Cavanaugh on Duty(7)

Chapter 4



Every time he walked into the state prison on visitor’s day, Esteban could feel a slight tightening in his chest. All his senses would go on high alert and he became even more aware of the details of everything that was going on around him, including each person within his line of vision.

It was more than just his survival instinct going into high gear, the way it did when he was working undercover.

Because every time he walked through those prison gates, the thought There but for the grace of God went he would echo through his brain and continue to do so until he was back in his car, driving away from the prison.

Esteban was well aware of the fact that it wouldn’t have taken much for his life to have gone off on a different path. At the very least, if he’d been home instead of away at school, he might have been murdered, as his mother was. But most likely, he would have been in prison now the way his stepfather was, because he would have been the one who had killed the dealer who’d sold drugs to his stepbrother.

The drugs that had cut short his young life.

Except that, unlike his stepfather, Esteban wouldn’t have stopped there and turned himself in. He would have wiped out everyone he came in contact with, everyone who’d had even the slightest connection to the drug ring and the distribution of that poison. He didn’t flatter himself and think he was invincible. Either the drug dealers or the police would have eventually taken him down, but he would have wiped out a lot of worthless scum before he went.

He went on automatic pilot as he was being processed for entrance to the visitors’ common room, enduring the metal detector, the pat-down, and emptying his pockets for the guard to rifle through. He didn’t like having his things pawed over, especially by a guard whose condescending look made him itch to take a swing and wipe that superior expression off his face.

Esteban realized that his hands were still clenched into fists at his sides, even though he’d entered the communal room and was now waiting for the guards to bring in the prisoners who had visitors. Exhaling slowly, he unclenched his fists.

The door to the communal room opened. After a beat, the prisoners, marching in single file, were allowed in. His stepfather was the fourth in line. Raising his hand, he waved to the man.

The moment Miguel saw him, his somber, lined face broke into a wreath of smiles, making him appear years younger. Sitting at a table, Esteban waited for him to cross to him.

Was it his imagination, or was the man getting frailer looking?

Esteban willed himself to relax, to drain the tension from his body. Seeing him upset or tense would only concern the man who had stepped up all those years ago to become, for all intents and purposes, his father. The only father he would ever know.

“Hello, Father.” Esteban greeted the slighter man with a warm smile.

“Hello, my son. You came.” Pleasure erased the weariness and etched lines from his face. “I didn’t think you could.”

His stepfather vaguely knew about his line of work, knew that he had to be careful about coming here because it could blow his cover. But even so, he found a way to come as often as he could.

And each time he did, each time he saw the pleasure in the older man’s yes, Esteban knew it was worth everything he risked just to connect with Miguel one more time.

“How could you have any doubt?” Esteban asked. “You know if there’s any way to be here, I would find it.”

Miguel looked around, noting who was near them. Life here had taught him to be very cautious. It was always better to take too many precautions than not enough.

“Yes,” he said in a low voice that carried only to his stepson, “but I also know that there isn’t always a way. And if you cannot come, I understand. I worry,” he admitted, because he knew without being told that Esteban lived his life in the line of fire daily, “but I understand.”

“Stop worrying about me—start looking after yourself,” Esteban advised. “You look a little pale, Dad.” Esteban slid to the edge of the seat, getting in as close as he could, since there was a table between them and he knew better than to do anything that might attract even an iota of extra attention. “Something I should know about?” he asked.

One of the guards had ridden him these last few days, but he didn’t want Esteban getting involved. This was his problem to deal with, his time to serve. The lawyer Esteban had managed to get for him had gotten his sentence reduced, wielding the term “temporary insanity due to grief” like a sword, but it could cut away only so many brambles. He was serving a twenty-year sentence and would be out in ten if he could continue maintaining his good behavior. That meant, among other things, not rising to the countless provocations that were seeded in his path.

Or sharing too much with the man he’d raised as his own. Miguel shook his head. “Just getting over a cold. Nothing to worry about. Really,” he underscored when the furrow along Esteban’s brow deepened. “How are you doing?” he asked, deliberately changing the topic. The tactic was not wasted on the younger man. “Watching your back at all times?” It wasn’t a question but a reminder.

He’d forgotten. He hadn’t been able to see Miguel since his narrow escape.

“They pulled me out, Dad,” Esteban told him matter-of-factly, placing no more significance on this newest action than he would have had he been a shoe salesman and gone from selling men’s shoes to women’s. It was understood that there could be no details forthcoming, but he wanted the man to know he could stop worrying about his exposure. At least that aspect of the danger was over. “I’m working with a partner now.”

“A partner?” Miguel echoed, well pleased. “Tell me, what’s he like?”

The corners of Esteban’s mouth curved ever so slightly as he refrained from giving his stepfather the first answer that came to him. A real pain. “Well, first off, he’s a she.”

“A she?” A twinkle entered the tired brown eyes. “That has to be a nice change for you, no?” Miguel speculated.

No was the immediate response, but again, he let it slide. He probably wasn’t being all that fair to the woman. In any case, he’d give this forced alliance a little time to take before he made his final judgment.

“We’ll see,” Esteban told his stepfather. He glanced at his watch. “I don’t think we’ve got that much time left.” He smiled at Miguel. “I just wanted to stop by to see how you were getting along in this hellhole. See if you needed anything.”

“Just for you to be safe. That is all I want. Now that you are doing something ‘different,’ I will be able to sleep again at night,” Miguel told him. “And as far as hellholes go, some of the others here tell me it’s not so bad.”

“Still, all it takes is one guard, one inmate who has your number...” He didn’t want to dredge up any details to frighten Miguel, just make him aware that there could be problems even down the line. “And if anyone gives you a hard time, I don’t care who it is, you’ll tell me, right?”

Miguel looked at him with an innocent smile. “Who else would I tell?”

The answer made Esteban even more skeptical than he already was. Miguel would keep the fact that someone was on his case a secret, just to protect him. That was the kind of father he was. But he didn’t want him having to endure anything. Just being locked up was difficult enough on the man.

“Dad—” There was a warning note in his voice.

The buzzer sounded, calling an end to the visit. “I have to get back to my cell,” Miguel said, using the sound as an excuse not to answer his son. “Come again when you can. Looking forward to your visits is what keeps me going,” the older man said, rising from the table. “Vaya con Dios, mi hijo,” he said just before he fell into formation again. Within moments, the orange line was marched out of the common room.

Y tu tambien, Padre, Esteban thought, watching Miguel leave. “And you, too, Dad,” he murmured out loud.

* * *

For what felt like the umpteenth time, Kari glanced up from her desk to the one butted against hers and sighed.

The chair facing hers was still empty.

The desktop was glaringly clear, save for the run-of-the-mill computer monitor and the single white coffee container perched in the middle of the scarred tabletop.

The coffee was her combination welcome-to-the-job/peace offering.

The dark-roasted blend that she’d picked up at a local coffee shop and placed on what was to be Esteban’s desk was probably cold by now. Standing unattended for over an hour, even though there was a lid on it, did that to any drink, even one that had started out scalding hot.

She had gotten it on the way to work because she thought Esteban might appreciate something a little better than the sickly brown liquid that came out of the precinct’s vending machines and was laughingly passed off as coffee.

She made the choice going on instinct rather than any information she had gleaned. When she’d gone to Brenda for Esteban’s address, she’d also asked for any background information on him that might be available. There was none.