In Seconds (25 page)

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he told himself he didn’t want to feel her against him. “It’s going to be okay,” he promised. “You’re tired, overwrought. You need some rest.”

“I’ll be fine. I know what I’m up against.”

“Vivian…Laurel—God, I don’t even know what to call you anymore.”

“It’s Vivian,” she said softly.

“Why choose that persona?”

“Because that’s who I am to you. That’s who I’ve become even to me. At least for now.”

He had a feeling those words held more meaning than their easiest interpretation—that he was most familiar with that name—but he refused to examine it. He had to convince her to stay with him; if he wanted to keep her safe, he had no choice about that. “Vivian, then. Let me take care of you for a little while.”

Her eyes, so pretty and yet so haunted, pleaded with him to understand. “But what if—”

“I’m not going to be hurt.” Suddenly angry, he scowled at her. “Stop turning down the help you need, okay?”

He started taking clothes out of her drawers. He didn’t care what they were; he figured if she wouldn’t cooperate he’d gather up as much as he could hold, and that would have to be good enough. There was no way she was staying here even if he had to carry her out. “Tomorrow we’ll put you in a safe place, somewhere no one else in town knows about and—”

“No.” She grabbed his arm. He meant to shake her off so he could continue, but he turned and stared at her instead and the memories he’d been fighting flooded through his mind—the taste of her kiss, the softness of her skin, the moment he’d first buried himself inside her.

Surprised by whatever she’d seen in his face, she let go.

Frustrated with himself for wanting her so badly regardless of all the reasons he should leave her alone, he went back to collecting her clothes. “Work with me here. Just until we can find these men. They’re strangers in Pineview. And we have their pictures plastered all over town. They can’t remain hidden forever.”

He didn’t get the impression she believed it would be that easy. But, with a resigned nod, she got a bag and helped him finish packing.

After what seemed like an interminable silence, Virgil checked the minutes he’d used on the prepaid cell phone he’d purchased for this call. Fifteen. Already. Shit. He thought he’d bought more than enough. How long did it take to threaten somebody? He should’ve guessed it wouldn’t go smoothly. Nothing involving The Crew ever did…?.

Pivoting in front of the windows overlooking the parking lot at his office, he waited for the guy who’d an
swered his call to bring Horse to the phone. He’d never actually spoken to Horse before. He knew his real name was Harold Pew, but he’d never actually used it. As with most prison gangs, everyone went by nicknames—and Virgil didn’t have to think too hard to guess how Horse had gotten his.

At least he had
something
to offer the ladies. From what Virgil had heard, Horse was a big, pockmarked ugly son of a bitch—and a mean one, too. Since Horse had taken over leadership of The Crew’s foot soldiers living in Los Angeles, the power had gone to his head.

“Is this some sort of joke?” A deep, raspy voice barked this question into the phone. Since Virgil had asked for Horse, he could only assume it was him.

Finally. Virgil had been about to hang up, return to the store to load the phone with more minutes and call back. “Surprise!” he crooned. “Must be your birthday, eh?”

“Is this
really
Virgil Skinner?”

“Do other people call you up and impersonate me?”

“Considering how I feel about you, no one would be that stupid.”

“Then you’ve answered your own question.” Turning his back to the view, Virgil eyed his office. There were times when he woke up expecting to see the cell he’d lived in for fourteen years instead of the beautiful home he owned with Peyton. He still couldn’t believe he’d been able to change his life, that he had so much he cared about when he’d started with absolutely nothing. He was happy. Why did
this
have to keep cropping up?

“You have some balls, you know that?” Horse said. “What do you think you’re doing, calling me up as if we’re friends?”

“I could’ve sent an email saying, ‘I’m going to fuck you up if you don’t stop what you’re doing’ to [email protected], but I was afraid you’d discard it as just another idle threat.”

Horse laughed a bit too loudly and a bit too long. “But it
is
an idle threat. There’s
nothing
you can do to me.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

“Why not?”

“I have one advantage.”

“You don’t have shit.”

“I know where you are. You can’t say the same about me.”

“But to reach me, you’d have to come through fifty other Crew.”

Virgil manufactured a laugh of his own. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration, wouldn’t you say? Day to day there are maybe…five guys around at any one time.” The Crew couldn’t hang out with Horse all day. They had prostitutes to pimp, debtors to rough up, dope to pedal. “Five to one. Those were
good
odds where I learned to fight.”

