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Merciless

Diana Palmer

McKettricks of Texas: Tate

Linda Lael Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Merciless

Diana Palmer

About the Author

The prolific author of over one hundred books, DIANA PALMER got her start as a newspaper reporter. One of the top ten romance writers in America, she has a gift for telling the most sensual tales with charm and humour. Diana lives with her family in Cornelia, Georgia.

To D.A. with much gratitude.

CHAPTER ONE

THE ATTRACTIVE BLONDE sitting on the chair beside Jon Blackhawk’s desk in the San Antonio FBI office was as irritating as most of the prospective brides his well-meaning mother threw at his head. He was impatient and half out of humor already, with testimony on an upcoming court case awaiting him. This woman’s fascination with the latest trend in hairstyles was leading him to think of bars. And he never took a drink.

“See, mine was done by Mr. James at Sherigan’s,” she continued, indicating her haircut, which looked quite frankly as if someone had put her head in a blender. He bit his tongue trying not to make the comment out loud. “He could do wonders for you. That long hair is so retro!”

There was a perfunctory knock at the door and his administrative assistant, Joceline Perry, stuck her head in the door. “Excuse me, Mr. Blackhawk, but you’re due in court in ten minutes.”

He nodded, forcing himself not to dance on the desk with glee. It would have been totally out of character, but the past thirty minutes of fashion information had left him feeling brainless.

He got to his feet. “It was good to see you, Charlene. Please give my love to my mother when you see her.”

“I’ll be seeing her tonight, since we’re going to the theater together. It’s a production of that romantic comedy that Shakespeare wrote, in a modern setting,” she enthused. “Your mother has three tickets to it,” she added with a hopeful smile.

He cleared his throat and tried desperately to think of an excuse.

Joceline, her blue eyes twinkling, interjected, “There’s that meeting with your informer tonight at seven,” she lied.

“Oh. Oh, yes, thank you,” he said, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt. “Another time, perhaps,” he told Charlene.

She shrugged. “I suppose your job requires you to do things at odd times,” she said. “You might think about another profession,” she said with a thoughtful frown. “I mean, if you get married, you won’t have time for these evening job-related thingies.”

His black eyes glittered. “I have no plans to marry.”

She gave him an odd look. “Your mother said you were ready to start a family,” she said blandly.

The glare darkened. “My mother has plans of her own. They are not mine,” he added firmly.

Charlene gave him a charming smile and touched the sleeve of his gray suit jacket with a well-manicured hand. “Well, most men don’t want to marry and have a family, until they realize how nice it is.”

He didn’t bend an inch.

Charlene sighed. “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” she ventured.

“It was, however, sacked by Charles V and his forces in one of the most violent attacks in military history,” Joceline said with a sigh. “The Pope was forced to flee for his life.” Her blue eyes went dreamy in their frame of short, straight black hair that just covered her small ears. “Charles V was the father-in-law of Mary Tudor, who was the sister of Elizabeth the First. Mary was in her thirties and Philip II was in his twenties when they married. It was a very strange match. But royalty in the sixteenth century was somewhat different in attitude.” She smiled. “Do you study history?” she asked Charlene.

“Ugh,” Charlene said, and shuddered dramatically. “What a sick and horrible subject. Old dead people.”

Joceline’s eyebrows arched. “The past determines the future,” she said. “For instance, did you know that in seventeenth-century America, women were accused of witchcraft and hanged for any sort of misbehavior?” She cocked her head. “That blouse you’re wearing would have landed you in a river in Massachusetts in no time. You see, there was a common belief that only witches floated when thrown into bodies of water,” she added helpfully. She smiled again.

Charlene gave her a blank look. “This is the latest fashion,” she pointed out. She glared at Joceline’s neat black skirt, small-heeled black shoes and blue button-up blouse. “You might have been jailed for having such awful fashion sense,” she countered with contempt.

“No, no, they didn’t jail people for that,” Joceline replied smoothly. “They put them in stocks, but not for being conservatively dressed.” She cocked her head again. “However, women who cheated on their husbands were branded with a large letter A.”

Charlene cleared her throat and glared even more. “I am separated from my husband and we are in the process of a divorce.”

“Really?” Joceline asked, all eyes. “Well, isn’t it lucky this is the twenty-first century?” she asked.

“I did not cheat on him!” Charlene raged.

Joceline’s blue eyes were innocent. “I never insinuated such a thing!”

Charlene’s face flushed. Beside her slender hips, against the expensive fabric of her slacks, her manicured hands were clenched. “The gentleman in question and I were merely having supper together after the theater! It was all lies!”

“I’m certain that it was,” Joceline said with a bland smile.

Jon had been enjoying the repartee, but he quickly collected himself. “Ms. Perry, aren’t you working on a case?” he asked deliberately.

She blinked. “A case, sir?” she asked.

“Follow-up interviews in my kidnapping court case?”

“The court case. Right.” But she didn’t leave.

Charlene was more irritated than ever. She grabbed her purse. “I see that it’s an inconvenient time for us to talk,” she told Jon. She went close to him, enveloping him in expensive perfume that made him cough. “I’ll talk to you again later, in a more … personal environment, okay?”

He cleared his throat. He wished to goodness that she’d just leave. “KK,” he said, using a gamer’s abbreviation for “okay.”

She glared at him. “Those abbreviations are silly. You play those stupid video games, too, like your brother, don’t you?” she demanded. “Well, that’s another thing you’ll have to work on. No woman is going to tolerate a man who games in every free minute!”

“Unless she’s a gamer, too,” Joceline said, smiling sweetly. “So many of us women are, these days.”

Jon gaped at her.

Charlene glared at her. “It figures,” she said curtly.

Joceline kept smiling. She stared pointedly at the other woman’s haircut. “My goodness, did your head get caught in a blender or something?”

Jon coughed enthusiastically, trying to conceal laughter.

“I’ll have you know I paid a hundred dollars for this styling cut!” Charlene raged.

Joceline held out a hand. “Please lower your voice, ma’am,” she urged. “This is a federal office. No verbal outbursts are allowed.”

Charlene glanced from one of them to the other with exasperation. “I will never come here again! I’ll see you at Cammy’s house, when you have time for civilized conversation,” she said haughtily.

Jon didn’t answer her. Joceline pointedly held the door open and smiled vacantly.

“Have a nice day,” she told the departing woman.

Charlene was muttering to herself as she reached the outer office.

Jon let out the laugh he’d been concealing. “That was rude,” he told Joceline.

She gave him a blank stare. “Was it, really?” She glanced toward the door. “Should I call her back and apologize?” she asked innocently.

“You do, and you’re really fired,” he threatened.

She shrugged. “Jobs aren’t that hard to get for a woman who knows how to type and give free video game advice,” she said. She smiled.

He waved a hand. “Go work on that brief. And what meeting do I have with an informer tonight?” he added with a frown.

“I could arrange one, if you like.”

He let out a rough laugh and went back around to sit at his desk. “Cammy’s driving me nuts with these prospective brides,” he muttered. “I don’t want to get married!” he added firmly and glared at Joceline, in the doorway.

She held out both hands. “Don’t look at me! I don’t want to get married, either. So if you were thinking of asking me,” she added outrageously, and with a haughty look, “don’t bother. My son would be devastated if we had to try to fit a third person into our Super Mario battles,” she added, naming one of the more popular games.

“No worries, there, I like military-themed games.”

“And that MMORPG you play with your brother,” she told him, referring to federal agent McKuen Kilraven.

“Massively multiplayer online role playing game,” he translated and smiled. “I never would have suspected you of being a closet gamer.”

She sighed. “Me, either,” she replied. “But Markie loves them.”

Her son. She had never married, but she’d been going out with a soldier who shipped out to the Middle East and never came back. It had surprised Jon that she’d had a child out of wedlock, when she was such a conservative, religious person. She never spoke of the child’s father, and rarely of the child. She kept her personal life as private as Jon kept his own.

JOCELINE WAS AWARE of his curiosity about her. He was dishy, she thought, staring at him unconsciously, with that long, thick black hair in a ponytail down his back and that tall, lean, elegant physique. Women found him attractive, but he was standoffish. Gossip was that he’d never had a woman in his life. Both he and his brother were arch conservatives in just about everything, and neither of them had ever been known for licentious living.

