In other words, he didn’t give a damn if it didn’t. It wasn’t his neck on the line.
Peyton turned to the warden. “At least take some time to think this over, sir.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve been doing.” Fischer studied Simeon. “You sure you’ve got the balls for this, son?”
One side of his mouth twisted in the semblance of a grin, Bennett rolled up his sleeve to expose a tattoo that looked like a prisoner ID number.
“You’re an ex-con?” Peyton cried.
Bennett didn’t rush to explain. Buttoning his sleeve, he nodded.
“Oh, that’s great.” She leaned back so she could cross her legs. “That really makes me feel I can rely on you.” What inmate tattooed his prison number on his arm? Only a very belligerent one….
He didn’t seem to find her sarcasm warranted. “Considering your reservations, I’m more worried about being able to rely on you.”
Peyton would have offered a retort, but the warden spoke before she could. “Why’d they put you behind bars?”
“Murder one.” His gaze never wavered from her face, even though she wasn’t the one who’d asked the question. He was interested in her reaction. Too stunned to speak, she gaped at him.
Rosenburg’s chair raked the carpet as he shoved himself away from the table. “How long were you in?”
Simeon had read her shock and repugnance; Peyton could tell. His lips maintained that mocking grin, but this time he looked at Frank when he answered. “Nearly six years.”
“What happened to Mr. Bennett was…unfortunate,” Wallace said. “But, thanks to evidence that surfaced well after his conviction, he was exonerated.”
Exonerated. For a moment, that word held no meaning for Peyton. Simeon Bennett had become a regular ex-con to her—probably because he seemed every bit as hardened as the men in her prison. Before Wallace’s explanation could reverse that image, she had to walk herself through the definition. He didn’t do it. Of course. He wouldn’t be sitting here, working for the CDCR if he’d murdered someone. But six years? For a crime he didn’t commit? She couldn’t believe he’d be willing to put himself back in such a vulnerable position. To make his pretense credible, they wouldn’t be able to show him any favoritism or give him time off. Going undercover in Pelican Bay would be very close to going inside for real.
“If you think that convinces me you’re ideal for this job, you’re wrong,” Peyton told him.
He had to speak over Wallace in order to respond. “And why is that, Chief Deputy?”
“Something so tragic…it has to have made…changes in who you are.”
A muscle flexed in his cheek. “Which would make me damaged goods. Is that what you’re saying?”
She looked at the warden, Frank, even Joe, for support, but got avid curiosity instead. “It could.”
Simeon’s jaw jutted forward. “I assure you I’ve passed all my psych evals…with flying colors.”
Wallace handed them each a manila envelope. “You’ll find Mr. Bennett’s résumé inside. Given the unusual nature of his background, I assumed you’d have some questions. We want you to feel completely comfortable with what we’ve got planned—well, as comfortable as any of us can feel under the circumstances. But rest assured that we’ve done our homework. We’re calling this Operation Inside, and we expect it to be a success.”
“We…” Peyton repeated.
“The department.”
His emphasis was intended to make a point: it wouldn’t be too beneficial to piss off her employer. But she couldn’t justify worrying more about her career than a man’s life.
Peyton shifted her gaze to Simeon’s knuckles. Love. Hate. Which emotion dominated the other? Did he even know from one minute to the next? “Where’d you do the time?”
“In the federal system.”
He could’ve elaborated but, once again, didn’t. Was it because he didn’t want her poking around in his past, checking up on him? If so, that defensiveness bothered Peyton. A man who’d spent six years in prison for murder could have a lot of dark secrets, despite being exonerated and despite having worked in the private sector for some time.
“How long have you been out?” the warden asked.
The contempt Simeon wore like an army jacket grew more apparent. He didn’t like talking about this, didn’t like being questioned. “Ten years.”
“And you’ve been with Department 6 ever since?”
“I became a cop, then moved to the private sector, but I’ve been with Department 6 for most of that time.”
“So you went in at…what?” Peyton asked.
His eyebrows slid up. “Eighteen.”
That was young. Peyton could only imagine how such an experience had affected him. “Your family must’ve been heartsick.”
He wasn’t fooled by the sympathy in her voice. He knew she was digging for additional information, maybe even some assurances and explanations. But he refused to accommodate her. “Yeah, they were pretty broken up about it.”
This man already had her guessing at what was going on behind the mask of his G.I. Joe face. She prayed that the giant chip on his shoulder, if not his background, would motivate Warden Fischer to rethink his willingness to go along with the department’s plan. But without bothering to open his manila folder, Fischer stood and extended his hand to Wallace.
“We’ll do all we can to keep him safe. When will he go in?”
Shit. Peyton ground her teeth in frustration. Fischer was going for it.
“We were hoping he could arrive just after the other transfers next Tuesday,” Wallace said as they clasped hands. “During a busy afternoon like that he shouldn’t stand out.”
It was Friday now, which meant this investigation would begin in four days…. And, as far as Peyton was concerned, such a handsome man would always stand out.
“No problem. We frequently get singles,” Fischer said.
Frank stood and rested his hands on his utility belt. “What will his story be?”
Wallace responded. “His central file will indicate that he was convicted of killing his stepfather. The closer we stick to the truth, the more convincing it’ll be.”
“The truth?” Peyton echoed.
Although she and Wallace had gotten along on every other visit, today his lips pursed whenever she spoke. “That’s what he went in for originally.”