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“Often enough.” She’d done it. Twice. She still wondered what the people at her job in Colorado must’ve thought when she left. One day she was there, the next she was gone, without any explanation or contact since. She did the same thing in D.C.
“There’s no rhyme or reason to Pat’s murder,” she told him. “He couldn’t have put up much of a fight. Word has it his wallet didn’t contain a lot. Why would he risk his life over fifty dollars?”
“You’ve lived there for two years. If The Crew had followed you, they would’ve acted by now. Don’t assume too much.”
“It’s not just that there’s been a murder,” she explained, terrible though that was. “It’s the violence involved. If you’d known this man… No one would want to kill him. He was in his sixties, sweet, harmless. Then, on the heels of his death, I get the news that Rex is missing.”
“Could be totally unrelated. Maybe Rex heard from his father, or one of his ‘successful’ brothers, and that sent him over the edge. You know how he is.”
She did know Rex. She knew what he’d done for her and Virgil in the past, what they owed him regardless of his self-destructive tendencies. “Surely The Crew can’t still be after us. It’s been four years since you and Rex quit the gang. Surely they’ve gotten tired of chasing us and turned their attention to other things.” She couldn’t come out of hiding, couldn’t present herself as a target, of course, but did she really have to worry about them searching for her? Still?
“That kind of thinking could get you killed.”
“I’m tired of running.”
“You have no choice.”
She eyed the walls she’d painted herself, remembered how important it was that she get the perfect color. These walls weren’t ordinary walls. They were her walls; she’d planned to look at them for years.
“Why?” she asked, unable to accept his answer. “How long could this grudge of theirs last?”
“After what we did?”
“We did nothing!” Everything Virgil had been through, everything she’d suffered as a result of being related to him, could be blamed on their uncle and mother. Thanks to Ellen’s soliciting her brother’s help, Gary Lawson had killed Martin Crawley, their step father, then let Virgil pay for it. If Virgil hadn’t spent so much time in prison, he wouldn’t have joined The Crew, or had to get out of it, and they wouldn’t have tried to kill her as both warning and retribution.
“That’s not strictly true,” he said. “When they came after you in Colorado, I told the authorities everything I knew about them. Several of those guys went to prison, and two of the ones already inside were dumped into the federal system and moved because of me.”
“You would’ve kept your word and stayed silent if they hadn’t tried to kill me. That’s when you decided you owed them nothing.”
“Doesn’t matter. As far as they’re concerned, Rex and I are both traitors. They’d love nothing more than to make examples out of all of us.”
“But—”
“Listen, I was trusted by those who held power, put above others who’ve remained loyal. It humiliated them when I left. And if they can’t get to me, they’ll go after you again. Especially since they lost some of their own in Colorado. Getting to you would be just as good as getting to me, because they know it would kill me to see you or your children hurt.”
“It’s just so pointless to keep this going! Revenge is…stupid!”
“To you and me. But there’s nothing worse to a gang leader than appearing weak. It’s about street cred, taking care of business. That’s all they have—their pride in being badasses.”
She found it hard not to resent him at this moment, no matter how close they’d always been. If not for him, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. But it wasn’t his fault. In her heart, she knew that. They were both victims of circumstance and had done the best they could to handle what was thrown their way. “They have to make a living, too. Isn’t that hard enough? Doesn’t running prostitution rings and—and smuggling drugs and evading police take time and effort? My business is legitimate, yet it takes every ounce of energy I’ve got.”
“If they need money, they send someone to hold up a liquor store. It doesn’t take much time. They’re profiting off other people’s hard work, not their own. Nothing has a higher priority than nursing a grudge and paying off old debts. Especially a debt as personal as this one. Their lives revolve around planning violence, perpetrating violence or taking credit for violence. They won’t stop looking for us. At Shady’s funeral, Horse swore a blood oath to avenge his death. Rex heard about it while we were living in D.C. Don’t you remember?”
Mia had come downstairs to play with her Barbies, so Vivian lowered her voice. The last thing she needed was for her daughter to repeat something she’d overheard to the sheriff or someone else in Pineview. “Maybe we should’ve stayed in WitSec.” Without the program to fall back on, they were walking a tightrope without a safety net. “Maybe there was no leak.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Rex is the only one who’s contacted anyone from his past,” she said. Because he’d been estranged from his family for years, she and Virgil had never expected him to be the one who’d have trouble forgetting the people he once knew. But the emotional issues he had as a result of those old dysfunctional relationships had kept him in a state of limbo, kept him checking back despite the danger, and once he’d found out about his mother’s death, he hadn’t been able to cope.