Joceline put that thought out of her mind. She knew things about him that others didn’t. In the five years she’d been with the office, watching him work in the field office’s Violent Crimes Squad, she often held her breath when he went to work on the kidnapping cases that were his specialty. He had a special interest in human trafficking, particularly of children. He was a bulldog when he was working a case. It was one of many things Joceline admired about him.

Joceline wondered what Jon thought of her morals, knowing that she had a son and no husband. Markie had been a surprise; a shock, really. He was the one beautiful thing in her world, but news of his existence had not been good news at the time. She had told everyone that his father had been a good friend, home on leave from the military, and on the outs with a longtime girlfriend who’d dumped him. Joceline had commiserated with him. They frequently went out together in a platonic way, but that night they’d both had too much to drink. That was her story. But it wasn’t quite true.

Joceline had been unsettled and uncertain about going through with the pregnancy at all. There were so many reasons why she should have ended it. But her love for the child’s father, who would never know about him, made it impossible to go to a clinic. Such a dangerous, explosive secret she kept …

“I said,” Jon repeated impatiently, “do you have the case files downloaded into my notebook computer for the court appearance?”

She blinked. “Sorry. What court appearance?”

He scowled. “The one you said I was going to be late for, the Rodriguez child abduction case. I thought it was next week.”

“It is next week,” she told him, with pursed lips.

He shook his head. “Just as well,” he replied. “Another five minutes of discussion on new hairstyles and I think I’d have gone to the window and jumped out.”

She gave him a bland look. “We’re on the first floor,” she reminded him.

“I meant, I’d have jumped out and hit the ground running,” he amended.

“Isn’t that what Detective Sergeant Rick Marquez did, when a thief stole his laptop?” she recalled, chuckling. “And he got a citation for indecent exposure because he didn’t put on any clothes when he went after the man?” She shook her head. “I understand the police department is still riding him high about it.”

He chuckled, too. “Marquez is a conundrum. He’ll make lieutenant one day, mark my words.”

“I believe it.”

The phone rang. She smiled, went out and closed the door.

THE NEXT MORNING, Joceline was almost half an hour late for work. When she came in, there were dark circles under her eyes and stress lines in her young face. She was only twenty-six, but she looked much older. She put her purse in her drawer and looked up as Jon appeared, impatiently, in his doorway.

“Sorry, sir,” she said in a subdued tone. “I overslept.”

His black eyes narrowed. “I haven’t said much about it, but this is happening pretty often lately.”

She flushed. “I realize that. I’m very sorry.”

She was conscientious. She wouldn’t do menial tasks, like bringing coffee, but she was the most competent paralegal he’d ever known. She did her job, she never goofed off and she did whatever the work required, even staying late without pay if it came down to it. It wasn’t like her to party, so if she overslept, it had to be for another reason.

He came to stand in front of the desk. “What’s wrong, Joceline?” he asked in a tone so gentle that tears stung her eyes.

She bit her lip to contain them. “Personal problems, sir,” she said huskily. She held up a hand when he started to speak. “I can’t … discuss them. I’m sorry. I’ll try very hard to be on time from now on.”

He wondered if her problem was a new man in her life. He didn’t like that thought. Then he was surprised that he was thinking it. Joceline was his assistant. Her private life was none of his business. Except that they’d been together for several years and he was concerned about her.

“If you need help,” he began.

She smiled stiffly. “Thank you, sir, but I manage very well.”

“What do I have on the agenda for today?” he asked, and cleared the way for business.

He was getting ready to leave for lunch with his brother, McKuen Kilraven, when Joceline came to the doorway. She wasn’t smiling.

“What’s up?” he asked.

She hesitated. “They cut Harold Monroe loose this morning.”

He rolled his eyes. “Is my life insurance policy current?” he drawled.

She shook her head. “It isn’t funny. I mean, Monroe manages to fumble everything he does, but he did attack a policeman with a Bowie knife when you had him arrested.”

It was ironic that another man who’d made terrible threats to Jon earlier in the year had died of a heart attack in prison the day before he was due to be released. Joceline had thought her boss was safe, and had breathed a sigh of relief. But it didn’t last. A few days later, Monroe was arrested for human trafficking and charged and swore vengeance against the people who had landed him in jail, including Jon.

“Monroe came at the policeman with a Bowie knife, tripped on the carpet, went head-over-heels and stuck the knife in his own leg,” he reminded her with twinkling black eyes. “Then he tried to have the policeman prosecuted for assault.”

“I understand some of the people in our legal system are still chuckling over that one,” she agreed. “But even people who fumble sometimes manage to follow through on threats.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “If he ever kills me, you can stand over my grave and say you told me so. I’m sure I’ll hear you from wherever I am.”

She didn’t like that thought. She averted her eyes. “Anyway, the district attorney’s office felt you should be aware of Monroe’s parole status.”

“I’m very grateful. You can pass that along to Mary Crawford at your leisure.”

She grinned. Mary was one of their ablest assistant D.A.s and would probably win the big office one day.

Jon was reading her expressions. “Even if she gets to be D.A., you aren’t going to work for her,” he said firmly. “I’m too old to start breaking in new employees. The one we’ve got part-time is twisting my nerves raw.”

“Phyllis Hicks is a nice girl,” Joceline protested. “Just because she messed up one deposition …”

“Messed it up!” he exclaimed. “The woman can’t even spell!”

“The spellchecker was malfunctioning,” she said defensively.

“Joceline, she’s in college part-time. They’re supposed to teach you basic grammar in school before you even get to college, aren’t they?” He threw up his hands. “Every time I go online, I see people using the contraction for ‘it is’ for the possessive form, using ‘there’ for ‘their,’ giving personal pronouns for inanimate objects …!”

She held up a hand. “Sir, we can’t all be brilliantly literate. And there is the spellchecker function on all modern computers.”

He glared at her. “Civilization will fail. You mark my words. If people can’t spell, it’s just a short jump to not being able to read instructions at all. Havoc will result.”

It was his pet peeve. She just shook her head. “Havoc can’t result from not reading instructions.”

“Wait until some idiot strikes a match next to an oxygen tank and tell me that again.”

Her eyes brightened. “There was this guy on the Miami Vice TV series—I have it on DVD—who walked into an illegal drug processing operation with a lit cigarette and blew up the whole building …!”

“Don’t tell me. You still watch the A-Team, too.” He rolled his eyes.

“They had to knock out B.A., Mr. T’s character, every time they flew somewhere because he was terrified of airplanes,” she chuckled.

“There are all sorts of programs on television,” he began.

“Yes. How wonderful for people who can afford cable or satellite reception.” She sighed dreamily. “It’s wonderful to have a DVD player, even if it’s old.”

He was shocked. He’d never inquired about her finances. But now he took a closer look at her. Her clothing seemed serviceable, but quite old. Not that he cared much about women’s fashions, but what she was wearing seemed several years out-of-date. Her shoes were nicely polished, but worn and scuffed.

She blushed when she noticed his intent scrutiny. “There’s nothing wrong with dressing conservatively,” she muttered.

His eyebrows arched. “God forbid they should put you in stocks,” he commented.

“We don’t live in Massachusetts and we aren’t mucking about in the seventeenth century,” she pointed out.

“Point taken.” He sighed. “Is my brother going to pick me up for lunch?”

She put a finger to her forehead and closed her eyes. “I see a black SUV pulling into the parking lot as we speak.” She opened one eye and looked past him out the window.

He threw up his hands and walked out the door.

Joceline grinned to herself. She liked winding him up. She did it often. He was far too somber. He needed to loosen up a little and stop taking life too seriously.

Then she thought about her own situation and sighed. It was just as well that she had a sense of humor, or she’d be dead herself. Her life was no bed of roses. However, it was just as well to smile as to cry. Neither would change anything.

“YOU’RE OUT OF SORTS AGAIN,” Kilraven mused, eyeing the brother who resembled him so much. Well, they had the same hair color, but Kilraven kept his hair short, and Jon’s eyes were very dark, where Kilraven’s were pale gray and glittery. They were half brothers, but that didn’t stop them from being close.

“Cammy’s getting on my nerves,” Jon said tersely. “It was another dizzy debutante yesterday morning. I had half an hour on fashion and hairstyles.”

