Inside

22

“Maybe we should lay down a few ground rules,” Buzz said.

Virgil stretched out on his bunk. There wasn’t a lot to unpack when you were allowed only six cubic feet of personal belongings. “Like…?” He shifted his gaze to his cell mate, who was standing up and staring morosely out onto the tier.

“Just one rule, really. You leave me alone, I’ll leave you alone. It’s that simple.”

Despite an abundance of tattoos, a series of devils with their tongues sticking out KISS-style, Buzz wasn’t particularly frightening. He wasn’t big and didn’t look very strong. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. Virgil had learned long ago not to discount anyone, not until he knew what the guy was like on the inside. Vanquishing an enemy was largely a matter of determination and often depended on how far you were willing to go—whether or not you’d risk your own life to accomplish what you wanted. Some of the meanest men Virgil had ever fought were less than a hundred and eighty pounds. And some of the other guys, the bigger ones, weren’t worth a damn when it came to throwing punches.

“Let’s make it even simpler than that,” Virgil said. “You leave me alone or I’ll make you sorry you didn’t.” He wanted to start gathering information. Now that he was here, all he could think about was getting out, and he couldn’t get out until he had something for Wallace. The smell of this place, different and yet so similar to the other institutions he’d known, threatened to suffocate him. But until he built up some credibility with Buzz, any attempt to befriend him would be wasted. Worse than wasted. It would have the opposite effect.

First, he had to play his role, sell his image and do it well. In order to infiltrate the Hells Fury, he’d need a sponsor. He hoped his cell mate would take that on, but Buzz had to have some reason to trust him or admire him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be willing to stick his neck out. Virgil had been part of the criminal world long enough to understand that.

“So you’re a tough guy?” Buzz said.

Obviously he accepted nothing on faith. They had that in common.

“No need to take my word for it.” Virgil sat up to see if his cellie wanted to test him, but Buzz glanced away. He wasn’t going to be issuing any challenges. At least, not right now.

“I don’t want trouble,” he muttered. “I get out in less than a month. You screw that up and you’ll end up dancin’ on the blacktop no matter how tough you are. And that’s a promise.”

Dancing on the blacktop… Virgil hadn’t heard that phrase before, but it wasn’t difficult to figure out. Buzz was saying he’d be shanked in the yard.

“You’re the one getting in my face,” he said. “If you don’t want trouble, stop asking for it.”

“I’m just pissed,” he grumbled. “I shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

Virgil propped his hands behind his head and spoke through a yawn. “With what?”

“With you, man.”

“Then don’t deal with me. I thought we just went over that.”

Shifting from one foot to the other, Buzz went back to staring into the tier, which held some concrete tables and a couple of telephones. Nineteen other cells opened onto it. They were allowed to play cards and socialize there when they weren’t on lockdown.

Virgil assumed their conversation was over, so he lay back and closed his eyes. After the week he’d spent in the real world, he was beyond tired. But Buzz was too agitated to shut up.

“What’d you do?” he asked. “What you in for?”

Virgil cracked open his eyelids. Where he came from it wasn’t polite to ask. “None of your damn business.”

“Let me see your papers.”

Buzz wanted to know if he had any gang affiliations. That was pretty standard. “No.”

“Fine. Tell me this much, then. Where’d you do time before here?”

“That’s none of your business, either.” Virgil knew that the less he said about himself, the less he’d have to remember and the harder it would be for anyone to prove he was lying.

“It’s gonna be a long month,” Buzz breathed.

Virgil couldn’t help laughing.

The way Buzz whirled on him told Virgil the man had a weapon hidden somewhere. Otherwise, considering their difference in size, he’d move with more caution. “What? What’s so damn funny?”

“Quit whining. At least you’re getting out.” In a show of contempt for any threat Buzz might pose, Virgil rolled over and presented his cell mate with his back.

“I could kill you in two seconds,” Buzz growled, obviously offended by Virgil’s lack of fear.

“You could try.” Virgil knew he was extending a challenge Buzz might not be able to resist. Parole pending or not, Buzz could lash out to save face, vent his anger and hatred or impress his Hells Fury pals. But Virgil had to establish superiority. And forcing him to fight or stand down from the very beginning was the fastest way to do it. That approach would also reveal certain aspects of Buzz’s personality—how volatile he was, whether he’d act with more than his mouth when cornered and exactly how far he was prepared to go to salvage his pride.

