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“Told you not to tempt me.”
Kissing his chin, she wiggled her brows. “I’ll have to tempt you more often then.”
Another car, this one slower, made Kevlar zip his pants and set Kita on the ground. Once she was properly covered, he grabbed her hand and led her back to the motorcycle.
“You wanna drive back?” he asked, and she sprinted toward the bike, slowing only to hop on the back.
“Nah, I’ll let you chauffeur me around for a change.” She pulled on her helmet, and he simply stood there for a second, relishing the moment. A sexy woman who not only knew how to handle a motorcycle but also him was someone he couldn’t let go of a second time.
Chapter Twenty
Nikita
The drivefrom JFK airport to Fishkill, New York, was prettier than she deserved. Rolling hills quickly changed to mountains, creating curvaceous roads and plenty for her to soak in while Kevlar drove the rented sedan.
She glanced over and noticed him trying to find a decent radio station. It wasn’t happening, the hills interfering with a rock and roll station he found in the city. They’d been on the road coming up two hours. Towns morphed together the closer they came to their destination.
Kevlar slowed the car off the ramp and flicked on the turn signal. Her eyes fixed on the large green sign with Fishkill Correctional Facility written in bold lettering. A white arrow pointed them to the right, and she let out a breath.
“Hey, you doing okay?”
She met Kevlar’s light brown eyes with a mixture of concern and trepidation. “Not really, but I have to do this.”
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Well, you’re not alone.”
She laced her fingers in his and pulsed back. Facing forward, she saw the tell-tale signs of the prison. A patrol house stopped their entry past the gate. After chatting with the guard, they continued on the curving road letting out at a visitors parking lot.
“This is it.” He shut down the car. “No turning back.”
Nikita stared at the brown building ahead. From the outside, it didn’t look so daunting. Settled on the top of one of the hills with greenery surrounding it, the prison gave off an eclectic vibe. If the electric wire was gone, it’d resemble a mountain retreat. She double-checked her phone and saw the approval come through the head office to allow Kevlar to join her. Normally, protocols wouldn’t allow for it, but she needed another set of eyes and his military background served enough good cause for her boss to allow it.
“Let’s get this over with.”
They made it inside the doors without any hassle. That came when Nikita flashed her badge at the front room. “I called this morning about a visit. Agent Nikita Stockdale.”
The guard squinted his eyes at her badge. “FBI, huh?” He typed on his keyboard. “Here it is. What’s ol’ Estevan done now?”
“Nothing.” She glanced toward the cameras. “Yet.”
“He FBI too?”
She looked to Kevlar then back. “No, he’s with me.” Before the guard could refuse, she added, “He’s been cleared through the DC office.”
The man kept his eyes glued to the computer screen then nodded. “Yeah, I see it now. Just need his ID.”
Kevlar handed over his driver’s license and three minutes later they were issued badges. A guard escorted them through the maze of hallways to the rooms used for both interrogations and visits. The familiar hum of prison life greeting them at every turn. She tried not to think of how many people she’d put in prisons like these. The hallways were cold, the smell one she’d never forget.Bleach and overcooked food mixed with odor and must.She hid her shudder, not wanting Kevlar or the guard to see how the place affected her. The guard buzzed their entry, three chairs, and a table awaiting them. The guard left, then returned minutes later with a man in tow.
“I’ll be outside the door,” a guard stated, ushering in the prisoner and securing him to the table with cuffs. “If he’s any trouble, just call out.”
The air in the room seemed to evaporate the moment Estevan Morales stepped inside. Nikita gripped the edge of her seat, not sure how to start this conversation. She was almost relieved when he spoke first.
“Mija, I’ve been waiting for you to visit me,” her father started, a broad smile on his face.
That spine-chilling voice sent shivers throughout her body. “Papi, you look well.” And he did. She hated how good he looked. Other than a plethora of gray in his otherwise black hair, prison had treated him better than most. Playing nice disgusted her, but she’d learned long ago that her father did more talking if he was in a good mood. Their history and her FBI training warred against each other, much like the way her heart and stomach were in that moment.
“The thought of you kept me young.” His dark eyes slid to Kevlar. “And you brought a friend, how sweet.”
“You remember Tucker, don’t you?”