Kilraven glanced at him as he pulled into traffic. “You could use a little fashion sense. No offense.” He chuckled.

“I dress quite well, thank you,” Jon said, referring to his three-piece watered gray silk suit.

“You’re elegant, all right,” said Kilraven, dressed in khaki slacks and a white polo shirt. “But your hair’s way out of style.”

“I’m Lakota,” he pointed out. “Nothing wrong with long hair.”

“You’re Cherokee, too,” came the droll reply.

Jon sighed. “I like my roots and my culture.”

Kilraven smiled. “So do I.”

Jon glanced at him. “You don’t show it.”

He shrugged. “I’m not defined by my ancestry.”

Jon glared. “Neither am I. But I prefer the Native American side of it.”

“I wasn’t making accusations,” the older man said blithely. “You’re just bent out of shape because Cammy wants you to get married yesterday and present her with a dozen grandkids.”

“Aren’t you and Winnie working on that?” Jon asked dryly, referring to Kilraven’s new wife, Winnie Sinclair from Jacobsville.

Kilraven chuckled. “Yes, we are. I can’t wait.”

“I’m glad you can finally let go of the past,” Jon said with affection. Kilraven’s wife and child had been brutally murdered seven years earlier. He’d never dreamed that his older brother would ever get married again. It delighted him that Kilraven had found such a kind and loving partner.

“You ever going to get married?”

Jon grimaced. “Not to any of Cammy’s idiot candidates.”

He laughed. “This one wasn’t from an escort service …?”

“I don’t know.” He pursed his lips. “I need to have Joceline run a background check on her, just to see.”

“Illegal, unless she’s applying for a job with the Bureau.”

Jon lifted an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a stickler for rules, when you’re notorious for breaking them?”

“Hey, we all mature. Some of us just do it later than others.”

“True.”

“Have you bought the new Halo game?”

Jon smiled. “I bought it a long time ago, but it’s still sitting on the shelf at home.”

“You and World of Warcraft.” Kilraven sighed, shaking his head. “My young brother-in-law, Matt, is crazy for it. When he’s not in school, he’s online, grouping with other people to kill monsters. His latest friend is a sixty-four-year-old grandmother of three. They do dungeons together.”

Jon whistled. “Does she know his age?”

“Oh, yes. And he also plays with a group from a nursing home. They all have internet connections, and most of them play WoW. It’s their sole entertainment now, since they’re physically handicapped and can’t socialize with the world at large.” He smiled. “You know, that’s not a bad thing. It keeps their hand and eye coordination going, and gives them a window into the whole world.”

“I know. I play, too. What’s Matt’s WoW gamer handle?”

“One of his toons is an eightieth-level Death Knight named Kissofdeaths,” Kilraven said.

Jon’s eyes bulged. “That’s Matt? I’ve been doing random dungeons with him! He tanks and I heal with my druid.”

“I’ll have to tell him. He’ll roll on the floor laughing.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jon warned. “Now that I know who he is, I’ll ride him high.”

Kilraven pulled into the parking lot of a local Mexican restaurant and turned off the vehicle. He looked at Jon. “They cut Harold Monroe loose,” he said quietly.

“Don’t you start. Joceline told me already. She’s worried, too. Listen,” he said with faint exasperation, “the guy is a total idiot. He can’t even walk and chew gum at the same time!”

“He’s had his finger in every illegal pie in San Antonio for years. He’s been accused of petty theft, running a gambling operation, not to mention houses of prostitution, and now this latest charge, pimping immigrant girls. He sleazed out of the other charges, but you and Joceline tracked down witnesses to have him prosecuted for kidnapping the teen daughter of illegal immigrants for a local brothel,” the older man said grimly. “He swore that he’d have the case dropped and he’d get even if he ever got out. He’s been in jail for three months waiting trial and he’s already spent more time in solitary confinement than any other prisoner they’ve got.”

“Which only proves that he gets caught every time.”

“That won’t do you much good if he gets caught after he’s offed you,” Kilraven reminded him.

“I’m street smart,” Jon said. “I have built-in radar when it comes to possible ambushes. You should remember that I’ve never had a speeding ticket.”

“At the speeds you travel, I’m still amazed.”

Jon grinned. “I always know where they’re hiding to catch people.”

That was true. It had dumbfounded Kilraven the first time Jon told him to slow down because there was a Department of Public Safety car sitting under a bridge over the next hill. Kilraven had just laughed, but he slowed down. Sure enough, when they topped the hill, there was the car, backed under a bridge out of sight.

“Some ability, and you a cop,” Kilraven accused.

Jon shrugged. “It wouldn’t do for a senior FBI agent to be caught for speeding in his own jurisdiction,” he said.

“You shouldn’t be speeding in the first place,” Kilraven reminded him.

“Everybody speeds. I just don’t get caught.”

“There will come a day,” his brother predicted.

“When it does, I’ll pay the fine,” Jon replied. “Are we going to eat or talk?”

Kilraven popped his seat belt and opened the door. “Okay, hide your head in the sand about Monroe. But please keep your doors locked at night and be aware of your surroundings when you’re working late.”

“You’re worse than Cammy.”

“I am not,” Kilraven said huffily. “I haven’t sent one single unattached woman to your office for nefarious purposes.”

“I guess you haven’t.”

They walked toward the restaurant. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever noticed what’s right under your nose.”

“What do you mean?”

“Joceline,” Kilraven replied easily. “She’s a fine young woman. Needs a helping hand with her fashion sense, but she’s intelligent and quick-thinking.”

“You just like her because she knows sixteenth-century Scottish history,” Jon accused, because the subject was his brother’s passion.

“She knows European history, as well. And seventeenth-century American history.”

“Yes, she was spouting it to Cammy’s candidate yesterday. She tied her up in knots. The woman was going on and on about fashion and Joceline cut her off at the ankles with historical references to dress codes.”

“Told you she was smart.”

“She is smart.” He looked at Kilraven. “But I don’t want to get married. Not for years yet. I’m just thirty!”

“Almost thirty-one, little brother,” Kilraven said affectionately. “And you really don’t know what you’re missing.”

“If I don’t know, I can’t miss it. Now let’s get something to eat,” he said quickly, cutting the other man off.

Kilraven chuckled as he followed him into the restaurant. Jon had actually taken Joceline on a date once, some years back. It had been a strange aftermath, including a hospital visit and some threats of legal charges. Jon never spoke of it. He kept secrets. But so did his brother. No doubt he didn’t like remembering that his drink had been spiked right under his nose.

CHAPTER TWO

“BUT SHE’S SUCH a sweet girl,” Cammy argued over the phone. “She’s pretty and she knows all the right people!”

“She spent thirty minutes giving me news bulletins on the latest fashions and hairstyles,” Jon muttered.

There was an exasperated sigh. “At least she’s better dressed than that acid-tongued secretary of yours!”

“Administrative assistant,” Jon corrected. “And Joceline at least manages within her budget. She doesn’t have to borrow to buy clothes.”

“It does show,” came the sarcastic reply.

Jon frowned. “Cammy, don’t you remember being poor?” he asked quietly.

“I do remember, and I’m your mother, so stop calling me by my first name.”

“Sorry, force of habit. Mac does it all the time.”

“Call him McKuen, if you please. I hate that nickname.”

“So does he.”

“Your secretary has a child out of wedlock,” Cammy continued, unabated. “I hate having you associated with someone like that.”

He felt himself bristling. “We live in the twenty-first century,” he objected.

“Yes, and morality is all that separates us from savagery,” she shot back. “We have rules of conduct to keep civilization from floundering. Just look around you at the outrageous things people are doing! Women don’t raise children anymore, they run corporations! Do you wonder why the crime rates among juveniles are so high? Who’s teaching them values? Who’s …?”

He cleared his throat. “Cammy, I’m due in court.”

She stopped short, still seething. “You should get another secretary.”

“I’m so glad you called. Have a nice day. I’ll phone you on the weekend.”

“Come to the ranch for the weekend,” she suggested.

Where her candidate would be waiting with glee.

“Afraid I can’t, there’s a stakeout.”

“You’re a senior agent, surely you can delegate!”

“Not on this one. Now I have to go. Really.”

“I don’t like it that you work on that violent crimes squad. You could work white collar crime! Jon …”

“Bye, Cammy!”

