by Diana Palmer
“I’ll never fit in this modern society,” Joceline muttered to herself. She didn’t understand the fascination with death, with zombies, with vampires…
Well, she loved the very popular vampire movie trilogy, so that wasn’t quite true. Perhaps Phyllis was just exaggerating. She might have never seen a crime scene photo. She was working in an office that dealt with violent crime, so perhaps she felt being excited by the process of crime-solving was expected.
Joceline shook her head and went back to work.
When quitting time came, she grabbed her purse, called good-night through the closed door and almost ran out of the building. She’d had enough for the day, after Phyllis’s strange questions.
Even the fact that she had a worrisome meeting with school officials next was less disturbing than her boss’s odd behavior. Joceline kept dark secrets. She had no wish to ever display them, least of all to Jon Blackhawk.
5
The head of the school, Mr. Morrison, and Markie’s teacher, Ms. Rawles, were very nice about it. But they were emphatic that Markie’s antics were disruptive and that he needed medication to prevent him from being a distraction to the other students.
Joceline just looked at them. She didn’t agree or disagree.
“We would like your assurance that this matter will be resolved,” Mr. Morrison said kindly. “Your pediatrician can put Markie on a medication to control his outbursts.”
She smiled blankly. “In other words, you want me to go to my doctor and order him to put my four-year-old son on drugs?”
There were shocked, indignant looks.
She stood up, still smiling. “I’ll have a long talk with my son. I’ll also speak with our family physician. We don’t have the funds to afford a pediatrician, I’m sorry to tell you. Markie’s hospital visits are expensive, and we have an allergist in addition to a family physician, but we’re rather limited in our budget. I have to have medical care for both of us, and a family practitioner is the best we can do right now.”
They were still speechless.
“I will, however, speak with my family doctor about your insistence that Markie needs to become drug dependent. And if my physician agrees with you,” she added sweetly, “then I will find another family physician.”
“Uh, Mrs., that is, Miss, I mean Ms. Perry,” Mr. Morrison stammered.
“I believe the politically correct designation is Ms.,” she said helpfully.
“We only think Markie, being so young, requires some help with his difficulty in focusing…”
“That’s right, sir, make sure that every child obeys without question so that teachers don’t have to deal with any behavioral problems.”
He glared at her. “Ms. Perry…!”
“In our defense,” Ms. Rawles said gently, “our class has thirty-five students. We’re much in the same boat as many other schools where teachers have to manage classrooms with thirty to forty students. We do the best we can. We really care about our students. But it’s so hard to teach when we have children who simply can’t pay attention. Markie is disruptive. He can’t sit still, he talks out of turn, he gets into things…”
Joceline studied her. “Do you have children, Ms. Rawles?”
“I’m not married. I certainly wouldn’t put the stigma of illegitimacy on my child,” the other woman said at once, and then flushed, because she realized that Joceline had a child out of wedlock.
Joceline smiled, but she wasn’t happy with the remark.
The principal cleared his throat. “I’m sure that whatever you and your physician decide will be fine with us.”
“Of course,” Ms. Rawles said, obviously distressed. “I’m very sorry. I never should have said such a thing to you!”
Their attitude took the edge off her temper. She could see their side of the issue, as well. “Actually Markie likes you very much, and so do I,” Joceline cut her off. “It’s all right. A lot of people have said worse things to me. His father was a very good man. We had too much to drink and did something out of character for both of us. He went missing in action overseas on duty before we could get married,” she added gently, telling the falsehood with the confidence of years of secret keeping.
The two school officials looked guilty.
“A tragedy,” Ms. Rawles spoke for both of them. “The world is changing very quickly. Sometimes new concepts are difficult.”
“I go to church, and take Markie, every Sunday,” she told them with a quiet smile. “Everybody makes mistakes. Some are more difficult to live with than others. But I love my son. I feel blessed to have him.”
They both brightened. “He’s a smart little boy.”
“That’s why he’s into everything, he’s curious,” Joceline replied. “And I have already discussed this with our doctor. He’s researching medicines, but he says that discipline might be a better choice than drugs in Markie’s case. I don’t mean hitting him with a bat to get his attention,” she added. “The doctor says that overactive children need consistency and routine and a limit to the number of toys they play with to keep them from being overstimulated. There are many new studies on both sides of the issue, but I would prefer to at least try the least drastic measure first. If it doesn’t get results, then I’ll have to consider other options. Compromise,” she added with a smile, “is the foundation of civilization.”
“It is,” Mr. Morrison agreed, rising. He seemed to relax a little.
Ms. Rawles stood up, too. She smiled. “I apologize again for my remarks.”
“It’s all right,” Joceline said again. “You’ll let me know if the situation doesn’t improve?” she asked the teacher.
Ms. Rawles nodded. “Yes, I will. And thank you for coming in to talk to us. I know your job requires long hours.”
“Your job?” Mr. Morrison asked curiously.
“She works for the FBI,” Ms. Rawles said with a grin, glancing at Mr. Morrison’s shocked face.