“You mean four
years
ago? Before you settled down and became a
family
man? I’m guessing you’re a bit rusty.”

Apparently Horse didn’t know Virgil owned his own bodyguard service. The Crew must’ve missed that detail when they came after them in D.C. All they cared about was an address, and they’d come up with Laurel’s somehow. Virgil would never forget the call he’d received from her after the attack. If not for Rex, she’d be dead.

But Horse wasn’t entirely wrong. In the four years Virgil had been protecting others, the worst he’d had to do was shove someone out of the way or toss a few drunks out of a club, and even that was before he’d hired
others. Now he had a team of eight, not counting the three who did background checks and other searches, and his clerical staff of two. “What I might’ve lost in technique I’ve gained in motivation,” he said.

“And you think I care? Come on—blood in, blood out. You know how the game’s played. Winner takes all, Skin.”

Virgil winced at his old nickname. It reminded him of the years he’d been driven by rage, rage not so different from what he was feeling right now. “Call Ink off and let bygones be bygones, or I’ll bring the fight to your front door, and then it’ll be too late for peace.”

“Ink?
That’s
what this is about? You’re worried about that broken-down crazy bastard? I couldn’t call him off even if I wanted to. You know he’s certifiable, right? Payback. That’s all he cares about.”

That broken-down crazy bastard had already caused too much damage. “He’s one of yours. You need to do something about him before this goes any farther.”

“There’s nothing I can do. Your sister’s probably already dead.”

Fighting a sudden impulse to break something, Virgil returned to the window and let his forehead fall against the glass. “For your own sake, you’d better hope that’s not true.”

“I’m not scared of you, Skin. You want me? Come get me. If you show up here it’ll save me the trouble of finding you.” He lowered his voice. “Because I
will
find you. No matter how long and hard I have to look. I bet Laurel’s giving Ink your address right now. But when I come for you, I won’t kill you immediately. First I’m going to destroy everyone you’ve ever loved.” He chuckled softly. “Just like I did your mother.”

Something inside him snapped. Whirling, Virgil threw the first object he could grab, which happened to be his stapler. It landed against the wall, creating a sizable dent and a loud thud. “You won’t touch anyone else. You won’t have the chance,” he said, and hung up.

Sandra, his administrative assistant knocked at the door. “Hey, is everything okay?”

Covering his face, he stood perfectly still, grappling for control before he threw something else. She knew his background, his real name. He’d told her so she’d be extra careful about releasing any of his personal information to people who called, but she’d probably never really believed the threat he lived with. Most people couldn’t even fathom what it was like.

“Can you hear me?” she asked, louder.

Breathe…
“It’s fine, Sandra. Everything’s fine.” He choked out those few words.

“Oh. Good. Okay. Well, did you want to go over those contracts with me now?”

“No.” He couldn’t think about business. He couldn’t think about anything except the fact that he’d have to leave right away, despite the impending birth of his daughter. He had to stop The Crew before anyone else got hurt. It might mean he’d miss the delivery, but he had no choice. Neither he nor Laurel was in a position to run again. If he couldn’t convince Horse to bury the hatchet, he had to stop him some other way, even if it meant putting a bullet in his head.

His assistant knocked again. He’d assumed she’d gone back to her desk. “What now?”

There was a brief hesitation. No doubt she was surprised. He never treated her rudely.

“Have I done something wrong?” she asked.

He cursed under his breath but managed a solid, “No, it’s me. I’m sorry.”

That seemed to make it better. Her voice sounded more strident when she spoke again. “Mr. Winn is here. He’d like to see you.”

Mr. Winn owned a liquor store and wanted to beef up security beyond the single guard Virgil provided on weekends. “Tell him I’m dealing with a family emergency and won’t be able to meet today.”

There was a pause and then a drawn out, “Okay…”

“And, Sandra?” he said before she could move away.

“Yes?”

“Clear my calendar. I’m going to be gone for a couple of days.”

At this she opened the door and peered into the room, her face flushed with excitement. “Is it the baby? Is your wife in labor?”

He prayed Peyton could manage on her own and that nothing would happen to their daughter. Or their son. Or anyone else he loved. As soon as he dropped off Laurel’s kids, Rex would be flying back to Montana to look out for Laurel, and Virgil would be in L.A. He’d have to move Peyton, Brady, Jake and Mia into a motel until he could get back. They could order room service and swim in a heated pool. That was the upside. The downside was that he didn’t know how long he’d have to be gone. “Not yet.”