“Don’t call me …!”

He put down the receiver and let out a puff of air. That was when he noticed Joceline, outside the door he’d forgotten to close. She was very pale and she didn’t speak. She walked in, forced a smile and laid a document on his desk. While he was trying to find something to say, and worrying about how much of that conversation she’d overheard, she walked out and closed the door.

Joceline sat down at her desk heavily and tried to block out the sound of Jon’s mother’s voice, which had been audible even several feet away from the telephone. Most agents used cell phones, and eavesdropping wasn’t really possible, but Jon used a landline in the office. And Cammy Blackhawk’s voice carried. Joceline felt sick to her stomach as she registered the other woman’s overt hostility toward her.

She knew that people talked about her. Gossip was unavoidable in her situation, even in modern times, in a city. Cammy Blackhawk was a throwback to another generation, one just slightly less tolerant and open-minded than younger people today. It didn’t help that Joceline was hopelessly in love with her attractive boss, or that she had uncomfortable dreams about him.

He enjoyed being single. He rarely dated, and even when he did, it was usually a professional woman, an attorney or a district court judge. Once it had been an attractive public defender. But it was usually only one date. Like the one he’d had with Joceline. She didn’t dare think too much about that.

She was curious about why he didn’t date. She couldn’t ask him, of course. It was far too personal a question. But she’d overheard him talking to his brother once about how aggressive women could be. Knowing that his supposedly chaste reputation was like a red flag to a permissive female, she imagined that he’d been faced with imminent seduction more than once and didn’t like it. As his mother was moral, so was he. They were both conservative to the back teeth, in fact.

Joceline looked at the photo of Markie that she kept in her wallet. He was a mix of his mother and father. He had his father’s elegant straight nose and his black hair. His father was good-looking, and smart. She hoped that Markie would follow his father in that respect.

She sighed over the photograph. Her fascination with her pregnancy had grown by the day while she carried Markie. He was a beautiful child, blue-eyed and slender, with a mischievous expression that was characteristic of him. He loved to play hide-and-seek. He enjoyed video games, especially Super Mario Brothers. He was constantly begging for a puppy or a kitten, but she’d explained gently that it was impossible. He was in day care while she worked, although now he was in preschool part of the day, and day care the rest, and they had no yard for a dog to play in. They had no room, either. It was a one-bedroom apartment, and Markie slept in a small bed near hers. It was wiser that way at night, due to medical problems that she’d never shared with her boss. She worried about her child constantly. There were good medications for his condition, but the ones she used didn’t seem to work, especially in the spring and fall of the year. The leaves were just starting to fall in San Antonio as the weather turned cooler, and Markie was having more trouble than usual. It was no wonder that she had dark circles under her eyes and was late to work. Especially after a night like last night …

“… I said, did Riley Blake call?” Jon repeated.

Joceline jumped and dropped the small plastic photo insert she’d been holding.

Frowning, Jon picked it up. He stared at the child in the photograph with curiosity. “He looks like you,” he said finally as he handed the insert back to her.

She put it away quickly. “Yes,” she stammered. “Sorry, sir.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at her with open curiosity. “We have those bring-your-child-to-work days here, but you never bring your son with you.”

“It would be inconvenient,” she said. “Markie is a bit of a pirate when he’s in company. He’d be making hats out of files and standing on the desk,” she added with a laugh.

His eyebrows arched. Cammy had said that Jon had been singularly mischievous as a young boy.

Joceline glanced at him. “They think he may have attention deficit disorder,” she said. “They wanted to put him on drugs….”

“What? At his age?” he exclaimed.

She shifted. “He’s in preschool,” she said. “He unsettles the other children because he’s hyperactive.”

“Are you going to let them medicate him?” he asked, with real interest.

She looked up, her blue eyes troubled. “I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “It’s a hard issue to deal with. I thought I’d discuss it with our family doctor and see what he thinks, first.”

“Wise.” He drew in a long breath. “That’s a decision I’d have a hard time with, too.”

She managed a smile. “Times have changed.”

“Yes.”

She searched his black eyes and her body tingled. She looked away quickly. This would never do. She fumbled her purse back under her desk. “I was going to print out that brief for you,” she said, opening a file on the computer. “And you’re having lunch with the deputy sheriff in that potential federal kidnapping case.”

“Yes, we thought we’d discuss the case informally before lawyers become involved.”

She gave him a droll look. “I thought you were a lawyer.”

“I’m a federal agent.”

“With a double major in law and Arabic studies and language.”

He shrugged. His dark brows drew together. “How did you manage college?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You work endless hours and you have a small child,” he said. He didn’t add that he knew her finances must have been a problem, as well.

She laughed. “I went on the internet. Distance education. I even got a degree that way.”

“Amazing.”

“It really is,” she agreed. “I wanted to know more about a lot of subjects.” Her favorite was sixteenth-century Scotland. One of her other interests was Lakota history, but she wasn’t telling him that. It might sound awkward, since that was his ancestry.

“Sixteenth-century Scottish history,” he mused. He frowned. “You didn’t have a case on my brother, did you? That’s his passion.”

She gave him a glowering look. “Your brother is terrible,” she said flatly. “Winnie Sinclair must have the patience and tolerance of a saint to live with him.”

He glared at her. “My brother is not terrible.”

“Not to you, certainly,” she agreed. “But then, you’ll never have to marry him.”

He chuckled.

“My mother was a MacLeod,” she added. “Her people were highland Scots, some of whom fought for Mary Queen of Scots when she tried to regain the throne of Scotland after being deposed by her half brother, James Stuart, Earl of Moray.”

“A loyalist.”

She nodded. “But my father’s family were Stewarts with the Anglicized, not the French, spelling, and they sided with Moray. So you might say they united warring clans.”

“Did your parents fight?”

She nodded. “They married because I was on the way, and then divorced when I was about six.” Her eyes became distant. “My father was career military. He remarried and moved to the West Coast. He died performing maneuvers in a jet with a flying group.”

“Your mother?”

“She remarried, too. She has a daughter … a little younger than me. We … don’t speak.”

He frowned. “Why?” he asked without thinking.

“I had a child out of wedlock,” she said. “When she found out, she disowned me. She’s very religious.”

He made a rough sound. “I thought the purpose of religion was to teach forgiveness and tolerance. Besides all that, didn’t you just say she was pregnant with you when your father and she got married?”

“Well, it doesn’t work out that way sometimes with religion, and the important point to her was that she was married when I was born. We were never really close,” she added. “I loved my father very much.” She cleared her throat and flushed. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to speak of such personal issues on the job.”

“I was encouraging you to,” he replied quietly. He studied her with open curiosity. “You love your son very much.”

She nodded. “I’m glad I decided not to end the pregnancy …” She almost bit her tongue off. She grabbed the phone and pushed in numbers. “I forgot to make your lunch reservations!”

Which she never did, considering it a menial chore. But he didn’t mention that. He’d upset her by asking personal questions. It hadn’t been intentional. He wondered about her private life, about the child.

While she was talking, he went back into his office. He’d meant to apologize to her for Cammy’s rudeness, which he was certain that she’d overheard. Then he’d been distracted by the photo of her child. She had thought of ending her pregnancy. Why? She seemed very maternal and conscientious to him, but perhaps she’d never wanted to be pregnant. Accidents did happen. It was just that his clearheaded administrative assistant didn’t seem the sort to have amorous accidents, of any type. In the past four years, he didn’t recall seeing her date anyone at all.

He sat down behind his desk and recalled her pregnancy. The Bureau didn’t discriminate, although her condition hadn’t gone down well with some people. But she’d been very quiet, very discreet, during the time she carried the child.

She’d almost died having the child, he recalled. It had disturbed him when he got his first look at her afterward. She’d been pale, listless, devastated by the ordeal.

He’d put that reaction down to pain and drugs following the caesarian section, but now he wondered even more about her history, about the shadowy father of her child.

The phone rang. He picked it up.

“It’s Sergeant Marquez,” Joceline said formally and put him through.

“Marquez,” Jon said. “What are you up to?”

“If you’re going to mention my run-in with the computer thief, don’t you dare,” came the dry reply. “I’ve already been the subject of extreme censure from everybody up to and including the mayor.”

“Really? Perhaps they had a glimpse of you running nude down the street and were impressed.”