Hoping he’d have the chance to retaliate if he was shanked, Virgil listened for any movement that might alert him. But Buzz defused the tension instead.

“Those tattoos you got,” he said.

Virgil faced him again. “What about them?”

“You part of the Brand?”

“No.” Buzz was referring to the Aryan Brotherhood, the most dangerous of all prison gangs. Small but ruthless, they didn’t accept many new members. Virgil had heard that Tom Mills and Tyler Bingham—two of their most powerful leaders—were incarcerated at Pelican Bay. Probably in the SHU.

“You belong to another gang, then. I can tell.”

Virgil hadn’t tattooed any obvious Crew insignia on his body. He hadn’t been that indoctrinated. The gang was the best social network USP Tucson had to offer, and once Pretty Boy, Shady and a guy they called Tucker, who’d since died in a police shootout, became his brothers it was tough to let go. He still missed Pretty Boy and a couple of the others. But his tats weren’t the same quality you could get on the outside. Anyone who knew that would realize they signified some type of affiliation.

“What’s your point?” Virgil said.

“My point is you better clique up in here right quick.”

Virgil shrugged as if he’d heard it all before. Truth was, he had. “Why?”

“Something’s gonna come down.” He scowled. “I was hopin’ to get out of here first, but…I think it’s gonna happen sooner rather than later.”

So that was what had Buzz on edge. It wasn’t just getting a new cellie. “What is it? Trouble with the Nuestra Family?”

“What do you know about the NF?”

“They’re in charge here, right?”

“Hell, no! Who’s been telling you that shit? They’re afraid of us.”

“And who’s us? Public Enemy Number 1?”

Buzz bared his arm to show off a pitchfork tattoo. “The Hells Fury, that’s who. We’re the ones runnin’ this place.”

“So what’s going down?”

He shook his head. “Ain’t sayin’.”

Virgil gave Buzz a few seconds to think before speaking again. “Who should I clique up with?”

“Someone you can trust, man.”

“What if I can’t trust anybody?”

“That’s your problem.”

There was no time to say more. A loud buzz sounded as the locks retracted and the doors slid open. It was mealtime.

Virgil sat alone at a table in the dining hall, his back to the wall so he could protect himself if need be, and watched the other inmates. It was important to note who hung out with whom, where each group sat, how they interacted. The next few days would be the most dangerous of his life, even more dangerous than when he’d gone to prison the first time. He was better able to defend himself now, but that could convince him to take risks that might not be wise. Or, because he hoped to change his life and had plans for the future, he could have the opposite problem. He might hesitate when he shouldn’t, reveal his reluctance to fight or kill, and destroy any chance he had of gaining the respect he needed. Although he couldn’t be too reckless, he couldn’t be too cautious, either, couldn’t lose the edge his anger had always given him. Those who held power, on both sides of the law, would want to establish where he belonged in the pecking order. And the only way they could determine who he was and what he might do was to test him.

Virgil wasn’t looking forward to proving himself. Even if he managed to survive and convinced Buzz to sponsor him, he’d have to assault an HF enemy for initiation purposes and make it brutal enough to be decisive and believable. That would be tricky to orchestrate without actually hurting someone. He’d have to work out the details with Peyton if he hoped to make a fake stabbing look real; he wasn’t sure that could be faked. Coordinating with her wouldn’t be easy. The more often he contacted her, the more often he risked exposure. He couldn’t call her unless they were allowed on the tier. If there was really as much unrest here as Buzz had intimated—and Virgil saw no reason to doubt him—he might not have the opportunity to use the phone. Pelican Bay could go into lockdown and stay that way for months. The prison had a long history of resorting to those measures. Wallace had said as much while they were driving to Crescent City from Sacramento. All conversations from pay phones were taped, anyway. Virgil had known they would be, of course, but the associate director had warned him of that, too. Wallace had filled him in on a lot of things…including how badly he wanted to get into Peyton’s pants.

Catching himself, Virgil tried to put Peyton out of his mind. It required constant effort, but thinking of her made him more anxious than he already was. Especially when he acknowledged that Wallace was set on making his desires real, and he wouldn’t be around to do anything about it.

While drinking some milk, he let his gaze circle the room again. Blacks ate in one corner, Mexicans in another. There were some stragglers in between—fags, misfits, even a couple of transvestites.