Sandra’s smile faded as she glanced at the damage the stapler had done to the wall. “So…where are you going?”

“I have a job to do.”

“A protection job?”

“Yes.”

Nonplussed, she let go of the handle and the door
swung wider. “But we don’t have any jobs scheduled for out of town. You haven’t accepted one of those in weeks.”

“I can’t get out of this.”

“Is it what you were telling me about before? About…the people in L.A.?”

With a nod, he grabbed his keys, left the stapler where it had fallen and walked right past Mr. Winn before taking the stairs two at a time and hurrying into the parking lot. Breaking the news to Peyton wasn’t going to be easy. But he had to get on the next available flight.

W
hile Myles went upstairs to change out of his uniform, Vivian walked around the main floor. Except for the section of living room visible from the front door, she’d never seen the inside of his house before. The coziness of it, the family portraits, the ceramics and drawings Marley had created, reminded her of what so many women wanted—a home and family, a steady relationship, a place to call their own, safety and security. Even the expansive, unused deck out back appealed to Vivian because it symbolized a man’s love for his wife— Myles’s commitment to Amber Rose as he cared for her in those last months.

Vivian wanted the same kind of love and commitment. And from the same man. Sure, she’d stayed in Pineview because of Claire, the gals at the Thursday-night book group, Myles’s daughter, who was so willing to babysit, Nana Vera and all the others. She’d also stayed because she loved her home, and her children were happy here. But all these things wouldn’t have been enough, wouldn’t have motivated her to take the risks she was taking now. It was Sheriff King she hadn’t been able to leave. She was afraid she’d never meet another man like him, one who so closely fit her ideal of what a husband and father should
be. If not for him, she probably would’ve gone to New York and considered herself lucky to have escaped The Crew yet again, lucky to be reunited with her brother.

But living near Virgil didn’t hold the same attraction if it meant living without Myles. She’d fantasized about the sheriff far too many times to walk away from the hope that’d taken root inside her, especially after making love with him at the cabin. Maybe she’d chased that desire into a corner, but it was still there. Despite all her denials, she’d allowed herself to believe, at least on some level, that they had a chance of becoming a couple. She was fighting for that chance, fighting to establish the family she’d always wanted. That went beyond a house. After finding him on her doorstep when she returned, she understood that he was what she’d been looking for all along.

Only now he’d taken a giant step away from her. Had she been crazy to send her children to New York, to take a gamble on trying to have it all?

“You hungry?”

Startled by the sound of his voice, she turned away from a portrait of Amber Rose to find him standing at the foot of the stairs. She hadn’t heard him come down because she’d been studying the photograph of his wife with such intensity. He had pictures of her all over. Not that the house was a shrine, exactly. Far from it. She figured these pictures were the same ones that’d been up when Amber Rose was alive but they still made Vivian a little uncomfortable. She’d been so worried about her own problems, her own reasons for being unable to sustain a relationship, she hadn’t really considered whether or not she could compete with someone like Amber Rose.
In death, Myles’s wife only became more perfect. While Vivian had to live with whatever life threw her.

“No, I’m fine.” She was too exhausted to eat. And she was afraid, that if she ate the wrong thing, her ulcer would act up again. Her stomach had been burning all day.

As his gaze moved over her, she realized she wasn’t looking her best. Knowing how much she was going to miss her children, she’d cried the whole way back from Kalispell and hadn’t bothered to repair her makeup. And she was wearing loose-fitting jeans with holes down the legs, sandals and a simple T-shirt, nothing that would impress him.

He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, too, but after a shower, he looked fresh. Smelled good, too. The scent of his shampoo brought back the night she’d pressed her face into his neck and breathed in the same scent she was enjoying now.

“Did you ever have dinner?”

They’d been staring at each other. Slightly embarrassed by the appreciation that must’ve shown on her face, she blinked. “No, I had a late lunch with Claire.”

“It’s midnight. Even a late lunch would’ve been hours ago.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

He started to move past her but hesitated. She could sense him behind her, large and solid, and wished he’d place his hands on her shoulders, her arms, anywhere. With so much at stake, she needed him to reassure her that she’d put her hope in the right thing. But he didn’t. After a pause, in which it felt as if he wanted to say something but didn’t, he skirted past her into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

“I make a mean omelet. Will you eat one if I cook it?”

