Cavanaugh on Duty - By Marie Ferrarella Page 0,13

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