Walking away from everything hadn’t been easy for her, either. What she’d just told Virgil wasn’t strictly true. She’d called her mother a few times. The police had never uncovered the proof they needed to prosecute Ellen for her role in Martin’s murder, so she was still in Los Angeles going from man to man. But now that she was getting older and suffering from arthritis and type 2 diabetes, Vivian felt duty-bound to check on her every few months. She’d always used the pay phone outside the bar, however, or a phone other than her own, and been very careful about the information she divulged. After what Ellen had done to Virgil, Vivian couldn’t trust her.
“Rex hasn’t been disloyal, Vivian. That’s crazy. They want him as badly as they want us.”
“He hasn’t been the same since he heard the news about his mother. He could’ve made a deal with them, a trade.” She didn’t really believe this, but she didn’t want to believe the alternative, either, and arguing with Virgil helped blow off some steam.
“Stop it.”
“He’s the only link we have left to The Crew!” Unless their mother had revealed that Vivian had been in contact with her. But that was just too horrible to contemplate. They’d been through enough because of Ellen. Surely, after taking her brother’s side all those years ago instead of defending her son, instead of believing in Virgil, Ellen wouldn’t let them down again…?.
“Then how’d they find you in Colorado?” Virgil was saying. “Rex was still with the gang then. He’s told us someone provided insider information. It took time, but they found us in D.C., and they would’ve found us again if we’d continued relying on law enforcement to hide us.”
He was right, of course, but she wasn’t ready to stop playing devil’s advocate. “No one in the Federal Bureau of Prisons even knows where we are. That’s why I think it has to be Rex.”
“It’s not! I trust Rex with my life.” He trusted him more than their mother—with good reason. Virgil hadn’t spoken to Ellen since he went to prison. At least that he’d admit. It wasn’t as if Vivian had told him she’d been calling, either.
Problem was, she trusted Rex, too. So what was she saying? That if someone had to betray them, she’d rather it was Rex than Ellen? She didn’t want it to be either one, but she couldn’t withstand that kind of rejection from her mother. Better to attribute this betrayal—if betrayal it was—to the drugs Rex used and mitigate his responsibility that way. “You mean you trust him when he’s sober, right?”
Virgil didn’t respond to that comment, probably because it pained him to doubt Rex. Rex had been his cell mate for nearly a decade. Including their years on the outside, they’d been looking out for each other half their lives. But Virgil was obviously nervous about Rex’s state of mind and his difficulty navigating a world that didn’t include gang affiliations.
“Horse blames us as the reason Shady and the others are dead and Ink is in prison,” he said.
Horse. Shady. Ink. Just the names of The Crew members who’d come after them sent a shiver of revulsion through Vivian. Horse had taken Shady’s spot as gang leader, but it was Ink who’d appeared in Colorado. Covered from head to toe in tattoos—even his eyebrows were tattooed into lightning bolts—he was a frightening specter of gang life. His flat, dark eyes added to the unnerving effect he had on her.
She wondered what he was like now, if he’d changed. After months of physical therapy, he’d recuperated enough from what had happened in Colorado that he was no longer confined to a wheelchair. But according to the U.S. marshal who’d helped them get situated in D.C., he was still crippled. Vivian wasn’t sure how crippled, but it didn’t matter. He was serving a lengthy prison term and wasn’t likely to get out before he died of old age. That was what mattered. “Then you believe Rex is…dead?”
“I don’t know what to believe!” he snapped, and that was when she understood just how worried he was. He talked as if he had faith in his best friend but he was as scared as she was. Rex could be heroic; he could also be unpredictable, especially when he was using.
“Except that we’re not safe from The Crew,” she said. “You’re convinced of that.”
“Completely.”
Vivian remembered all the calls she and Rex had exchanged when she first came to Pineview. Their breakup had been so rough that they’d contacted each other numerous times, despite Virgil’s edict. And she hadn’t gone to a pay phone. During her weaker moments, she’d almost taken Rex back, almost had him come to live in Montana. She would have if he hadn’t started using.