Her stomach burned enough already. “Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

“What’s wrong?”

She adjusted her position to try to ease the discomfort. “Nothing.”

“You keep rubbing that spot. Does it hurt?”

“A little,” she said with a shrug. “I have an ulcer that gives me trouble every once in a while. Nothing big.”

“An ulcer.”

“It comes and goes. The wine I drank the other night might’ve caused it to flare up again. I don’t do well with alcohol. And stress makes it worse.”

“What can I feed you that’ll help?”

He seemed genuinely concerned, but after what he’d been through with his wife, she couldn’t imagine he wanted to deal with any kind of illness, even if it wasn’t cancer. “An omelet will be fine.” She smiled as she said it.

The comforting sizzle of eggs in a frying pan filled the kitchen as she wandered to the windows overlooking his back porch and that elaborate deck. From where she stood, she could see straight into her own kitchen. She wondered if he’d ever noticed that—or been tempted to watch her as she moved about. She certainly glanced over here often enough.

“Will you tell me about your ex-husband now?” He opened a drawer and the utensils rattled as he came up with a spatula.

Leaving the windows, she sank into a seat at the circular booth that served as his kitchen table. She wasn’t that impressed with the decor in his house, thought Amber Rose’s taste had been mundane. But Amber Rose hadn’t
been known for her decorating ability. She’d been known as a wonderful wife and mother. So saintly it was probably crazy to hope Myles could ever get over her.

“Why do you want to know about my ex?” she asked.

“Was he abusive? Or was that a front for everything else that was going on?”

As Tom’s face appeared in her mind, Vivian grimaced. “He was definitely abusive.”

“In what way?”

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

“No. I’ve got it. In what way?” he repeated.

She would rather have chopped vegetables or grated cheese. It would be easier than watching him. “In every way.”

He put two slices of bread in the toaster. “How old were you when you married him?”

“I’d just turned eighteen.”

“Wow, that’s young.”

“Too young.”

Opening the cupboard closest to him, he took out the salt. “Where’d you meet?”

“At the doughnut shop where I worked.”

“He came in?”

“Pretty regularly. I didn’t notice him at first. He was just another customer, someone who was quite a bit older than me. It was his persistence that eventually caught my attention. I worked at the doughnut shop in the mornings and waited tables at a Mexican restaurant in the evenings. Once he learned I had a second job, he began to show up there, too.”

Myles twisted around to look at her. “Sounds like a stalker.”

“He has emotional problems. I wish I’d been smart
enough to realize it then. But I had to work night and day just to get by, and that left me with no social life. I was really lonely, angry at my mother and worried about my brother. Tom stepped up to help me through it.”

“And I’m sure he did that for your benefit.”

She recognized the sarcasm in those words but didn’t attempt to justify her actions. Hindsight made her mistakes so clear. What she didn’t add was how desperate she’d felt for a little love, how long it had been since she’d experienced anything like that. “Everything started out okay,” she went on. “It wasn’t until I was pregnant with Jake that he got so possessive.”

Myles didn’t seem to like this story. A muscle jumped in his cheek and his movements grew jerky, at odds with his typical athleticism. Yet he was engrossed enough that he’d all but forgotten his cooking. “Where were your parents?”

She pointed to the pan behind him. “I think the eggs are going to burn.”

He shook on some grated cheddar and flipped the omelet. “So, where were your parents?”

“My dad abandoned us shortly after I was born. My mother went from relationship to relationship. Each new ‘love’ was all that mattered to her. I moved out at sixteen, shortly after my brother went to prison. He was what made home bearable for me.”

“You’re talking about Virgil.”

“Yes. He’s my only sibling.”

“Prison was how he met The Crew.”

“Did Rex tell you that?”

“Yes, but not what Virgil did to land himself in prison. And…didn’t you say you have an uncle in prison, too?”

“I’m getting to that.” She propped her chin on one fist
as she recited the rest. “They charged Virgil with killing my stepfather, but he was exonerated fourteen years later, after my uncle’s ex-wife came forward with what she knew about the night in question.”

He put the first omelet on a plate and started another one. “What took her so long?”