“Get a life, Blackhawk, you’re just jealous of the attention I got,” Marquez scoffed. “I’ll bet if you ran nude down a street, nobody would even notice you!”

Jon laughed uproariously. “We’ll never know.”

“Anyway, what I called to tell you is that Harold Monroe beat the human trafficking charges with a hotshot public defender and got cut loose after the parents suddenly refused to testify,” he said. “I know the D.A.’s office probably notified you, but sometimes they’re slow. I wanted to make sure you knew.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me. The guy’s a total loon and incompetent at that. He can’t walk and chew gum at the same time.”

“Even people who fumble can perform amazing feats,” Marquez said. “You watch your back.”

“I’ll paint a target on it, so Monroe won’t have so much trouble finding me.” Jon chuckled. “Thanks for the concern, though. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. You still following soccer?”

“Not so much. My video game is taking over my life.”

“I heard.” There was a pause. “You helped a tenth-level warrior get a bag to carry his loot in, over in the Barrens.”

Jon’s eyes popped. “Yes.”

“It was one of my alts,” Marquez chuckled. “See? You never know who you’re playing with.”

“Which reminds me, did you know that my brother’s brother-in-law plays, too? He’s got an 80 death knight.” He gave the name.

“Good grief, he fought the Horde with me in Darkshore a few months ago on the pier, before it was destroyed when the expansion came out!”

“He’s formidable.”

“I’ll say, he saved my butt. You just never know, do you?”

“That’s what makes it so exciting.” Jon hesitated. “You ever going to get married?”

“Look who’s talking! Wasn’t your last date that public defender who only went out with you to try to get information to save her client?”

Jon’s face hardened. “Yes.”

“She should have known better. I thought she was a little young for you.”

“Twenty-two, to my thirty, almost thirty-one. That’s not so much.”

“It’s a generation.” Marquez chuckled. “But she had an agenda.”

“It almost got her disbarred.”

“At least you didn’t have her taken out of your office in handcuffs.”

“That woman was a call girl,” Jon snapped. “I can’t even tell you what she did, and in my own damned office! It was all my mother’s fault.”

“Cursing in a federal office is not correct behavior and could get you censured by the SAC, sir,” Joceline’s blithe tone came over the phone.

“Stop eavesdropping!” Jon railed at her.

“And raising your voice is another infraction of the rules of common courtesy,” she reminded him.

“Joceline!” he growled.

“There’s a public defender out here who wants to speak to you.”

Jon hesitated. Marquez was chuckling softly.

“Oh, not that one,” Joceline replied at once, with a laugh in her tone. “This one is male and quite handsome.”

Why did that anger him? “I’ll see him in a minute. Send him to the canteen and show him where the coffeepot is.”

“That would be a menial chore, sir,” Joceline replied blithely. “As you know, I don’t perform menial chores. It’s not in my job description.” She hung up.

Jon slammed his hand on the desk. “One day I’ll have you hung on the flagpole!” he growled.

“Temper, temper,” Joceline said, sticking her head in the door. “You’ll ruin the finish on your desk. I asked Agent Barry to show the visitor to the coffee.” She gave him a smug look. “Apparently agents don’t mind making coffee. Is that in your job description?”

He picked up a magazine and hefted it, with glittery black eyes.

She closed the door with a snap. “Assault with a deadly weapon …!” came through it.

“A gaming magazine isn’t a deadly weapon!”

“Gaming magazines are against agency policy …”

Curses ensued.

“Sir!” Joceline exclaimed haughtily.

Jon actually groaned. Marquez was laughing outrageously.

“One day I’ll pour my lunch over her head,” Jon muttered.

“Make sure it’s something delicious,” Marquez suggested. “I’ll let you get back to the wars. Just wanted to make sure you knew about Monroe.”

“Thanks. I really mean it.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” the other man asked. “See you.”

He hung up.

Jon glared at the closed door before he got up and opened it.

Joceline was sitting at her desk, looking angelic. His indignant expression made her bite her lower lip. It would never do to laugh.

The public defender, a slender young man with his blond hair neatly trimmed, came down the hall carrying a plastic cup with black coffee in it. He made a face.

“Don’t you have anybody here who can make a decent cup of coffee?” he complained. “You could take rust off old cars with this stuff.”

“I make excellent coffee,” Joceline said dryly.

The visitor looked at her. “Why aren’t you making it, then?”

“It’s not in my job description, sir,” she said with a vacant smile. “I don’t do menial tasks.”

“You’re his secretary, and you won’t make him coffee?”

“I am not a secretary, I’m an administrative assistant and a paralegal,” Joceline corrected. “And Mr. Blackhawk would faint on the floor if I ever did such an odd thing here.”

“I wouldn’t faint,” Jon said indignantly. He paused. “I’d have heart failure.”

“Fortunately I know CPR,” Joceline said. “You’re safe with me, sir.”

Jon glared at her.

“Don’t make an enemy of her,” the public defender suggested. “If you drink coffee like this for long, you may have need of her medical training.” He made a face and put the cup down on Joceline’s desk.

“Please don’t do that,” she told him. “I’m not responsible for unsupervised beverages. If it spilled on a computer, the agency would have to ask you to replace it.”

“How would it spill on a computer?” he asked.

Joceline’s hand moved toward it. “It’s sitting in a very bad place,” she said, and indicated the laptop computer just inches away. “If my hand slipped …”

The public defender removed the coffee with a grimace. “I never,” he began.

“Give me that.” Jon took the cup of coffee, walked down the hall and dumped it into a potted ficus plant.

“How cruel!” Joceline accused when he returned and tossed the empty cup into the trash can beside her desk. “What did that poor plant ever do to you?”

“Nobody ever waters it,” he muttered. “It won’t complain. And don’t you dare,” he added narrowly.

She cleared her throat. “I don’t even know anyone who has connections to plant abuse societies.”

“With my luck you’d start one,” Jon muttered. “Come in. Harris, isn’t it?” he asked the public defender as he opened his office door.

“Bill Harris,” the defender said, nodding.

“Have a seat. Now what is it you need to discuss?”

JOCELINE was late because she had to finish typing up three letters, and then print them out since Jon needed hard copies of them. The printer ran out of ink and it took her forever to find the cartridges. Then it ran out of paper and she had to open another carton. She was looking at her watch and grimacing when she finished. She only had ten minutes to get to the day care facility before it closed. The owner was going to be furious. She’d been warned about this once before.

“What is it?” Jon asked when he noticed her expression.

“I have ten minutes before the day care closes,” she began.

“Get out of here,” he said easily. “I’ll finish up.”

She hesitated.

“Go on!”

She grabbed her purse. “Thank you, sir.”

“No problem.”

She made it, but with only two minutes to spare. The taut expression on the owner’s face when she arrived spoke volumes. Joceline was worried even more because there had been complaints about Markie’s behavior at the day care.

“If this happens again …” the woman began.

“It won’t,” Joceline promised. “I’ll arrange for someone to pick him up, if I’m ever asked to stay late again.”

The owner sighed. “You work for a federal office. I suppose you can’t keep regular hours.”

“It’s difficult,” Joceline agreed. “I need the job too much to refuse overtime.”

“My husband was a federal agent, many years ago,” the woman said surprisingly. “He was always on call.”

“I suppose it was rough for you, too.”

The woman looked surprised.

“I know the wives of a couple of our agents, including our Special Agent in Charge. They bite their fingernails when we’re on dangerous cases.”

The woman smiled. “I had two children and I couldn’t afford to put them in day care, so I stayed at home until they started school. Then I couldn’t find day care I could afford afterward, so I started my own business.”

Joceline smiled. “A wise solution.”

The woman nodded. She drew in a breath. “If you have to be late like this again, just call me. I have a girl who left to raise her own children. She’d be happy to keep Markie and she’d pick him up for you. Would you like her phone number?”

“Yes,” Joceline said at once, and wondered how she’d afford it.

She wrote the number down and gave it to Joceline. She smiled. “It won’t cost you an arm and a leg.”

“Your fees are unbelievably reasonable,” she pointed out.

The older woman chuckled. “Because I had to afford day care myself,” she replied. “I thought there should be a way to make it affordable to people on strangled budgets.”

“I’m very grateful.” Joceline grimaced. “My budget has gone past strangled to near homicide.”