Had The Crew found him and exacted their revenge for his part in the deaths of two of their own? Tortured her and Virgil’s addresses out of Rex, then killed him? Or had he gone to Mexico with some woman?
More likely he was on a drug binge, holed up in a fleabag motel or lying helpless in a gutter.
The thought of that upset her nearly as much as all the rest of it. If she’d given him one more chance, maybe he could’ve made it. There were so many times he’d seemed close. But he’d pushed her away as often as she had him.
Bottom line, they weren’t good for each other. She’d been caught in a painful cycle of breakup and reunion for eighteen months before she came here, but she was free now and didn’t want the past to encroach on her new life.
The question was…would she be able to stop it?
“What do we do?” she asked. “How do we stay safe?”
“The smartest thing would be to move.”
“I can’t,” she said, and realized it was true. She couldn’t sacrifice everything she’d established here, couldn’t drag her children away from the happiness they’d found. Not again. This was her house, the first possession she’d ever really owned. Leaving it behind would be letting The Crew win even if they didn’t find her.
“I feel the same way,” he admitted. “It was hard starting over when we moved to New York. The idea of doing it again…” He paused. “And I don’t know if Rex is stable enough to go with us. The last move hit him hard.”
Because of the timing. That move had come soon after he’d heard about his mother and started using again; that was when they’d broken up for the last time. “What’s the alternative?”
He seemed to consider the question. “We’ll have to be prepared, I guess. Do you have the gun I gave you?”
“No.” She’d been terrified one of the children would get hold of it and there’d be an accident.
“Where is it?”
“At the bank. In a safe-deposit box.”
“I suggest you get it out.”
She cringed at the thought of having to use it, even though he’d insisted on showing her how and making her practice. “Can this really be happening?”
“As much as I wish I could say no…”
He couldn’t. She understood. “I’ll get it.”
“Great. Let me know what you hear about your Realtor’s murder. And I’ll do the same if there’s anything new on Rex.”
She could tell he was about to hang up, but she wasn’t ready to let him go. “How’s Peyton?”
“Fine.”
He would’ve mentioned in his emails if anything was wrong, but it felt better hearing this assurance from his own lips. “How does she like staying home with Brady?”
“She misses corrections, but she’ll go back when the kids are in school. In the meantime, she’s enjoying a period of less stress. She’s still handling the books at the office, the advertising and some of the scheduling.”
“Are you guys ready for the new baby?”
“As ready as we can be. I just hope it doesn’t go like last time.”
Last time, Peyton had miscarried at seven months, and losing the baby had devastated her, devastated them both. Because of endometriosis, she’d had difficulty getting pregnant at all. And Vivian hadn’t been there for any of it. She could hardly believe so much had happened in the past two years. It seemed like only yesterday that she was living in Colorado, a scant five miles from the prison, hoping and praying her brother would survive until he could be exonerated. “It won’t,” she said. “This little girl will make it.”
“I keep imagining her just like Mia.” Then he asked about the kids, Pineview, her love life, and she pretended to have one. When the conversation wound down, she said, “Do you ever miss Mom?”
Their mother was a subject they usually avoided. But Vivian felt guilty for secretly keeping in touch with “the enemy.” And she couldn’t help wondering how Virgil felt about their mother these days. Was he softening at all? Should they soften? In a situation like this, was there ever a point when the past should be left in the past?
“No.” His clipped tone indicated that he didn’t want anything to do with Ellen, and she couldn’t blame him. Ellen had ruined his life when she went after her then-husband’s life-insurance policy, which she’d received. Whether or not she’d really instigated his murder had never been firmly established, but the fact that she hadn’t done more to help police uncover the true culprit, that she’d allow her son to go to prison instead, was unbelievable, unforgivable.
And yet, Vivian sometimes missed Ellen terribly. It wasn’t as if she had a father she could turn to. Cole Skinner had gone on his merry way shortly after she was born. She’d heard from him a total of three times in her entire life.
“I don’t miss her, either,” she lied. Then she told him she loved him and hung up.
“Who was that?”
Mia stood a few feet away. Vivian wanted to admit it was her brother, but that would only spark more questions. “A friend.”
A sad expression appeared on Mia’s face. “Why are you crying?”