“Loyalty. It wasn’t until they broke up and some of that love and loyalty faded that she was willing to reveal what she knew. After all, she’d benefited from it, too—at least, financially. When he fought her for custody of the kids, she got so angry she went after him with everything she had.”

“Bet that was interesting.”

“It was. She said he’d gone out the night Martin died. That when he came home, he had blood on his clothes and was visibly shaken. Then the insurance money arrived, and they could finally pay their bills. That sort of thing.”

“So it was your uncle who killed your stepfather.”

“That’s right.”

“With what?”

“My stepfather’s own gun, if you can believe it. He kept it in the house for protection.” She laughed at the irony that seemed to pervade her whole life. “The police knew that much when they arrested Virgil. The gun was on the floor near his body. Whoever shot Martin fired the weapon, dropped it and ran.”

“Not the smartest killer in the world.”

“Definitely an amateur but he did wear gloves. There were no fingerprints on the gun. And thanks to my mother, he nearly got away with murder.”

Myles took out another plate. “Wouldn’t your mother
be the one to get the insurance money? How come the uncle was named beneficiary?”

Vivian thought about the autopsy the M.E. had likely performed on her mother today, or would perform in the near future, depending on how many bodies awaited his attention—and in L.A. that could be quite a few. What had the police discovered? Did they realize it was a gang hit? Did they have any hope of tracking down Ink without her help?

She doubted they’d be able to. Now that The Crew had found her despite her efforts to remain hidden, she could call the LAPD and offer what she knew. She planned to do it in the morning. She still wasn’t sure she’d be able to attend the funeral, though.

“Vivian? The insurance?”

“Oh, yes. My mother split the money with him. Uncle Gary claims she put him up to the murder in the first place. She claims—
claimed
—she was just trying to help him out of a financial mess, since he’d lost his job.”

His hand froze over the pan as if he was wondering whether or not to broach the subject of her mother’s murder; she was glad when he kept their conversation to the story. “What kind of job did your uncle lose?”

“He was a service manager at a Toyota dealership. With the state of the economy, other dealerships weren’t hiring, and he was struggling to find a way to support his family.”

Myles whistled as he slid the second omelet from the pan. “I see. Your mother was behind it all and yet she let your brother go to prison.”

Vivian rubbed her face. “Sick, isn’t it? I couldn’t stay with her after that.”

“But…now she’s gone.”

Vivian didn’t answer.

“Are you okay with that?”

She wasn’t okay with any of it. “I don’t want to talk about how I feel. It’s too complicated.”

“I understand.” He bent to see the gas flame beneath his pan as he lowered the heat. “So where’d you go when you left home so young?”

“I tried living with a friend. But her parents were about to divorce, and I was so worried about making things more difficult for them that I rented a room from a stranger, dropped out of school and went to work.”

He buttered the toast. “Did you ever go back? To school, I mean?”

“Never had the opportunity. I met Tom, got married and had Jake. And Tom hardly let me out of the house. I think he was afraid I’d meet someone my own age, and he’d lose me.”

“How much older was he?”

“Twenty years.”

Probably thinking of his own daughter, already in her teens, he shook his head. “Two decades is a big difference, especially when you’re only eighteen.”

“I’m lucky I got away from him when I did.”

“How long were you together?”

“Six years.”

He pulled a carton of milk out of the fridge. “When did he cut his initials in your arm?”

“After the first time I tried to leave him. He got drunk and showed me what would happen if I ever tried that again.” He’d done a lot more than cut his initials into her arm. He’d also tied her up for eight hours. She’d never forget how badly her hands and feet had hurt once she got her circulation going again.

“Did he drink often?”

“Toward the end, all the time.”

He’d finished the second omelet. After turning off the stove, he carried both plates to the table. “What did Tom do for a living?”

“He was a stockbroker. He was educated, established, successful.”

Myles set the plates on the table. “And he was determined to keep you. How’d you ever get away from him?”

She laughed ruefully. “It was like trying to escape The Crew. After he went to work one day, I packed up the kids and left the state.”

He crossed the kitchen and returned with two forks. “Did your mother help you with finances or anything?”

“No. We weren’t speaking. When she got the insurance money and split it with her brother instead of putting some toward Virgil’s appeal, it upset me so much. I couldn’t believe she’d do that. My brother was the one person I loved, the one person I felt I could trust, and she’d taken him away from me.”