As the prisoners entered, they fell out of line to their separate tables with loved ones greeting them with smiles or tears, or both. Deven waited, eyeing each pair of hardened faces. Shit, she hadn’t thought this completely through. Would she even recognize the man when she saw him?

Thankfully, she didn’t have to. Deven felt eyes drilling into her and she turned her head to locate the source. The first thing she noticed was that the man was a stark contrast to her father. She had to curse herself for comparing but she couldn’t help but scrutinize everything that could intrigue her mom. He was tall, a good five inches taller than her dad. And broader as well, though it was hard to discern if his muscles were there before or a product of his most recent prison bid. He had a bald head and thick goatee which made his dark complexion even more pronounced. Not to mention the tapestry of tattoos riddled up and down his arms and neck which added a certain visual appeal to his chiseled frame. Deven had to admit, she was sorely disappointed because the man didn’t look half-bad. Not that it justified her mother’s affair by any means. But dammit he did have a hypnotic sex appeal. Which made it all the more entertaining now because he was staring at Deven like he’d seen the ghost of Christmas past. Despite his noticeable disbelief, Keith still walked towards her with the aura of a man in charge that was used to the world parting to make room for him. Cocky bastard.

“I take it you know who I am,” Deven said as soon as Keith had taken his seat across from her.

His cuffs rattled as he rested his hands on the table. “Of course, I do,” he confirmed. “But what I don’t know is why you’re here. Where is Kennedy?”

“That’s what I want to know.”

Keith’s lips curled up into what looked like a sneer. “And why the hell would I know that, Deven?” He looked around as if to remind her about his limiting circumstances. “And how did you find out I was here anyway?”

“My mom.”

At the mention of Iris, Keith’s face softened, and a swell of love flooded his eyes. If Deven wasn’t so pissed at him, his reaction would’ve been romantic. “How is she?” he asked, all edge erased from his tone. “Your mother. How is she?”

His Achilles heel, Deven noted. And he didn’t even bother trying to hide his vulnerability. Not when it came to her mother. Had her father ever talked about Iris that way?

“Fine,” she said.

“Did she tell you to come see me?”

“No, I told her I needed to talk to you.”

“Why?”