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“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.”