“You could ask that handsome boss of yours for a raise.”

“How do you know he’s handsome?” she asked.

“His picture was in the paper after he and another agent caught one of the human traffickers they were looking for. Makes me sick what some people can do to helpless poor people in the name of profit. Imagine, using little kids in brothels …” She smiled. “Sorry, I hate people who exploit children. I tend to stand on a soapbox on the subject. I’ll get Markie for you.”

She brought the little boy out a couple of minutes later.

“Mommy!” Markie laughed, holding out his arms to be taken. “I learned how to draw a bird. Miss Ellie taught me! She said I did it real good!”

“You’ll have to show me. Tell Mrs. Norris good-night.”

“Good night, Mrs. Norris,” he said obediently, and smiled at her before he did a nosedive with his face into his mother’s throat and held on tight.

“Thanks,” Joceline said.

The older woman shrugged. “Men have no idea how tough it is on women who work,” she replied.

“None at all,” was the quiet reply.

“I had fun!” Markie said when they went into the small, sparsely furnished apartment and Joceline put the three door locks in place. “I got to show you my pictures!”

He handed her a file folder.

She sat down, worn to the bone, and opened it with no real enthusiasm. What she saw shocked her.

“Markie!” she exclaimed. “You drew this?”

“Yes! I saw that bird outside and I drawed him.”

“Drew him,” she corrected absently.

“It’s a …”

“… a goldfinch,” she said for him, noting the bright yellow color of the small male bird and its subdued black markings. In the winter, the coat would turn from yellow to the dull green that characterized females.

“You like birds,” he said, leaning on her knees while she looked through the drawings. “You got all sorts of books about them. And binoculars.” He rubbed his head against her arm. “Couldn’t I look through the binoculars again? I want to see if we got any of these birds at our house.”

“We probably don’t have goldfinches,” she replied, because there was no room in her budget for the special seed that constituted the best finch feed. It was outrageously expensive.

“You could cook some bread for them,” he said. “You cook real good.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, and bent to kiss his thick black hair.

“I like pancakes. Couldn’t we have pancakes?”

She looked at his rosy cheeks, his big eyes, his sweet expression. He was her whole life. Amazing how he’d changed it, from the first time she looked at him. “Yes,” she said, indulging him as she always did, probably too often. “Bacon and pancakes and syrup. But only because I’m so tired,” she added.

He smiled. “Thanks, Mom!”

“You’re welcome.”

The other drawings were also of birds. Just sketches, but they showed great promise of a talent that could be developed. She needed to find him an art teacher if he continued to have interest in the subject.

But that would cost money and she had nothing left over at the end of the week. She sighed. At least she had Markie, she reminded herself. The rest was just superfluous.

CHAPTER THREE

THE PUBLIC DEFENDER, Harris, was trying to get his client a job. It wasn’t really his concern, but the young man in question was just twenty years old and already had a wife and a small child. He’d been prosecuted on a bank robbery charge, which put him in the crosshairs of the FBI. He was arrested, charged, jailed, prosecuted and convicted. Now he was out on parole for good behavior after some spectacular legal footwork by this attorney. It had been one of Jon’s cases.

“He got drunk one night with some friends, who knocked over a branch bank when it opened early one morning,” Harris said. He toyed with his napkin in the restaurant where he’d invited Jon Blackhawk for dinner. “He drew five to ten, even though he was asleep in the backseat the whole time.”

“Rough,” Jon said.

“It’s my first real case,” the younger man said. “I want to do a good job.” He glowered. “Substance abuse is responsible for so many problems in our society.”

“They did try to ban alcohol once,” Jon remarked.

Harris chuckled. “Yes, with interesting results. The only people who got rich during Prohibition were the gangsters.”

“That’s usually what happens when you declare something illegal. Is it a first offense for your client?”

Harris nodded. “He taught Sunday School, actually.”

“I know a minister who was involved in a murder,” Jon said, tongue-in-cheek.

Harris laughed. “I know what you mean. But this kid was straight from the time he was old enough to walk. I talked to every relative he had and several friends, not to mention educators who taught him, vouched for him.”

“That’s a lot of legwork.”

“Yes, it is, and I did it on my own time. I believe in this kid. I want to help him. If I can get him a job, and make him understand that he has to stay away from his so-called friends, who are also out on parole, he might have a chance. He’s got a three-year-old kid,” he added heavily. “And a sweet young wife who adores him.”

“Sad case.” Jon was noncommittal. He’d heard this story so many times it was grating. It usually ended badly. But he wasn’t going to tell this naive but passionate new attorney that. Ideals should be worth something.

“The boy lives in Jacobsville. I thought, since your brother worked in Jacobsville with Cash Grier he might be willing to talk to the local parole officer and put in a good word for him, mention the bad crowd that he got in with and see if there’s some way he can be kept away from it,” the public defender said hopefully. “A good talking-to at the outset of his parole might do some good.”

Jon laughed. “It might at that. Okay. I’ll ask him.”

Harris brightened like a lightbulb turning on. “Thanks! I owe you one.”

“None of us in law enforcement want to see a man fail for one mistake. However,” he added solemnly, “if he steps out of line again, you’ll be talking to a brick wall if you ask for help.”

“I know that.”

Jon smiled. He’d talk to Mac. But he knew how this was going to go down, all the same.

“The guy’s a born loser,” Mac said predictably when Jon phoned him. “If he’s stupid enough to be led into crime, he’ll stay there. He’s a follower with no sense of judgment about other people.”

“I don’t doubt it. But I promised Harris I’d ask you to intervene. If the kid can be kept away from his old associates, it might help. You can say no. It’s not my problem.”

Mac sighed. “I suppose I could talk to Grier,” he said grudgingly. “But if Harris’s client gets into any more trouble, ever, I’ll be his worst nightmare.”

“I’ll be his second worst. Thanks.”

“Why are you making your own phone calls?” Kilraven asked suddenly. “Doesn’t your AA do that for you?”

“She didn’t come in this morning,” Jon said, and the worry he felt was reflected in his tone. “Didn’t call, either. That’s not like her.”

“Did you phone her apartment?”

“Yes. No answer.”

“Curious. Does she have enemies?”

Jon laughed in spite of himself. “I’m not likely to find her in a sack in the river, if that’s what you mean.”

“Sorry. I guess I’ve been in law enforcement too long.”

“Join the club. You and Winnie coming to dinner Friday night?”

“Yes, if Cammy isn’t going to be there.”

“Winnie likes Cammy!”

“I know, but we’ve both had the tirade from Cammy about her new candidate for your affections. She’ll be on a roll and we don’t want to spoil a perfect dinner with a lot of argument. If you get what I mean.”

Jon chuckled. “I haven’t invited her, if that’s a help.”

“Then you can expect us. Winnie will bring homemade rolls. I didn’t ask. She offered.”

“I’m amazed she can still manage to bend over the oven with her belly sticking out that far,” Jon remarked. “Cammy’s sure it’s going to be a boy because she’s big in front like that.”

“Childbirth is a mystery to most people. Not to Cammy. We’ll be over about six.”

“See you then.”

Jon hung up. He hadn’t let it show in his tone, but he was worried about Joceline. It was the first time she’d ever missed work without calling first. Something big must be up. He immediately thought of her son.

He picked up the phone and started calling hospitals.

JOCELINE was pacing the waiting room floor. She’d brought her knitting bag with her, but even that chore hadn’t diverted her. This had been a bad attack, the worst one yet. She’d tried to go into the cubicle with Markie, but the attending physician and a nurse had shooed her out in the kindest way possible. They needed to run tests, they explained.

It was hard to leave a child who sounded as if he were smothering to death. Joceline was beside herself. Markie was her whole life. What if he died this time? What if they couldn’t save him …?

“Joceline?”

She jumped and gasped at the sound of her boss’s voice behind her. She jerked around, astonished.

“It’s not like you,” he explained, “not to call, if you can’t make it to work. I figured it had to be something catastrophic.”

She bit her lower lip. “It’s Markie,” she said on a long breath. “A bad attack. The worst one he’s had yet.” She folded her arms over her small breasts. “They’re running tests.”

At least she had medical insurance, good insurance, from her job. But it wouldn’t cover all of the expense, and she didn’t know how she’d add another monthly payment to the bills she already had.