Buzz ate with a group of whites across the room. Not all of them were tatted up to the degree Buzz was, but the amount of ink extending beneath the sleeves of their prison-issue blue shirts and on their necks and heads added to the intimidation factor. They counted on that; it was part of the reason they got so many tattoos.

As Buzz spoke to those around him, he nodded toward Virgil. When the group realized he was paying attention, they rose to their feet and openly glared at him. One even called out, “You think you’re a badass, huh?”

Virgil wanted to ignore them and eat his dinner, but he couldn’t. Such aggressive behavior was the equivalent of throwing the first punch. They were disrespecting him to see if he’d take it. If he didn’t retaliate, it would be that much harder to win their respect later. Maybe it would be impossible. And if he couldn’t gain any power in here, there’d be no purpose in staying. It would all be over. For him. For Laurel. For Laurel’s kids.

So instead of finishing his meal, he shoved the tray aside and, with a grin, gave them the finger.

Fortunately, Peyton hadn’t been in any hurry to leave the prison. She’d worked late, then lingered in her office, trying to figure out a way to see Virgil before she went home. She thought it might put her mind at ease to know he was okay and in good spirits. But before she could make any arrangements, she received a call from an officer named George Robinson in Facility A letting her know there’d been an altercation in the dining hall.

Four men had attacked one. “Simeon Bennett” had been involved and was injured. Robinson gave her the names of the others, too—names she recognized as members of the Hells Fury. Virgil had jumped into the thick of prison politics and created a disruption, because that was what he had to do.

Either he’d get what he wanted or he’d die trying.

She feared it would be the latter.

“How badly is he hurt?” she asked.

“Which one?” Robinson wanted to know.

Aware that she was pressing the phone too tightly to her ear, she eased up. “The new transfer, Simeon Bennett.” She knew it might seem strange that she’d ask about one convict specifically, but she didn’t care. She had to know if he was okay.

“Hard to tell,” he responded. “He’s covered in blood. We’ll know more once we get him cleaned up.”

Oh, God, it’s happening, she thought. But that wasn’t what she said. She kept her voice as cool and impersonal as she could, given that her heart was beating in her throat. “I’ll be right there.”

He didn’t bother to respond. The phone clicked and she jumped to her feet.

She was rushing down the hall when the warden hailed her from behind. “Peyton?”

Reluctant to stop, she considered ignoring him but couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was far too apparent that she must’ve heard him. “Yes?” she said, turning back.

“May I have a word with you?”

He wanted to tell her what he’d come to her office to discuss earlier, no doubt. But she didn’t have time for it. “I’m afraid I’m in a hurry, sir. Could we discuss it tomorrow?”

His expression told her he didn’t appreciate her response. “Where are you going?”

Most of the administrative staff was already gone, but she still hesitated to discuss Virgil in the open, where someone might overhear. “To the infirmary.”

His eyes widened. “Why? Is everything okay?”

“There’s been a fight in Facility A.” She couldn’t prevent the accusation that crept into her voice. She’d tried to warn the warden that Virgil wouldn’t be safe at Pelican Bay; she’d tried to warn them all.

“How many were involved?”

“Five, from what I’ve been able to gather.”

He shook his head but his sympathy didn’t seem genuine. “How bad is it?”

“Don’t know. The C.O.s have it under control, but several men are injured. Simeon Bennett is one of them.”

She thought he might show some concern by going to the infirmary with her. Virgil didn’t even deserve to be in prison. He was risking his life to save his sister and her kids and bring down the Hells Fury. But Fischer didn’t care about that. No one did. “If it’s under control, there’s nothing you can do.”

“I just…I wanted to check on…them.”

“Give the doctor a chance to do his job. Anyway, this won’t take long. Do you mind?” She did mind, but she knew she had no choice. Curving her fingernails into her palms, she followed him to his office. “Yes, sir?” she said as soon as he closed the door.

“Rick Wallace called me today.”

“He did?”

“He did. He mentioned that he and his wife are splitting up.”

She didn’t care about Rick’s marriage. It was all she could do not to tap her foot. “He told me that, too. Unfortunate, isn’t it?”

“That depends on how you look at it.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t know that he’s interested in you?”

