Read Online Safe in His Arms by Renae Kaye - Free Book Online

lived on the other side of the metropolitan area. Once through the traffic, the highway took them up the notorious Greenmount Hill, where many trucks had discovered to their detriment that their brakes were not in top condition on the way down. Past Greenmount it was mostly bush and state forest, thus a relatively cruisey drive. Occasionally you would get stuck behind a truck or caravan trying to make it up the next section of hill, but there were frequent overtaking lanes through that section of road to compensate.
    Acacia Prison was the only privately managed prison in Western Australia. It was nice, as far as prisons go. For a while Ronnie had been housed at Casuarina Prison—maximum security just south of the metropolitan area. That place gave Lon the creeps, even as big as he was and able to fend for himself. Acacia was more relaxed and a lot more open—as open as you could get with razor-wire fencing and stone walls. It was planted up with a lot of native vegetation and decorated with Aboriginal art, which Lon thought was probably because a large percentage of the population was Aboriginal. It was sad, but a fact of life.
    A privately managed prison, the facility not only jailed and reeducated prisoners, but also allowed them to work in the prison’s workshop, which gave a small income to inmates and also provided the prison with another source of money.
    Paul and Lon searched their pockets and emptied out their gear at the car before they presented themselves at the desk. As usual the crowd of people waiting to visit was a mixed bag. There was the skimpy parade of wives and girlfriends, the kids with snotty noses and ragged clothing waiting to see daddy, and the occasional well-dressed couple desperately trying not to turn up their noses at the language and attitudes of the other visitors. Visits were only allowed by appointment on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. And Fridays seemed to be the favorite choice of wives and girlfriends.
    They stood to the side, trying not to brush against some of the women as they stowed their wallets, keys, and ID in the provided lockers—not because they were female or because they were mostly Aboriginal girls, but because Lon had learned the hard way that the smell of drugs can transfer on contact. Several times over the years, the sniffer dog had indicated that Lon had drugs on him, and the only thing he could point to was the transfer of scent from the visitors waiting.
    They were guided through the prison in small groups of ten and gave their names at each end. They submitted to a sniffer-dog examination, a search of their pockets and hair if necessary, and finally passed through a metal detector. Most of the guards knew Lon by now. He’d been given rigorous searches the first couple of times he’d come, which he hated because he knew it was because of his looks, which he couldn’t really change.
    Six electronic doors later and a hike of what seemed to be at least five hundred meters, Lon and Paul were given a table number to sit at and wait for their inmate. The prisoners eventually streamed out of a door, all happy and smiling, eager to see their friends and relatives. Lon stood when he saw his brother and stepped forward for a brief hug before retreating to his side of the table. A short hug was tolerated by the guards at the beginning and end of each visit; otherwise the prisoner needed to stay on his side of the table and no contact was allowed.
    “Hey, Ronnie. How have you been? I read in the papers they shut down the prison for a couple of days last week. That wasn’t you, was it?” The question was posed in jest, since Ronnie was a model prisoner these days.
    Ronnie smiled. “Nah, mate. Some dipstick wanted to be sent back to Casuarina, so he decided to inconvenience the rest of us. He climbed up on the roof. I’m so bummed about it. I couldn’t work for two days ’cause they shut us all down and we missed a deadline.”
    The three of them talked about work,