“What sort of attack?” Jon repeated. Her mind was busy. She hadn’t even heard him.

“He has asthma,” she said heavily. “In the spring and fall, colds go down into his chest. He has chest infections, sometimes pneumonia. There are new drugs, good ones, for his condition, and we use them. He has allergy shots every week, too. But his lungs are just weak. He’s never had an attack come on so quickly, or be this bad. I didn’t think I’d even get him here in time …” She bit her lip and turned away.

“Has he seen a specialist?”

“Yes. Lung specialists, allergists, the works.” She sighed. “I don’t even smoke,” she said plaintively.

He wondered how she managed to pay specialists. It would be rough for anyone, but especially for a single mother on a limited budget. He didn’t have to be told that a child with uncontrolled asthma was an expensive little person to treat. He’d had his own share of respiratory problems as a child, Cammy had once told him. He still had allergies, too.

Joceline looked worriedly at the door to the emergency room from which a white-coated physician with a stethoscope around his neck had just emerged.

“That’s Dr. Wagner,” she explained as she moved toward him. “He’s our family doctor.”

The tall, thin physician smiled as she approached. “It’s all right, Joceline, he’s doing very well. We’ll have the test results for you very soon. You have to stop worrying so much,” he added gently. “Odds are very good that he’ll outgrow the asthma, and that the allergies will respond to the shots and diminish. It just needs time.”

She let out a breath. “I try so hard to make him wear his jacket when it’s cool and a raincoat when it’s raining,” she muttered. “He whips them off the minute he gets out of my sight. Then he catches cold. There was a cold rain yesterday morning, and he went outside during play period without a coat and didn’t tell me until he woke up smothering this morning.”

Dr. Wagner chuckled. “Don’t blame yourself. He’s very sorry that he did it, more because of how upset you were than how dangerous it was to him,” he added. “He has a big heart for such a small child.”

“He gets picked on a lot at school because he can’t run like the other kids without getting out of breath,” Joceline said heavily. “And because he has to take shots for the allergies. Why are kids so mean to each other?”

“Why are there bullies?” Dr. Wagner replied. “I don’t know. I wish it was an issue that could be resolved. Now with cyberbullying so prevalent, a victimized child can see no peace even in his own home.”

“There should be more lawsuits,” Joceline muttered.

“I agree,” Jon said quietly.

Dr. Wagner looked at Jon curiously.

“This is my boss,” Joceline said quickly, so the doctor wouldn’t get the wrong idea. “Senior Agent Jon Blackhawk.”

Dr. Wagner shook hands. “I wanted to join the FBI myself when I was younger,” the doctor said surprisingly, “but my father wanted me to study medicine.” He laughed. “In the long run, I suppose he was right. We have four generations of physicians and surgeons in my family. I’d hate to be the one to break the tradition.”

“It’s lucky for us that you didn’t,” Joceline said. “Thank you for taking such good care of Markie.”

He smiled. “I told you that one day you’d be glad you made the decision you made,” he said enigmatically.

“I am, now, more than ever, despite the problems,” she added with a weary smile.

“Why don’t you go and get something to eat?” the doctor asked. “By the time you get back, Markie will be ready to go home.”

“They won’t have to keep him?” she worried.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he replied. “We just want to make sure he’s stabilized and get him started on the new antibiotic. There are new inhalers out also, Joceline, you should talk to his allergist about them. One is for pediatric patients and has shown good results.”

She sighed heavily. The allergist had suggested one of the newer inhalers, which was over a hundred dollars a month. On her budget, even with good insurance, that was a fortune. But perhaps she could write to the drug company and request a reduced price. That had worked for her in the past. “Thank God he’s going to be all right.”

“Nice to meet you, Agent Blackhawk,” Dr. Wagner added, smiling as he walked away.

“Nice guy,” Jon remarked.

“Yes, we’re very lucky to have him. He’s taken great care of Markie.”

Jon was studying her with narrowed eyes. The doctor’s statement about the decision she’d made was puzzling.

She was tired and raw from lack of sleep or she might have reconsidered her words. “His father and I were very good friends. We had too much to drink and … there was Markie.”

He stared at her. He didn’t speak.

She averted her eyes. “I underestimated how—” she started to say “drugged” and immediately caught herself “—drunk he was and he didn’t realize that I was naive about men. We were both stupid.” She hesitated. “I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about a child who wasn’t planned.” She smiled. “But now he’s my whole world.” Her voice broke off.

“Your path hasn’t been an easy one,” Jon said quietly.

“Nobody’s path is easy. We just do what we have to do, and go on living. I love my son,” she added. “I have to live with the fact that Markie will always be illegitimate.” She looked up at him. “It hurts me. I try to live a conservative life. But it’s not Markie’s fault.”

“Of course not.”

She picked up her purse from the seat she’d occupied. “I’ll get some breakfast and see what they can do for Markie, but I don’t know if I can come in today. I’m very sorry. I should have phoned.”

“I was concerned,” he replied. “Take the day off. If you can’t make it in tomorrow, just let me know, it will be all right. The Bureau doesn’t punish people for personal emergencies, you know,” he offered with a kind smile.

She smiled back. “Thanks,” she said.

“Markie’s father, is he still alive?”

The question hit her unexpectedly. “I … I don’t know,” she stammered, desperate for a way out of the conversation.

“You said that he was in the military, stationed overseas,” he began.

“Yes, I see,” she faltered. She averted her eyes. “He was, uh, listed as missing in action.”

“A tragedy.”

She nodded. “Thanks for coming down here,” she said, recovering her poise. “I don’t know how you even found us …”

“Abuse of power,” he quipped. He grinned. “I can pull strings when I want to.”

“Unethical, sir,” she pointed out.

He shrugged. “My brother is corrupting me.”

She laughed. She glanced at the big clock in the waiting room. “You’ve got a meeting with the sheriff about that Oklahoma kidnapping in ten minutes at the courthouse,” she exclaimed, referring to a case in which an agent in another field office had requested some help. FBI offices cooperated on cases from other jurisdictions that overlapped. “You’ll never make it.”

“I’ll make sure I catch all the traffic lights when they’re green.” He chuckled.

“Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded. She watched him walk away. It surprised her that he cared enough to hunt her down when she didn’t show up for work. And he’d been really concerned. That made her feel warm inside. She fought it. His mother would be the worst enemy on earth to make. Joceline already knew how the woman felt about her. It gave her cold chills. But then she was worrying about things she might not ever have to consider. She had her son, and he was going to get better. That had to be her concern now. Only that.

“I’m really sorry about walking in the rain, Mommy,” Markie apologized when they were back home in their small apartment. “I love rain,” he added plaintively.

“I know you do, sweetheart, but your lungs don’t,” she said, trying to explain. “You don’t like being sick.”

He shook his head. “I don’t like making you upset, too.” He dived against her side and held on tight. “I love you so much, Mommy!”

“I love you, too, pumpkin,” she replied and hugged him back, hard.

“I’ll wear my coat next time.”

They both knew he was lying. She’d just have to be more careful. It wasn’t the rain, the doctor had told her, but the fact that Markie was sensitive to viruses and he’d had one starting when he got wet. It wasn’t dangerous for a healthy child, but then, Markie had never been really robust.

The specialist changed his allergy medicines. Joceline talked to the drug company and they agreed voluntarily to give her the inhalers for a fraction of the retail cost. The medication seemed to be working, too. Markie perked up. His valleys and peaks leveled off and he settled into school with resignation. Joceline had a long talk with Markie’s teacher and the owner of the day care, and an attorney who was kind enough to help her pro bono. For the time being, the bullying was curtailed. But they did mention that Markie was distracting in the classroom and set a date for her to come back, alone, and discuss it with them.

Meanwhile, Markie got better and Joceline got her nerves back together. There was still the question of a diagnosis for Markie’s behavioral problems. She didn’t know what to do. There was really nobody who could help except their doctor. She’d asked him about Markie and he agreed that it was possible that the child had attention deficit disorder. He was researching the medications and considering a reply for her.

She was doing well until Cammy Blackhawk stormed into the office and glared at Joceline as if she was a hooker.

“I would like to see my son,” she said haughtily.

