by Diana Palmer
“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 per
iod 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.”