Cavanaugh on Duty - By Marie Ferrarella Page 0,12

and he had no idea just where—and if—it would stop.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” he told her curtly, ready to say, to promise, anything just to get her to leave. To get her out of harm’s way before he did something that both of them would live to regret. “Now, go!”

She ignored his last words, focusing only on the first part. “Good,” she pronounced. Her hand on the doorknob, she uttered one last parting shot. “Just remember, I know where you live.”

Then, to forestall any further exchange—or, more important, any further temptation—she closed the door and left.

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