“My goodness!” he blurted out. “I had no idea.”
“I’m not involved in enforcement of federal laws,” she said. “I only do the paperwork that helps get criminals convicted. I keep the gears oiled.”
He chuckled. “How interesting! We’re having a Career Day here in November. Perhaps you might like to speak about your duties?”
“I would,” she said, “but my boss is very strict. He might not like it.”
“We wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with him,” he replied. “But think about it.”
“I will. Thank you both for being so understanding.”
“I have two daughters in high school,” Mr. Morrison said. “I do know how children can be.” He was very quiet. “One of my daughters took Ritalin for ADD,” he added, referring to attention deficit disorder.
Joceline wanted to ask, very badly, how that had turned out. But there was something in the man’s face that deterred her. She thanked them again, said her goodbyes and went to pick up Markie at day care.
The next day she mentioned the principal’s remark in passing to Agent Blackhawk.
“Morrison. Yes, the school principal. Sad story.”
“Sir?”
“His eldest daughter is a senior in high school. She was arrested for possession of a Class I controlled substance and convicted of intent to distribute. She’s on probation as a first offender. Her mother died of an overdose.”
Joceline was shocked.
“You didn’t hear that from me,” he added. “We don’t discuss cases brought by other agencies. In this case, San Antonio P.D.”
“Yes, sir.”
He cocked his head. “She was placed on drugs in grammar school for ADD.”
“That would have been my next question until you said you wouldn’t discuss it,” she said demurely. She sighed. “They wanted me to get my doctor to put Markie on those drugs.” She looked up quickly and grimaced. “That was uncalled for. I’m very sorry, sir. Personal matters should remain personal, especially on the job.”
Hi
s black eyes were steady and quiet. “Are you going to do it?”
She moved uncomfortably. She didn’t answer.
He moved closer. So close, in fact, that she could feel the heat of his powerful body and smell the spicy cologne he wore. She looked up at him and felt her heart jump.
“Are you going to do it?” he repeated, in a softer tone.
She swallowed. “I told them I’d talk to my family physician about giving Markie drugs for behavioral modification and that, if my family physician agreed, I’d get another family physician,” she murmured dryly. “I didn’t really mean it. I want to do what’s best for Markie.”
A chuckle escaped him. “I imagine that’s not all you said.”
Her blue eyes twinkled. “Well, Markie’s teacher made a remark that hit me on the raw but I kept my cool. I can’t help that everything I think appears on my face, though…”
He shook his head. “Ms. Perry, you are an anachronism.”
“Sir?”
“It would take longer than I’ve got to explain,” he replied, checking his watch. “I’m overdue for a meeting in the SAC’s office.”
“And I have work to do.”
He pursed his lips. “Some people would consider making coffee ‘work.’”
She smiled what he’d come to think of as her trademark expression. “Some people would consider a tomato a fruit.”
“A tomato is a fruit.”
She made a face and went back to her desk.
Markie wanted to play his video game. He grimaced when his mother started talking about his acting out in class and his inability to sit still.
“Nobody likes me,” he muttered.
“Yes, they do. But when you won’t stay at your desk, you make a lot of problems for your teacher. You aren’t the only student she has.”
He sighed. “It’s so boring in there,” he told her. “I already know all that stuff. But I’m younger than the other kids, and they make fun of me when I can’t run like they can, on account of my lungs.”
She felt that pain all the way to her shoes, but she knew from long and hard experience that bullies were a fact of life at any age. Unless the bullying was taking a dangerous toll, she found it best to let Markie handle those problems himself. Which he did. Once, when an older child tried to force him to give up his pocket money, he yelled “Thief!” at the top of his lungs until the owner came. He was reprimanded, but the bully got in trouble, too. He never tried to extort money again. For a sickly little boy, Joceline thought proudly, Markie had a stout and brave spirit. He wasn’t afraid of anything.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked.
“I’m very proud of you,” she said. “Your father would be proud of you, too, for the way you handle yourself when people try to pick on you.”
“My dad was brave, wasn’t he?”
“Very brave,” she replied.
“Don’t we have any pictures of him?” he asked.
This question was disturbing. She knew it would only get more difficult as time went by. “No, I don’t,” she said honestly. “I’m really sorry, Markie.”
“Did he look like me?”
She studied him with a sad smile. “Only a little,” she said, and hid her relief.
“Most of the other kids have daddies to take them places. I wish I knew him,” he told her.
She picked him up and hugged him close. “I wish you did, too.”
“You like your boss, don’t you?” he asked when she put him down.
She felt flushed. “He’s very nice.”
“He plays video games just like us,” he said.
“His brother plays them, too.”
“You don’t play much,” he accused.
She bent and kissed his forehead. “I have housework to do. Mothers are busy people. But I play with you on the weekends, don’t I?”
“Yeah. You do.” He grinned at her. “And I beat you.”
“Every time,” she agreed with a laugh.
