Page 15 of Dangerous Obsession

Clayton didn’t answer. He just tightened his grip on one of Cliff’s elbows, and the younger of the guards grabbed the other one. They led him from his cell, and three long corridors and four secured doors later, he was led into the area of theDwing that housed the visitor stalls. After his time in the hole, he’d lost the privilege of receiving visitors in the more comfortable open visitors’ area.

“Down there. Number three.” The big guard standing at the door pointed up at the clock on the wall with the protective metal cage over it. “You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

Cliff passed four other inmates with visitors as he moved to booth number three. There sat his own visitor, a thick piece of plexiglass between them, forcing them to use a phone to communicate.

Her face lit up, and she gave him a little wave as she smiled up at him.

He didn’t say anything, just lifted his hand as far as it would go and twirled his finger in a circular motion.

She stood, self-consciously smoothed down the sides of her dress, looked around, and did a slow three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn.

As usual, her makeup and hair were done to perfection, and the skintight dress she wore showed off her voluptuous curves and ample cleavage. Her ass was decent, and those big tits were the real deal, though they’d passed their prime a couple of years ago.

As a real estate agent, she normally dressed much classier, more conservative. But when she’d come to see him right after he got out of solitary, he’d told her what he’d like to see her wear. Said it would make him happy and help chase away the memories of being in solitary confinement. He could tell she wasn’t comfortable with the idea of showing off her … assets, but he gave her his poor pitiful meface, and she caved. Like always.

She was a divorced, single mom of two—Greg, a troubled nineteen-year-old who still lived at home … when he wasn’t in jail or rehab; and Teresa, her twenty-one-year-old daughter who was in her last year at nursing school at the nearby college and lived in the dorms.

She’d shown Cliff a picture of her kids, and he’d had to hide his boner when he looked at the daughter. Chick was fucking edible.

Too bad he was locked up.

At forty-seven, his visitor was fifteen years older than him, and her loneliness and desperate need for attention and affection worked to his advantage.

He plopped down onto the metal stool secured to the floor, lifted the black handset from the cradle, and she did the same on the other side.

“Hey, baby.” She spread her hand out on the glass. “How are you doing?”

“I’m hangin’ in there.” He placed his hand opposite hers on the glass. “Looking forward to getting out of here so I can touch you.”

“Me, too,” she purred and lowered her hand when he did.

She wasn’t his first choice for relieving his pent-up sexual tension, but she was a hell of a lot better than his hand. And who knew, if he played his cards right, someday he might have a shot at the daughter.

Speaking of …

“How are the kids?” He didn’t really give a rat’s half ass about them, but she was an important part of his plans for Marigold, and humoring her was the best way to keep her as an ally. Besides, her visits got him out of his cell and were a break from the monotony of prison life.

He sat, leaned the elbow holding the phone on the counter, and pretended to listen while she spent the next several minutes droning on about her kids. She was frustrated with her son, how he was out partying every night after being kicked out of another private rehab facility. Her entire mood lifted when she bragged about her daughter’s stellar grades and how Teresa had started working as a nurse’s aide at the hospital. But it meant she didn’t get to see her as often as she’d like.Yada yada yada.

“Anyway.” She shooed the thought away with a whisk of her hand. “On a happier topic, remember that listing I told you about? The six-bedroom, eight-and-a-half-bathroom brick, single-family home?”

Not even a little.

“Of course, I remember.” He nodded.

“It finally sold!” She leaned close, as if sharing a secret. “That’s a three-hundred-eighteen-thousand-dollar commission!”

He sat forward.Holy shit.She was more successful than he thought.

“That’s incredible.” He flattened his hand on the glass again. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” She placed her hand opposite his. “Enough about me. I want to know how you’rereallydoing.”

A twinge of guilt threatened to rear its ugly head. She was a nice lady and probably deserved better, but he needed her help on the outside, so he dismissed the errant thought.

“Well, let’s see. They put a new guy in with me, and he spends most of the night hacking up a lung.” Cliff fucking hated newbies. “Big Louie, a guy two cells down from me, found out his cellmate, Kenny, had taken one of his towels, so he waited until lights out and choked him to death.” Cliff was the one who told Louie, and he was also the one who took the towel. “Sad thing is, no one even noticed he was dead until roll call the next morning.” Her hand lifted to her neck, and horror contorted her features. “Can you believe that? Poor guy never hurt a fly.” The putz was a fucking snitch, and he’d do anything for a few cigarettes or stamps. “That’s how bad things are in this place.” He’d gotten what he deserved. “Oh, and the guards still have a stick up their as— er, butts about me and take every opportunity to make my life miserable.”

“That’s terrible.” She set her free hand in her lap, looked around, and whispered, “Can’t you report them or something?”

---