Cavanaugh on Duty

by Marie Ferrarella

  Esteban realized in frustration that the words needed to explain why it was imperative that she go now seemed to have escaped him. But then, he’d always been a man of action rather than words anyway.

  Even back when his world had been incredibly sheltered in comparison to his life now, he was more prone to doing than talking.

  So rather than search for words that wouldn’t come, and an explanation that refused to present itself, Esteban showed her why she needed to leave.

  More roughly than he’d intended, he took hold of her cheek with one hand, keeping her in place as he brought down his mouth on hers.

  This kiss was meant to scare her away.

  Instead, what he actually managed to accomplish was to scare himself away—but not before he took the so-called “warning” he was issuing to its full conclusion, devouring her the way a starving man devoured his first meal in countless days. Except that for Esteban, it had been countless months, not days. Countless months that had stumbled their way into years without his complete recollection of that empty journey.

  Pleasures of the flesh hadn’t been important to him at the time.

  Now, though, something seemed to be stirring within him....

  This uninvited woman he found himself saddled with tasted of all the good things that he had consciously left behind the day he’d found his brother Julio dead on the bedroom floor. She tasted of forbidden fruit, the fruit a man like him had knowingly sworn off in exchange for the life he’d dedicated himself to leading.

  A life that, if conducted correctly, would allow him to get rid of at least a few scum of the earth before he himself was terminated. That the last part was inevitable, he was well aware of. But he didn’t care as long as he took as many of them with him when it happened—if not before.

  * * *

  Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow.

  This time she had gotten more than she had bargained for. Maybe even more than she could possibly handle, Kari realized.

  It felt as if her very soul was being sucked into a heated vortex.

  The smart thing, she knew, was to push this man away and run for her life. But that presupposed that her knees and legs were still working—which they weren’t. Both had turned to mush of varying consistencies.

  Besides, she didn’t really feel all that compelled to do the smart thing anyway. Not when it involved pulling away from what was the surprisingly delicious feast of his mouth.

  Yes, the man, even in his scruffy state, was sexy and attractive to a fault, but who knew this lay beneath it all?

  Her reluctant partner’s kiss left her feeling a hell of a lot more intoxicated than the amber liquid she had brought with her. The latter did not hold a candle to what he could accomplish with that mouth of his.

  So, just for a moment longer—or so she tried to convince herself—she allowed herself to linger.

  And linger.

  Kari closed her arms around the man’s neck, leaning her body into his and patiently waiting for the kick of that mule that had somehow managed to sneak into all this to subside.

  It didn’t.

  If anything, it increased.

  And, to her utter surprise, she had no complaints.

  * * *

  He hadn’t survived these last three years by allowing his emotions, or the sensations that were at times generated by those emotions, to decide his path for him. He was the one who forged the path, the one who kept himself safe in the most unsafe situations.

  He didn’t do it letting down his guard by so much as a sliver.

  That took strength. Strength he knew he had to tap into now.

  So it was with superhuman effort that Esteban put his hands on her shoulders and pushed Cavanaugh’s niece away from him. “Get out of here,” he growled, secretly afraid of where the next step might take him. He had no room in his life for more regrets.

  Kari stood her ground. “No.”

  Her defiance temporarily threw him for a loop. He stared at her, as if not comprehending her negative response to his order.

  What the hell was wrong with her?

  Did she think this was easy for him? Being noble wasn’t exactly his calling.

  “Get the hell out of here,” he repeated, his voice more malevolent now than it had been before. “I don’t think either one of us is ready for the consequences if you stay.”

  She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay, to see what happened. To see exactly where this would go and what she would feel when it got there.

  Kari wavered inside, more than ready to deal with any consequences if this wondrous condition could be persuaded to continue.

  But she had a feeling that what she felt here wasn’t important. Esteban was the important one in this scheme of things. He was the one she’d been sent to convince to remain in the department any way she could. She wasn’t fool enough to believe that if what was happening between them at this moment was allowed to go on to its logical conclusion—if they wound up making love—then he would remain.

  She knew damn well that the exact opposite would occur.

  If they made love tonight—and the promise of that was something she ached for with her entire being—then Esteban would disappear by morning, most likely never to be heard from again. Kari could sense that in every bone in her body.

  So she banked down all the unleashed emotions that were now madly unfurling within her. She was struggling to hold them in check, struggling to keep herself from throwing her arms around Esteban once again and pulling him back to that hotbed of sensual heat their coming together had generated.

  “All right,” she said thickly, doing her best not to suck in air as she spoke, but to take it in slowly and calmly. “I’ll go,” she agreed, then flippantly added, “It looks like we’re out of alcohol anyway, so I guess the party’s over for tonight.”

  He barely glanced in the direction of the bottles. “Looks like,” he muttered in agreement. Anything to get her to leave—before he gave in to temptation and refused to let her walk out.

  Taking a deep breath, Kari did what she could to center herself.

  “You don’t have to bother showing me to the door,” she told him sweetly. “I can see myself out.”

  Esteban merely nodded. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he retorted.

  At least he was honest to a fault, she thought, though she would have preferred to hear a token protest from him.

  But then, since he was so honest, she would always know where she stood with him.

  If he became her partner.

  She nodded in response to his last words, turning to leave. She stopped for one more second, looking at him over her shoulder.

  “And you’ll be there tomorrow morning? At the precinct?” she added when he’d made no response to her question.

  When he still remained silent, she took a step back toward him, her hand on her hip as she waited for him to say something.

  He didn’t want her walking back in. What had caused him to kiss her was still very much with him, and this time around, he was fairly certain that kissing would be the least of it. The stakes were definitely set to go higher, 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 da
y, 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.

  Technically speaking, that actually hadn’t been exactly the case. There was some information, but whatever had been originally written down on the page had subsequently been redacted. Every line of type had been run through with a black permanent marker that promised not to disappear or fade over time.

  So she had gone with her gut. Men like the one she’d met with last night—the man she still thought could be the Steve Fernandez she’d gone to high school with—didn’t care for any frills. That included fancy rhetoric and coffee that bore a longer, fancier name than some people she knew.

  The coffee was black...just like the mood that was slowly coming over her.

  When she’d departed his house last night, she’d been fairly confident that she’d gotten Fernandez to come around, to connect with her on the most basic level. Having her body tingle for more than an hour after she’d left him had been a small price to pay.

  But now she was beginning to think that maybe she’d been wrong about his coming around, and it bothered her more than she cared to admit. To her way of thinking, she’d dropped the ball.