When I look at her what I see is a girl who needs someone to take care of her. A girl who needs a guardian angel. I’m no angel but I’ll have to do.
“It’s a pattern that doesn’t seem to change.”
“Lie down,” I tell her and stand to strip off my clothes. She does as I say and a moment later, I slip into the bed to hold her. She lays her head against my chest.
“Thank you,” she says.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. Not really. I mean, the man who did it is behind bars. He was caught. Justice is being served. But Christian’s still dead, you know?”
I hug her closer when I hear her sniffle. “I know, sweetheart. I wish I could bring him back for you. We’ll go to the cemetery on the day if you like.”
She lifts her head to look at me. “Yes. I’d like that. I usually go and spend a little time there with him. I didn’t think you’d let me.”
“I’m not an ogre, Isabelle.”
“I know that.” She rests her head again. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that.”
“I am anyway.” It’s quiet for a long minute before she speaks. “Do you have dreams? Near the anniversary of Kimberly’s death?”
“The day Kimberly was killed was the day Angelique was born. I’ve always tried to keep those two things separate. Try to give Angelique that day. Make it happy for her.”
“You’re a good father, Jericho St. James.”
“That’s debatable.”
“You know what Ivy called you when you let Elena lead you to that window seat to read?”
I look down at her. She’s got her head tilted up to see me. “What?”
“A big teddy bear.”
I smile at that. “A bear, yes.”
She smiles too and climbs up on her knees to straddle me.
I look up at her, watch her draw the nightdress off over her head, her hair cascading down her bare shoulders like a waterfall. She’s completely naked underneath. I reach out to run my hand over the soft strands and let my gaze wander over her breasts, cradling one, brushing my thumb over her nipple before I cup the back of her head and bring her face to mine to kiss her.
“Are you trying to distract me or yourself?” I ask as she snakes her way down, taking off my briefs and looking at me from beneath dark lashes as she licks the length of my cock.
“Both of us.” She rises up on her elbows to take me into her mouth and I think this is the sexiest she has ever looked. Naked, long hair wild all around her, her eyes heavy lidded, lips wrapped around my cock.
“Fuck, Isabelle.” I weave my fingers into her long hair and guide her over my length. “Fuck.”
24
Jericho
The jet leaves early to the high-security prison in Colorado where Danny Gibson is currently housed. The sun is just cresting the horizon as we take off.
Isabelle was asleep when I slipped out of bed. She clung to me the whole night long. Having her in my bed has become so natural I think I’d miss her if she wasn’t there which is something I’m having a hard time wrapping my brain around. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. And her holding onto me like she did, clinging to me to keep her nightmares at bay, it does something to me.
She needs me.
She is choosing me.
And it makes me that much more protective of her.
I rub the back of my neck with both hands. This is so fucked up.
“Sir, can I bring you some coffee or tea?,” the flight attendant asks.
I turn from the window to look at her. Fuck I’m tired. I didn’t sleep. “Yes, please. Coffee. Black.”
She smiles, walks away and a few moments later she’s back with a mug of coffee and a choice of croissants. I drink the coffee but leave the food and reach to the folder on the seat beside mine to open the file Santiago gave me on Danny Gibson.
I know what he did. I’ve memorized the file. But I want to hear it from him. And what I need out of this meeting is to know concretely if Julia Bishop was involved before I even knew Isabelle. Back when she was Isabelle York and had no idea of her relation to the Bishop family.
I spend the flight reading that file, checking for anything I missed, making myself focus on the task at hand. When we land two and a half hours later in Pueblo, Colorado the skies are cloudy and dark. I get into the waiting SUV, the air chillier here than in New Orleans. The driver greets me then begins the almost hour-long journey to Florence.
Once we arrive, I’m met by Mr. Holzman, the director of the facility. He shakes my hand and leads me inside while I try to remember what we paid him.
“How was your flight, Mr. St. James?”
“It was fine. Uneventful.”
“Looks like we’ll be getting a storm later. Hope that won’t impact your return.”
“I’ll be out long before then. Thanks for making this meeting happen so quickly,” I say as he leads me through several secure areas where no one asks any questions. At this rate, I could be carrying an assault rifle into the place and I’m pretty sure these guards would turn a blind eye. It’s amazing what money can buy.
“I put Mr. Gibson in our most private and secure room. You won’t be disturbed. I have stationed a guard right outside the door if you need assistance,” he pauses. “Or if Mr. Gibson needs encouragement to talk.”
No question on his meaning. “I’m sure I can manage. Has he had any other visitors since coming to this facility?” He was transferred here a year ago.
“A couple of men a few months back.”
“Names?”
“I don’t recall.”
Right.
“This way, Mr. St. James.” We’re buzzed through a narrow corridor, and I follow him down another maze before we finally reach the guarded door.
Holzman stops. “You don’t have any weapons on you? Anything sharp?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “I’m not here to break him out.”
“No, of course. I ask for your safety.”
“I can take care of myself, Mr. Holzman.”
“Well, as a precaution he is cuffed to the table which is nailed down.”
“Actually, I prefer him unbound.”
Holzman pauses, then nods.
I gesture to the door, but he tells the guard to give us a moment. Once the guard is gone, he leans against the wall and cracks a smile that makes me want to break his teeth. This man is slime.
“I did have to make extreme accommodations for your visit,” he starts. “It was a lot of work, to be honest with you.”
“And I believe you were compensated for your efforts.”
“Yes, your brother was generous. I just wanted to be sure you knew—”
I step toward him. Standing at my full height I have about six inches on him. “Let’s get to the point. You want more money, Mr. Holzman? Is that what this is?”
He clears his throat, straightens up. “No, like I said. Your brother was generous. Just if you plan to rough him up… The health and safety of our inmates is of course a priority for us.”
“Hm. Of course it is.” He’ll let me beat the shit out of Danny Gibson for the right price. I’m undecided if I will or not. I take out my wallet, having expected this, and make a point of counting out ten hundred-dollar bills. I shove them into his jacket pocket. “I’m on a tight schedule.”