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by calling Department 6. Best-case scenario, he’d believe she was acting to protect the warden, the staff and the inmates at Pelican Bay, as well as the CDCR. Worse case, he’d call the cops and have her arrested for breaking and entering.
    But she couldn’t imagine he’d want the publicity involved in such a scandal, not when he was trying to launch a top-secret investigation. Chances were greater that he wouldn’t do anything—especially because she was only trying to find out what he should’ve told her from the beginning.
    Anyway, she wouldn’t get caught. The maids were gone for the day, Michelle was likely still on the phone, there was no one in the parking lot and it was raining. Who’d see her? All she had to do was move fast.
    Using her hand to shelter her face, she walked the short distance during which she’d be visible from the street as confidently as if she was approaching her own room. It seemed to take longer than it should have, but she was fine until she reached number fifteen. Then the key card she’d taken from the maid’s closet wouldn’t work.
    Alarm poured through her as she swiped it again. Fortunately, this time she heard the tumbler fall.
    Thank God, she breathed, and stepped inside.
    The drapes, pulled closed, shut out what was left of the evening light, making the darkness, which smelled faintly of cologne or shampoo, crowd in on her. Thescent was appealing but foreign enough to unnerve her. After scrambling to turn on the light, she saw that the beds were, for the most part, untouched. A bedraggled-looking duffel bag sat on the carpet. Stepping over it, she went to make sure the bathroom was empty.
    It was. She saw a shaving kit on the sink—the source of the smell. The ironing board was out, too, suggesting Simeon had ironed his blue shirt, his dark slacks or both. He’d probably shaved, as well, and brushed his teeth. A tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush resided on the small ledge above the sink.
    “At least you have good hygiene.” Talking to herself kept her nerves under control, but now that she was inside, she was once again filled with purpose. If there was anything here to help her figure out what was going on, she’d find it. Then she’d get the hell out….
    Kneeling beside his bag, she removed a stack of clothing, all neatly folded and smelling like the shaving lotion in the bathroom. At the bottom, she discovered several letters. Addressed to ADX Florence, a federal penitentiary in a remote, unincorporated part of Fremont County, Colorado, the envelopes bore the name Virgil Skinner, but they had the prisoner ID number she’d seen tattooed on Bennett’s arm—99972-506. At least, she assumed it was the same number, since it started with 9997.
    So did this mean Simeon Bennett wasn’t his real name? That was her guess. And the letters weren’t dated a decade earlier. The one she held in her hand had been sent a month ago.
    “What the heck?” Opening the first envelope, she took out a picture of a beautiful woman with long blond hair and eyes that appeared to be as blue as Bennett’s…or Skinner’s. Kneeling in some sort of park, she had anarm around two children—a girl who looked about three and a boy of maybe five. There was no writing on the back identifying the subjects, but a date stamp on the front indicated it had been taken recently.
    Curious to learn who the woman was and what she meant to Bennett/Skinner—could she be his wife?— Peyton began to read.
    Virgil—
    I’m so excited to think you’ll be coming home. I can’t tell you how much I miss you. We’re going to live the most boring, safest lives in the whole world. And it’ll all begin in a couple of weeks. God, it’s been so long since I’ve felt bored or safe. I can hardly wait.
    To answer your question, Mom is still calling me, begging me to believe her. I won’t, of course. As far as I’m concerned, she deserves to be locked up along with Gary. But she’s the least of my worries