Inside (Bulletproof 1)
Page 35But that wouldn’t be easy. She knew she’d never forget the way he’d touched her. For all his tattoos and scars and prison mentality, even his lack of experience with sex, he was the best lover she’d ever had. Just looking at him reminded her how lonely she’d been since coming to Crescent City. That loneliness would go deeper after such fulfilling intimacy. But another tumble in bed would only undermine what she wanted to believe about herself, would only postpone the inevitable.
They were better off trying to prepare for the future. He had a debt to pay society, one that could cost him his life. And she had to lock him up two days from now.
12
The drive to town seemed interminable. There was so much Peyton wanted to say—and yet she couldn’t find the right words. She and Virgil both sat staring straight ahead, as if the attraction that had compelled them to be together now tore them apart with equal force.
Peyton hated the change. She didn’t want what had happened between them to end this way. But she couldn’t pretend she’d be willing to let the relationship progress, couldn’t hold on to him for fear of where it might lead. He was the first man in a very long time to capture her interest, but she knew he wouldn’t be flattered if she told him that. He’d expected her to balk at some point, to escape the risk associated with him, and now she’d done that. His anger made her feel rigid and judgmental and selfish—all the things she didn’t want to be.
But she had the right to look out for herself, didn’t she? She’d known from the beginning they couldn’t have anything beyond a professional relationship.
She glanced over at him, his face an implacable mask. His defenses had snapped into place the moment he asked if she regretted being with him and she hadn’t been able to answer. He’d withdrawn so completely she doubted she could reach him again even if she tried. That caused an odd sense of loss, which added confusion to the already jumbled emotions churning in her gut.
“I know you’re worried about Laurel, but you shouldn’t be.” She broke the silence with what she hoped would provide some reassurance. “Wallace isn’t my favorite person, but I believe he’ll try his best to keep her safe.”
“He’ll be sorry if he doesn’t.”
The steely determination behind those words frightened Peyton. She didn’t want him to do anything that might land him in worse trouble—which proved she was making the right choice by backing away. He couldn’t divorce himself from all the experiences that made him who he was or the responsibilities that forced his hand, and neither could she.
His eyes cut to her, and for the briefest moment she remembered the tenderness with which he’d touched her last night. Not that any of that tenderness showed now.
She adjusted the position of her hands on the wheel. “What?”
He didn’t respond, but he didn’t have to. That look was enough. He was telling her to mind her own business.
“Just because I’m not willing to ruin my life by getting any more…involved with you doesn’t mean I don’t care about you,” she blurted out.
A muscle flexed in his cheek—evidence of some strong emotion. “I never asked you to care about me. Last night was nothing. We got off a few times. That was it.”
His response felt like a slap in the face. She’d honestly wanted to be with him, not anyone else. That made it more than a purely physical encounter. “So I was just a piece of ass? Your last hurrah before going back inside?”
“First and last.”
She shot him a dirty look. “Thanks for making me feel cheap.”
“You’re the one who did that.”
He took a deep breath before hitting her with a penetrating stare. “That’s true. So stay away from me in the future.”
“Your gratitude astounds me.”
“I didn’t ask you for any favors.”
“And I didn’t do you one. I was…sincere, Virgil. I—”
“Stop it. We were never meant to be friends.” He shifted his attention to the window until she pulled to the curb at the usual place. She thought he’d walk off without even a goodbye, but he turned back at the last second, removed the medallion that hung around his neck on a leather cord and handed it to her.
“What’s this?” she asked in surprise.
“The strap it hangs on is the only thing I’ve ever made.”
The pain in her chest grew more acute. After what he’d just said, after feeling his frustration and anger, she hadn’t expected this and didn’t know how to take it. “Why are you giving it to me?”
“Why not display a token of my admiration along with everyone else’s?” he said. Then he shut the door and walked off.
The coin’s monetary value meant nothing to her, either. What mattered was that it was still warm from the heat of his chest.
Because of that, she couldn’t help pressing it to her own.
Laurel paced the living room of the old, two-bedroom house where Rick Wallace had taken her, pausing every few minutes to part the drapes and peer out at the street. As it approached eight, traffic increased, even though it was Sunday. The long night was over, but that didn’t make her feel any better.
“Stop worrying,” Wallace said for the umpteenth time, but he was one to talk. He’d just about worn a hole in the linoleum of the kitchen.
“They could’ve followed us,” she responded. “We might not be any safer here than we were in Florence.” They’d driven three hours to reach this 1920s brick house in the small ranching community of Gunnison, but that didn’t feel far enough.
He scowled at her. “No one followed us because no one saw us leave. No one was around when I went to your door.”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“You said yourself that you’d just called the police, that they checked the house, the yard and the street.”
“But it took a while to gather our belongings. I didn’t know you were coming, so I wasn’t prepared. The men in that Ford Fusion could’ve returned while we were packing. They could’ve been hidden by trees or some other parked vehicle and watched us load up, then followed us when we drove away.”