the book. But this wasn’t just another violent episode that they had to process according to a set of rules. One of the people affected by this incident meant everything to her.

Images of what it must’ve been like for her father, dying in much the same way, ran through Peyton’s mind as she sank to her knees. Had she lost someone else? After all the years she’d worked in corrections, trying to make a difference?

Succumbing to tears, she reached for Virgil’s hand. It’d taken her thirty-six years to fall in love, and then she’d done it against her better judgment and in only a matter of days. Was it over before it had really begun?

“Virgil?” she whispered, cupping his cheek. She could feel the surprise and attention of the others. Their eyes bored holes in her back, but she didn’t care.

There was no response, but he was warm. Praying that meant there was still a chance, she pressed two fingers to his throat—and found a faint pulse. He was alive! She didn’t know how long he’d last, but she clung to the slim chance implied by that barely perceptible movement.

“Virgil, can you hear me?” she asked. “I’m with you.”

“She knows him?” someone muttered.

“Looks like it…”

The medical team that rushed into the room behind her tried to pry her away, but she refused to let them. As long as she could touch him, she felt she could lend him some of her strength, her energy, the determination and spirit to keep fighting.

“Chief Deputy.” The doctor’s voice was filled with reproof when she resisted.

She shot him a defiant look. “I won’t get in the way, but I won’t leave him, either,” she said.

She was glad she’d refused when they lifted him onto the stretcher and his eyes fluttered open and focused on her.

“Don’t cry,” he mumbled with a tender smile.

By the time Peyton had Virgil removed from Pelican Bay and admitted to Sutter Coast Hospital it was another late night. The doctors said he had a systemic infection and needed stronger antibiotics, as well as more stitches. They weren’t making any promises that he’d survive. He wasn’t in good shape. Apparently he would’ve wound up in the hospital—or dead—even without another shank wound. But she was cautiously hopeful. At least he was out of Pelican Bay and getting the best medical help available. And she no longer had to pretend she didn’t care about him. Too many people had seen her reaction to his injury. That removed a weight.

She was dozing in a chair next to his bed when he began to stir. Fighting the exhaustion tugging her toward unconsciousness, she forced her eyes open so she could make sure he was okay, and found him staring at her in the half light streaming from the hallway.

“Hey, you,” she said, getting up so she could move closer.

“Hey,” he responded. “What’s going on?”

She bent down to lean her elbows on the edge of the bed, which put her face only a few inches from his. “You’re pretty sick, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“My shank wound is infected.”

“You knew that before this happened, didn’t you?” She took his hand. “The doctors said it must’ve been going on for twenty-four hours or longer.”

“I suspected.”

She frowned. “And yet you said nothing.”

“There was too much riding on what I was trying to do. You know that.”

“It doesn’t matter. Sooner would’ve been better, Virgil. Now it’s gone into your blood.”

He gave her a wry smile. “Does that mean I’m going to die?”

“Quit being so glib. You could!”

“Come on, I’m going to be fine.”

She kissed his knuckles. “You’re so reckless,” she murmured.

“You are, too,” he said. “Or you wouldn’t be hanging out with me. What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s late, for one thing.”

“So?”

“We’ve been over the rest of it before.”

She gestured for him to stop returning to that old territory. “Don’t bother giving me another list of your shortcomings. I’ve made up my mind.”

“You have?” He sobered, studied her. “And what have you decided?”

“That unless you’re secretly a selfish bastard who’s nothing like what you seem, you’re exactly what I want.”

“I’m afraid to count on us lasting,” he admitted.

“Yeah, well, getting together is a risk for both of us, right?”

“One you’re willing to take? Have you really thought about it, Peyton?”

“In the past few days, I haven’t thought of much else.”

He raised his other hand, ran a finger down her cheek. “For your sake, I wish I could talk you out of it. But for mine… See? Maybe I am a selfish bastard.”

“You have a right to be happy.” She laid her head on his chest and could hear his heart beating. He smoothed her hair. “Are you worried that I might not be able to have children?” she asked at length.

“We’re talking about children?”

She lifted her head to see his face. “If you want kids, it’s something to consider.”

“Are you prequalifying me for marriage?” he asked with a laugh.

“Just confirming a few things before we go any further.”

“You don’t think it’s a little too soon?”

“Given your projected life span? We have to keep things moving.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“I want kids. But if it doesn’t work out, we’ll have each other.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” He fell silent again but continued to stroke her hair. Then he said, “Do you know if Laurel’s okay?”

“I’m positive she’s fine, but I’ll check on her in the morning, just to be safe. She called me earlier.”

“How?” “Wallace.”

“He gave her your number?”

“She insisted on getting some word about your welfare.”

“Still, what a bastard. I told him she wasn’t supposed to have any information.”

Clearly Rick had been exasperated and hadn’t wanted to deal with her. And there was his divorce, which seemed to be making life difficult for him. But…it was almost as if Rick knew Operation Inside was coming to a close before they did. “Laurel’s missing you. She told me to tell you she loves you,” Peyton said.

“I’ll be glad when I don’t have to worry about her anymore. What happened to Buzz?”

“He’s in the SHU. So are his friends. They’ll all be charged with attempted murder.”

“He can kiss his parole goodbye.”