“I might let you win next time,” he said thoughtfully.
“You might?”
He started to answer her playful reply when the phone rang.
Joceline picked up the receiver, still laughing from Markie’s teasing. “Hello?”
There was a pause. It was cold and unnerving.
“Hello?” she asked again.
“Your boss is first,” a gruff voice said. “Then you.”
“What?” she exclaimed.
A dial tone was the only response she got. She wanted to think it was a mistake, a wrong number. But she knew it wasn’t. She felt cold chills at the threatening words.
“Who was it, Mommy?”
“Just a wrong number, baby,” she said, and forced a smile. “I have to get your clothes ready for school tomorrow. I’ll be in the laundry room.”
“Okay,” he said absently, already lost in his video game.
Joceline closed the door of the playroom and leaned back against the wall with her eyes closed. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so afraid.
She almost called her boss to tell him about the threat, but she thought she’d involved him too much already in her private life. It wasn’t a good policy, to bring domestic problems to work. She didn’t want to jeopardize his job, or her own. She didn’t want him around Markie, either.
On the other hand, she had a sneaking hunch about the identity of her caller. She couldn’t prove it. She’d only heard Harold Monroe’s voice once, when he’d called brazenly to tell her boss he was out of jail. Strange, though, the voice seemed deeper than Monroe’s. But he could be disguising it.
The call bothered her. So after she reminded Mr. Blackhawk about his day’s schedule and noted that he had ten minutes free before he was due in federal court to testify on a case, she walked into his office and closed the door.
He gave her a surprised look.
She sat down in front of the desk. “I’m sorry, but I had a phone call last night, and although I can’t swear to the identity of the caller, I think it might have been Harold Monroe.”
He sat up straighter. His black eyes narrowed. “What did he say?”
“That you were first, and I was next.”
His expression was hard to read. “Do you have an answering machine on your phone?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes, sir, and a ham radio and a plasma TV, a couple of sports cars…!”
“Ms. Perry,” he said curtly.
“Sorry, sir. I forgot myself. Won’t happen again.” She crossed her heart.
He shook his head. “It’s not a laughing matter.”
“I wasn’t laughing. It’s just that I don’t have the budget for that type of equipment,” she said with a straight face.
“I should have known that.”
Probably so, but, then, he and his brother—not to mention his seethingly rabid mother—were worth millions, if the gossip was true. She didn’t doubt that he could walk into the nearest electronics store and purchase the highest-ticket item it contained without blinking an eye. Joceline was on a much stricter budget.
“You live in an unsecured apartment house,” he said, thinking aloud.
“We have locks on the doors and a telephone.”
He glared at her. “Locks keep honest people out. That’s all they do.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “Over the years that I’ve worked here,” she began, “I’ve heard a lot of people make threats. I don’t know of a single one that actually turned into an incident.”
“Yes, well I do,” he said curtly. “I won’t take chances with your life, or your son’s.”
“It was your life I was thinking about,” she said quietly. “He has a reason for wanting to harm you.”
His eyebrows arched. “Are you actually expressing concern for my welfare, Ms. Perry?” he asked with mock astonishment.
“Yes, sir,” she said calmly. “It’s very difficult to train a boss not to expect impossible menial tasks,” she added with a gleam in her
blue eyes. “I’m not anxious to break in somebody new.”
He laughed faintly. “Touché.” He glanced at his watch and got to his feet. “I’ll talk to a few people and see what sort of arrangements I can make for someone to keep an eye on you after work.”
“On our budget, sir, we can probably afford a ten-year-old boy in a trench coat with one of those Junior Spy kits.”
He really glared at her then. “My brother has all sorts of shadowy contacts that we don’t talk about. I’m sure at least one of them owes him a favor. Rourke comes to mind.”
“No,” she said at once. “No, absolutely not. I will not have that one-eyed lunatic anywhere near me!”
His eyebrows arched. She’d rarely been so outspoken about any of the people who came through the office. “He’s very good at private security.”
Her jaw set so tightly that it bulged.
“Out with it,” he ordered.
She shifted restlessly. “He said I should be gagged and locked in a closet.”
He had to stifle a laugh. “May I ask what prompted him to make such a remark?”
Her eyes avoided his. “He was making fun of my shoes.”
He looked down. She was wearing the ballet slippers she usually wore to work, bad for the instep but extremely comfortable—and affordable.
“Some of us can’t manage Neiman Marcus even on a good government salary,” she said, still ruffled months after the remark was made.
“Rourke pops off and thinks he’s being amusing.”
“He’ll get popped off if he makes another such remark to me,” she said curtly.
He chuckled. “I’ll see if anybody else owes Mac a favor.”
“It sounded like Harold Monroe, but I couldn’t prove it. He was probably just fishing, to see if he could frighten me. And he knew I’d tell you what he said,” she added. She hesitated. “Sir, you really could use someone to watch your back. Monroe may be a certifiable idiot, but he has family connections who aren’t.”
“I’m aware of that.”