Oh, hell. Rick had already spoken to the warden? She’d said she wanted to wait until they were finished with Operation Inside to address any personal issues! “I had some idea, of course, but I told him it’ll never work, that the department would never allow it.”

“Actually, I’m not so sure about that. I’m in full support of it. You work too much. You’ve let your job become everything when there’s so much more. I think the two of you would make a perfect couple.”

She wondered if he’d give her his blessing to see Virgil instead, but she wasn’t about to ask. She wasn’t about to discuss Rick with him, either. “I doubt it’ll come to anything,” she said. “But thank you, anyway.”

“Don’t be too hasty to turn him down. That boy’s going places.”

And had probably asked Fischer to reassure her, which only irritated her more. As she’d told Rick, now was not the time to deal with this. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She glanced at her watch as a way to remind him that she was in a hurry. “Are we done?”

“For now.”

“I’d better get to the infirmary.” She started out, then quickly turned back. “Warden?”

“Yes?”

“If Simeon Bennett lives through this, can I have your permission to transfer him out of here?”

“That’s the CDC’s call, not mine.”

But Wallace would never agree. “We should take a stand.”

Fischer didn’t like the tone of her voice, and he let her know it by the tone of his. “I told you, that’s the CDC’s call,” he said. Then, strained though it was, he produced a smile. “Have a nice evening.”

Virgil didn’t look good. Eyes closed, he lay perfectly still while a nurse, who’d already removed his shirt, cleaned away the blood that covered so much of his torso. She was working too fast to be gentle, which bothered Peyton. But Virgil didn’t react to her pushing and probing.

Peyton hoped he wasn’t as badly hurt as it appeared from out in the hall. He’d been stabbed at least once—in the stomach. That was obvious from the blood that poured out. And he cradled his left hand close to his body as if it hurt.

At the sound of the door opening, the nurse turned toward her.

Cute, petite, dark-haired Belinda, a young mother of two, must’ve been expecting the doctor or someone else. When she saw Peyton she straightened in surprise. “Chief Deputy Warden. I, um… Is there something I can help you with?”

Virgil’s eyes opened and riveted on hers. Hardly able to keep from rushing over to him, she stood against the wall.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “I won’t get in the way.”

“We’re a bit short-staffed tonight,” the nurse explained as if she thought Peyton had come to observe how well she was handling the emergency. “But the doctor will be here as soon as he’s available.”

As soon as he’s available? Virgil had been stabbed. Why wasn’t the doctor here now? “Where is he?”

Belinda jerked her head toward the examination room next door. “With another inmate.”

“Who?”

“Weston Jager. And there are two more across the hall. They were all in the fight that caused this.”

“Are Weston’s injuries more life-threatening than what you have here?”

At the anger in her voice, the nurse blinked several times. “No…”

“Then why is the doctor with him?”

“He, um, he demanded to be first. And it was easier than putting up with his abuse,” she admitted sheepishly.

Peyton wasn’t willing to reward Weston’s sense of entitlement. “He can wait,” she snapped. “And so can his buddies. Get the doctor in here.”

The nurse hesitated. “You want this guy seen first?”

“His name’s Simeon Bennett, and that’s exactly what I want.” Peyton groped for an excuse to explain why she cared so much. “He’s the brother of a friend of mine.”

“Oh! You know him?” She seemed relieved to finally understand.

“Not personally,” Peyton hedged. “But I’ve promised my friend he’ll be okay while he’s in here. I feel responsible for keeping that promise. You understand.”

“Of course. I’ll tell Dr. Pendergast.”

After giving Virgil a piece of gauze to hold against the knife wound near his navel, the nurse left and Peyton allowed herself to move closer.

“Good line,” Virgil mumbled.

“Line?” She wasn’t sure what he meant. Her thoughts were too busy vacillating between self-recrimination for letting this happen and prayers that Virgil would be all right.

“About me being…related to a friend…of yours. Good…cover for our association.”

Association? The panic she felt went way beyond that. “Yeah, well, hopefully she bought it.” She had no reason to believe otherwise; she was just wound up.

He managed a smile. “Quit worrying, okay? Everything’s fine.”

“This is fine?” She motioned to his injuries. “You look like hell.”

“I’ve seen better days. But I’ve seen worse, too.” His smile turned into a grimace as he repositioned himself on the table. “What about the other guys? I hope they’re in worse shape than I am.”