Joceline, practiced at handling gruff and unpleasant individuals, gave her a vacant smile. “Of course, ma’am. Won’t you have a seat in our modern and ergonomically designed waiting area?”

Cammy blinked.

Joceline picked up the phone. “Mrs. Blackhawk is here to see you, sir.”

Jon came out the door at once, looking oddly protective as he glanced at Joceline and then at Cammy.

“Hi,” he said.

Cammy stared at Joceline uncomfortably and then back at her son. “I want you to come to supper tonight,” she said firmly. “I’m having a soiree …”

“Soiree?” Jon asked, surprised.

“It’s a French word, sir,” Joceline told him helpfully. “It means a small, informal dinner …”

“I know what it means!” he snapped.

She saluted him.

He rolled his eyes. “Cammy, I can’t come. I’m having supper with Mac and Winnie,” he said firmly.

“Don’t call me Cammy! I’m your mother!” she grumbled.

“And I don’t want to try to eat while I’m being regaled with the latest fashion information,” he continued irritably.

“Many, many people buy specialized magazines to ferret out that information,” Joceline began enthusiastically.

“Do you mind?” Cammy snapped at her. “I am trying to speak to my son!”

Joceline saluted her, too, smiled again and went back to typing on the computer.

“Come in here,” Jon muttered, pulling Cammy into his office. He closed the door. “For the last time, I do not want to have supper with your matrimonial candidate!”

“She’s a nice girl!”

His narrowed eyes glittered. “I don’t want to get married! Winnie’s pregnant. Why don’t you go and overwhelm her with motherly advice?”

Cammy averted her eyes. “She’s getting that from her own mother. I’m superfluous.”

“Well, you can advise Mac on being a father,” he countered.

“He’s always being called away from the phone, and when I try to visit his office, he’s always out,” she said irritably.

“You’re a bulldozer,” he told her. “You don’t think anyone can live if you’re not telling them how to go about it.”

“I’m just trying to help,” she said, exasperated.

“You should have had more kids,” he replied. “It’s ‘empty nest syndrome.’ You’re lonely and bored.”

“You’re all alone,” she said miserably. “What will happen to you when I die?”

He was shocked by the question. “Are you planning to?”

She averted her eyes. “Don’t be silly. I just want to see you happily married, like Mac is.”

“If it had been up to you, Mac would never have married Winnie,” he reminded her. “You thought she was after his money.”

“So I made an error in judgment,” she said, clearly uncomfortable. “But this nice girl is just what you need. She’s outgoing and social, always dressed in the latest fashion and she knows many people in high places.”

“So do I,” he reminded her.

“You need a family. You don’t even date anybody. Well,” she amended thoughtfully, “there was that lawyer, but wasn’t she just trying to get information out of you about a client?”

He didn’t like being reminded of that. “I date when I feel like it.”

“Yes, but you never feel like it!” she retorted. “You should have children to play with, now while you’re still young enough to play with them and do things with them!”

“I’m not married, Cammy,” he said patiently.

“I noticed!”

“I lead a hectic life,” he continued. “Most women wouldn’t be able to put up with the hours I keep.”

“Charlene is beautiful and she’s very tolerant of your lifestyle,” Cammy began.

“She is not,” Jon shot back. “She said that I’d have to give up video games.”

“You play too many of them,” Cammy agreed. “You should have children to take up your spare time.”

“Don’t you have anything else to do with your life besides trying to run mine for me?” Jon asked finally, exasperated.

“I am not trying to run your life. I want you to be happy.”

“Harassing me about marriage isn’t doing the job.”

“It isn’t harassment,” she groaned. “Son, you don’t even have a social life.”

“I don’t want one. I love my work.”

“You always have,” Cammy replied heavily. “You and McKuen, burying yourselves in dangerous occupations! The past has taken a heavy toll on both of you.”

“And on you,” Jon agreed. He kissed her forehead. “I know you miss Dad,” he said gently. “So do all of us. But you’re going overboard with plans for my future. You have to let life happen. You can’t force people to do things they don’t want to do.”

“You’d like Charlene if you gave her a chance,” she argued.

“She’s the most opinionated woman I’ve met recently,” he said gruffly.

“You’re only upset because she said you’d have to stop playing so many video games,” Cammy replied. “And she’s right.”

“She is not.”

“We can agree to differ. You should get out more. You spend too much time in this office with that woman out there,” she muttered.

“Joceline is my administrative assistant,” Jon replied. “She’s also a competent paralegal. Who do you think found the link that solved the murder of Mac’s little girl?”

Cammy frowned. “I thought it was McKuen.”

He shook his head. “Joceline dug out the information that broke the case.”

Cammy was evidently surprised, and not pleasantly. She shifted her feet. “She’s disrespectful.”

“I haven’t noticed that.”

“And she’s got a child. She’s not married.”

“She was going to be. Her fiancé died overseas in the military before he could marry her,” he said with faint defensiveness.

“She told you that?”

He nodded.

“How do you know it’s the truth?” she asked with a cold smile. “Women tell all sorts of stories.”

“Why are you so antagonistic toward her?”

She didn’t answer him. “If you won’t come to supper, how about to lunch tomorrow?”

“It’s a long drive to the ranch,” he began.

“I’m staying at the apartment in town,” she replied. “You’ll come, won’t you?”

He wanted a way out, but he was reluctant to refuse. Cammy was his mother. He didn’t spend a lot of time with her, and he felt guilty.

“I suppose I could. If it’s going to be just the two of us,” he added firmly.

“Of course,” she replied. She smiled. “Just us two.”

“Now, I have work to do,” he reminded her, opening the door.

“I’ll have something nice for you to eat,” she promised. She smiled at him and impulsively hugged him. “That’s my good boy. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She kissed him, shot a cool look at Joceline and breezed out the front door.

“They do make Bengal tiger traps,” Joceline said thoughtfully. “Although you would have to dig a deep hole in the office.”

He wouldn’t smile, he wouldn’t smile …

She heard a muffled sound from behind his closed door, and she grinned.

THAT NIGHT SHE TOOK Markie to a local restaurant that featured a video game arcade. It was filled to capacity.

“Let’s try this one,” she said enthusiastically after they’d had chicken fingers and iced tea. “Here!”

“I like this one,” Markie agreed with a grin.

It was piloting fighter planes and shooting at an enemy on a huge movie screen. Markie laughed uninhibitedly, and so did Joceline. She enjoyed the once-a-month outing as much as he did. They had little money for frivolous things like this, but she didn’t want Markie to miss out on entertainment that other children had access to. For a four-year-old, he had an amazing dexterity and skill at the game.

She was aware of movement behind her. Suddenly there were three other people in the compartment, parked on either side of her and Markie, putting game cards into the slots.

“Think you’re good, do you?” Mac Kilraven chided. “Let’s see!”

“Don’t let him bait you, Joceline,” a very pregnant Winnie Sinclair said and laughed from beside him. “I can outshoot him! So can you!”

“A likely story,” Jon Blackhawk scoffed as he manned the console next to Joceline’s.

“I thought you were having dinner with them at home,” she said to Jon, indicating his brother and sister-in-law.

“We did, but this is our favorite hangout,” Jon said. “We like the games.”

“If we had a bigger apartment, I’d import some like this.” Mac chuckled. “It will be great for the kids.”

“Your son seems to like it,” Jon commented to Joceline as Markie took down another fighter.

“Look! I hit it!” He laughed.

“Good shot, there,” Jon agreed, smiling at the child, who smiled back.

“Get in much practice in real life, do you?” Mac asked the boy with a wink.

“I don’t get out much,” Markie said in a very adult tone, and with rolled eyes at his mother.

Joceline laughed. “He’s not allowed to carry antiaircraft weapons in public,” she said, tongue-in-cheek.

“Aw, Mom.” Markie sighed. “I never get to have any fun!”

“Tell you what, first enemy fighter jet that dives on you, I’ll get you the best missile launcher I can find,” Joceline told him.

“Wow,” Markie said with pure worship in his eyes. “Thanks, Mom!”

She shrugged. “Nothing’s too good for my boy,” she said, and winked at him. She fought down her discomfort at having Markie around her boss. She didn’t want any problems to crop up, and Jon Blackhawk’s mother would be livid if she knew he was even playing video games with his administrative assistant outside work. But she wouldn’t know. Hopefully.