Page 38 of Dangerous Obsession

The loudspeaker crackled overhead and a disembodied voice said, “Visiting hours are now over. You have one minute before the phones will be shut off.”

“You really think she would hurt me?” Her hand went to her neck, and she literally clutched her pearls.

“She put me in here, didn’t she?” The phones cut off before she could respond. He mouthed the words, “Promise me.”

She frowned, her hand slid from the glass, and she gave a slight, barely discernible nod. Then she pushed back her chair, stood, and walked away.

Cliff was escorted back to his cell and waited until the door banged shut and the lock was engaged. As he did every night, he watched the guard step into the monitoring booth in the center of the pod, check a few screens, and drop into his chair. Then the moron leaned back and propped his feet on the counter. He was a second shift guy, so it wouldn’t be long before he dozed off.

Once the guard’s eyes had remained closed for a few minutes, Cliff dashed over to the far wall of his cell, stood on his toes and stretched his arm up to grab the piece of wire from where he kept it hidden in an air vent.

He climbed up onto his bunk, lay on his back, and counted the marks on the ceiling above him. When he reached the last one, he scratched a new mark next to it. Cement dust sprinkled down on his orange jumpsuit, and he brushed it off. Only one more mark to go, then he was out of this fucking place.

Originally, his mom was going to pick him up, and the plan had been for him to stay with his parents. She’d reluctantly conveyed his father’s stern demands—that Cliff must find a job “on his own”—and that he must find somewhere else to live. And no matter what, he was to have zero contact with Marigold. He could hear his father’s voice in his head with each demand.

Old bastard had always been on Cliff’s ass about money and responsibility and other bullshit.

“Nobody handed me an inheritance. I had to earn every penny I have.” His dad had said this to him so many times that he joked with his buddies about putting it on a T-shirt.

Samuel Barnum was a proud man. He’d grown up dirt-poor and became a very wealthy entrepreneur, earning his fortune over decades of “getting in the trenches, wheeling and dealing, getting my hands dirty.” He’d always resented the way Cliff’s mom spoiled him and gave him money without having to work for it. That was obvious in the disgust his father tried to mask whenever he looked at him.

The only time he’d ever been proud of Cliff wasn’t when he was named High School All-American Athlete or when he secured a full-ride football scholarship to one of the top universities in the country. Nope. Unbelievably, it was after he dropped out of school and started working for a landscaping company owned by a friend of his parents.

“Son,” he’d said as he clapped him on the back. “There’s nothing more satisfying than the feeling a man gets earning his own money through sweat and hard work.”

Cliff never really embraced that philosophy.

The first couple of years after he was locked up, his mom and dad came to visit him together. Every damn time, his old man let him know how much he detested having to hand over his personal belongings to a guard behind a window and how humiliating it was having to walk through a metal detector just to see his son. He was a well-respected businessman, after all, and he resented the judgmental looks from prison personnel, all because of a crime committed by his selfish son.

Eventually, he stopped coming at all. His mom always made excuses for him—a meeting he couldn’t miss, he had to travel overseas—but Cliff knew the real reason. His father could no longer deny what he’d always known deep down inside—that his son’sbehavioral outburstswere more than just the product of being spoiled by a doting mother. They were, in fact, a glitch in Cliff’s brain that prevented him from having empathy or being able to see how his behavior affected other people.

The reality was, his mother spoiled him as a means to manage his violent tendencies. As long as she gave him whatever he wanted, things were fine. But deny him even the slightest thing, and that’s when things got ugly. He knew this about himself and didn’t much care.

If his dad would just loosen his wallet and give Cliff a fraction of their money, he’d never need to hit them up for cash again. But his mom already gave him a heads-up that dear old dad expected him to make it on his own for a change, and nothing she said could convince him otherwise.

If his parents didn’t bankroll him, his only option was to take Deborah up on her offer to stay with her for a while. It would be less than ideal, since her drug addict kid was still in and out of the place. But she was lonely and had money. He would call her tomorrow and sweet-talk her into picking him up.

His thoughts raced as he rehashed Deborah’s visit. Had she fucked up all of his plans, or would he still be able to get to Marigold?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Sittingatthelittletable in her kitchen, chatting, and eating dinner with Marigold felt right to Viking. She wasn’t one of those women who ate like a bird, as evidenced by her second helping of chicken. She was an animated talker, too—her curls bouncing, her hands fluttering about as she spoke. Her eyes lit up when she talked about Cole and Dulce’s baby boy. She spoke proudly of the boutique and her employees but shied away from talking about herself. Anytime he tried to discuss her ex, she would change the subject or dismiss the topic as unsuitable for the dinner table.

“Okay, since you cooked, I clean.” She dabbed the paper napkin to the corners of her mouth and dropped it on her empty plate. “That’s the rule.”

“How ’bout we do it together. That way, we can move into the other room and you can quit stalling and tell me about Cliff.” He stood, picked up both of their plates and headed to the sink.

She groaned. “Fine.”

He rinsed off the dishes and utensils and put them in the dishwasher while she put the leftovers in containers and set them in the fridge. Even doing little things like this, moving around each other in the kitchen, felt natural.

“Merrow.” Nicky trotted into the kitchen and tumbled when her legs got all tangled.

“Aw, poor, baby.” Marigold scooped her up and kissed the top of the kitten’s head. “Still getting used to those legs, aren’t you?”

His phone vibrated on the table. She picked it up and waited for him to dry his hands before setting it in his palm.

“Thanks.” Viking checked the screen and recognized Eddie’s burner phone number. He swiped his thumb across the screen. “Hey, man.” He noticed the concerned look on Marigold’s face. “Hang on a sec, will ya.” He lowered the phone away from his mouth. “It’s Eddie.”

---