“I haven’t checked. It’s you I’m concerned about.”

His bandage was already soaked with blood. She got him a new one and tried to help stanch the flow, but he knocked her hand away before she could touch it. “You’re not wearing gloves.”

“You think you might give me a disease?”

“Why take the chance?”

“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”

Another wince told her he was in significant pain. “It’s not my blood I’m worried about.”

“What happened?” she asked.

He let his head fall back. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“You’ve been in a fight. That’s obvious. But you were only inside for a few hours!”

“I had to clear the first hurdle.” His chest rose as he drew a breath. “Once I settle in, we’ll have a better chance of not meeting up in here.”

The new gauze was as saturated as the old one. Since he had to struggle to do even simple things, she jerked the bandage away from him and held it in place herself.

“I told you not to touch—”

She blocked him so he couldn’t stop her. “I’ve got it. Just relax.”

When his eyes closed, she was afraid he was in worse shape than he wanted her to know. Talking cost him a great deal of energy, but as long as he was alert, she felt reassured—and that prompted her to keep the conversation going. “You jumped them?” she asked.

“Four men?” He tried to laugh, but couldn’t. “They…jumped me. I just…issued the invitation.”

“Big of you to get things started.”

“Calm down. I’m fine.”

“You’re fine, huh? For how long?”

“For now.”

Had he done enough to impress the Hells Fury? Or would the job require more? “Please tell me you did what you were hoping to do.”

“Too early to tell.”

“So this could happen again. And again.”

“Maybe. Depends.”

She examined his wound and frowned at the blood that continued to pour from the jagged opening. What had they knifed him with? A sharpened toothbrush? A piece of metal they’d brought from the industry yard and sharpened for days on end? She twisted around to stare into the hall. Where was the damn doctor? “God, tell me this isn’t deep.”

“I have no idea. I didn’t…expect anyone to have a…weapon. No one did…at first. Buzz must’ve…slipped one to his friends.”

“Buzz was involved in this?” The man she’d carefully vetted as his cell mate?

“He backed off once the fighting got serious. He’s dead set…on getting out of here…didn’t want to screw that…up. But, yeah…he was the instigator…and the only one who…didn’t get hurt.”

“Then we’ll move you to a different cell.”

Virgil shook his head.

“It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

“No.”

“If you won’t move, then I want you out.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But—”

“Peyton, stop.”

She glanced behind her to make sure they were still alone. “I can’t stop.”

His hand covered hers. “Yes, you can. This…is my only shot.”

Tears stung her eyes. “We’ll figure out something else.”

“It’s too late. Wallace won’t let me off the hook. He’ll leave Laurel unprotected if I do anything except what I agreed to. He’s looking for any excuse.”

She sniffed. “I shouldn’t have told him. I don’t want you to be here.”

His fingers slid between hers as he tried to comfort her. “But I can’t leave.”

She wiped her tears with her free hand. “You think Wallace would let Laurel get hurt? He’s that vengeful?”

“I know he is. Any man is vengeful, given enough motivation.”

“I’m not enough motivation for Wallace. I don’t even understand why he’s suddenly so interested.”

“Because he knows I want you, too. It’s the competition, the fact that he feels he should have first dibs.”

“So get out of here and protect Laurel yourself!”

The pain seemed to be getting to him. “How can I do that if they…charge me with another crime? If they…put me away for good?”

“Could they really do that?”

“They could try.”

She knew a little about it but had to ask, had to hear his version. “What happened when you killed those men, Virgil?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Pretty much…what happened here.”

“They jumped you when you were in USP Tucson?”

He nodded. “That’s why they moved me…to Florence, because of…what happened. But…they weren’t just looking for a fight. It all happened so fast. I…did what I could to survive.”

She believed him. “That’s self-defense.”

His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “It’s only self-defense if you can prove it.”

“Why can’t you prove it?”

“The two other men involved…tell a different story.”

“So? It’s your word against theirs. They’ll never get the charges to stick.”

“If I could be sure I’d get a fair trial, maybe I’d risk it. But…I don’t have much faith in the system. Besides, they have my reputation for fighting and my gang affiliation. I don’t even want…to go that route. We’ve come this far. I have…to finish. Let me finish.”

“You’re not giving me any choice.”

His fingers tightened on hers. “I need you, your support.”

“What if this kills you?” she whispered.