Dashing a hand across her cheeks, Vivian struggled to contain her emotions. What was wrong with her? She was usually stronger than this. “I miss him.”
Sidling close, Mia lowered her voice. “Was it Rex?”
She remembered him. Vivian managed to smile through her tears as she hugged her daughter. The Crew had cost her the life she’d built in Colorado and Washington, D.C. She wouldn’t let it cost her what she’d created here. She’d go to the bank as soon as she dropped Mia off at ballet and get the gun Virgil had purchased for her—and then she’d defend herself and her children against anyone who threatened them. They had to stop running sometime. “That wasn’t Rex, honey, but I miss him, too,” she murmured into her daughter’s hair.
Mia cupped her face in both hands. “Maybe he’ll come for a visit.”
And maybe he couldn’t…?.
6
With its high ceilings and marble floors, Mountain Bank and Trust was cold and quiet, peaceful in the sterile vein of most banks. Vivian generally liked coming here. She knew Herb Scarborough, the manager, from sitting next to him and his wife so often at church. He waved through the glass walls of his office in the corner. Then there was Nancy Granger, one of the tellers, who’d recently joined her book group. Nancy flashed her a smile, too.
As childish as it made her feel, Vivian found the bowls of candy on the loan officers’ desks as tempting as her kids did, but today she didn’t so much as glance over to see what kind of candy those bowls contained. She was in too much of a hurry. Mia’s ballet class lasted only forty-five minutes. She wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible, then stow the gun in the trunk of her car until after the kids fell asleep this evening. No way did she want them to see it—or even the small blanket she planned to wrap it in. Why incite their curiosity?
“Hi, Vivian. Can I help you?” Naomi Jowalski, the assistant manager, stood as Vivian approached her desk. Naomi had helped her before, when she’d first come to town and brought in the tightly wrapped bundle that hid the gun.
“I’d like to get into my safe-deposit box, please.”
“No problem.” She began sorting through the large number of keys she wore on an expandable bracelet. One of those keys unlocked the door leading to the basement vault. “Can you tell me the number?”
Vivian gave it to her and showed her driver’s license—the one Virgil had purchased for her on the black market just before she’d moved here. Then she signed in and Naomi led her downstairs to the vault that held a smattering of boxes, some bigger and some smaller than her own. Considering the population of Pineview, the bank didn’t need to devote a lot of space to safe-deposit boxes and they didn’t. They’d tucked them away in a far corner of the basement and, at the moment, that basement was empty except for the two of them.
“I’ll wait right here.” Naomi stopped at the entrance to allow Vivian some privacy.
Even as she turned the key, Vivian wasn’t too happy about taking the gun into her possession. She couldn’t bear to think of what could happen if her children ever found it. But she watched her kids carefully—and just as bad was the thought of being unable to protect them if The Crew showed up. She’d been in that situation before, hadn’t she?
“Did you hear about Pat Stueben?” Naomi said.
Blocking the assistant manager’s view in case she glanced over, Vivian unwrapped the gun. She’d been in such a rush to get Mia to ballet on time she’d forgotten to bring a bag to carry it in, but she had her purse. Leaving her real birth certificate and driver’s license, along with her children’s birth certificates, in the box, she put the gun in her bag and locked up. “I did. Tragic, isn’t it?”
“Who could beat someone to death, especially someone like Pat?” Naomi asked. “For forty-eight dollars?”
Everyone was wondering the same thing. Vivian had just had a similar conversation with Pearl Stringham, Mia’s dance instructor. “No one we know. It has to be a stranger.”
“That’s what I’ve been hearing. But still—” she rubbed her arms as Vivian approached “—I get chills thinking about it.”
“Certainly makes it difficult to sleep at night.” How would Naomi react if she knew what Vivian had been through? What she was fighting so hard to prevent?
“All finished?”
Vivian nodded.
“Right this way, then.”
Supremely conscious of the gun in her purse, Vivian followed Naomi up the stairs. Having a lethal weapon empowered her in a sense. But that didn’t end the worry. What if she made a mistake? Shot the wrong person? Nana Vera and Claire—not to mention Leah, a waitress from the local diner who’d introduced her to the Thursday-night book group—had a tendency to come by at unexpected times. Occasionally they’d even make themselves at home while waiting for her to return. That was the type of community they lived in…?.