“Then it kills me. I have to…do it.”

“You’re kidding, right? That’s reckless! I was afraid of this.”

“And you…made your reservations plain to…everyone. Your conscience…is clear.”

“It’s not my conscience that’s bothering me!”

He raised his eyelids and those blue eyes drilled into hers. “Careful…”

More tears welled up. She’d known she was rattled, but she hadn’t realized just how rattled until this moment. Frustrated by her own reaction, she snapped, “Careful of what?”

He grinned at her. “You’re acting like you care.”

“I do!”

“About me,” he clarified, sobering.

Those two words were more of a question than anything else. He was asking her about her concern, wanting to know if it went any deeper than what she might feel for anyone else in this situation. Did it? She was fairly sure it did. But how much deeper? And how should she respond?

“All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about you,” she said. “Every time I close my eyes you’re there.”

She hadn’t expected to make this admission. But now that she had, she thought he’d be pleased. Instead, he frowned as if he’d just changed his mind. “We can’t do this. It’ll only make everything harder on both of us.” The nurse must’ve given him some painkiller because speaking suddenly seemed less difficult, but he was beginning to slur his words. “I have to do what I have to do, Peyton. I can’t change that. And even if I could, even if I already had a fresh start, I don’t have anything to offer a woman like you.”

She checked for the nurse again. The hall was still empty. “Like me? What do you think you need to offer? I’m not looking for a meal ticket.”

“Then what are you looking for? A guy who’s been in prison for fourteen years?”

“You have no control over what your mother and uncle—”

He refused to let her interrupt. “Or is it my gang connections you find appealing? What if I can’t break free of The Crew, Peyton? What if, because of your association with me, they come after you? Caring about me puts you in danger. Don’t you understand?” He lowered his voice, as if he spoke the next words grudgingly. “And it gives me so much more to lose.”

“You’re not afraid of losing me. Not like that. You’re afraid to care in the first place.”

“I can’t care. Not right now.”

She remembered the tenderness with which he’d touched her on Saturday night. Maybe he didn’t want to feel anything, but he did. He was as susceptible to love and fear and pain as any other man.

“Nice try.” Even if his statement was true, she didn’t know what to do about it. She felt drawn to him, and that desire wasn’t going away. No matter how sudden, inexplicable or ill-timed it was, she wanted to be with him. His past didn’t change what she felt. Because logic had no place in this.

Footsteps behind her indicated that the nurse had returned with the doctor. Crossing to the sink to wash her hands, she motioned for them to take over as if she’d merely been helping out in the nurse’s absence.

The doctor worked on Virgil for several minutes while she watched, but when he began to suture the hole in Virgil’s stomach, she had to turn away. It made her feel faint, even though she wasn’t usually queasy around blood. “Will he be okay?” she asked, finally asking the question that burned in her mind.

Dr. Pendergast continued to stitch while he spoke. “He’ll be good as new.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Tell your friend she can rest easy. He’ll have another scar to add to all the rest, and he’ll probably wind up in the SHU for fighting, but he’ll live.”

She folded her arms. “He’s not going to the SHU. No one starts a fight that’s four on one.”

“He did almost as much damage to them as they did to him,” the doctor pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter. He didn’t start the fight. And he wasn’t the one with a weapon.”

The blood covering Dr. Pendergast’s gloves seemed at odds with his cavalier attitude. “That’s not what the others are saying. They’re saying he started the fight, that they took the shank away from him.”

Because the one with the weapon would get into more trouble than the others. They had good reason to make the claim.

Peyton didn’t argue. This wasn’t any of the doctor’s affair. She’d handle the situation herself.

“I’ll get to the bottom of it,” she promised. Then she left to see what had happened to Weston and the other two. Apparently Buzz hadn’t sustained more than a few bruises. If he’d caused this fight, he deserved more, but she felt somewhat vindicated once she visited his pals. Westy had a busted nose, a fat lip and a cut on the eye that required a couple of stitches. Ace Anderson, Westy’s cell mate, cradled a swollen hand in his lap. And Doug Lachette had what he swore were broken ribs as well as the more obvious bloody mouth and lost tooth.

“Way to hold your own,” she murmured, silently applauding Virgil as she left the infirmary. But she knew the next time a fight broke out, someone might be carried to the morgue in a body bag.

And that someone could just as easily be Virgil.