by Diana Palmer
He shrugged. “It’s damned inconvenient.”
“What is?”
Kilraven looked at the television screen. “She’s attractive.”
“But you don’t want anything permanent.”
“That’s part of it.”
“Is there another part?”
He nodded. “She’s twenty-two, Jon.”
“Oh. Now I begin to see the light.”
“Twenty-two to my thirty-two,” he continued. “She’s already learned about the generation gap from her parents. Her mother was twelve years younger than her father. She ran off with his younger brother. Winnie saw the dangers.”
“Then why is she still interested in you?”
“God knows. I’m an old, worn-out, used-up lobo wolf,” he said heavily, staring at his shoes. “She’s innocent and unsophisticated.” He laughed. “Funny. When I first met her, I had this idea that she was a bored debutante playing a game, pretending to be naive. But it was a far cry from the truth. She’s very naive, but she doesn’t play games and she’s greener than grass. I don’t know how she’s managed to stay so innocent for so long in the circles she and her family travel in.”
“Which brings us back to big brother Boone, who would knock your teeth in for playing around with his baby sister.”
Kilraven smiled. “I guess I wouldn’t blame him. It was a stupid thing I suggested to her. Still, I’m not taking her to Nassau and staying in the house with her without some legal ceremony. She’s a fine young woman. I don’t want to mess up her reputation.”
“Or your own,” Jon mused.
Kilraven shot him a glance. “At least I don’t have the police lead women out of my office handcuffed.”
He shrugged. “What can I say? She tried to bend me back over my own desk.” He shook his head. “My mother needs therapy.”
“I would never have said that,” Kilraven replied. He grinned. “But I’m glad you did.”
“We should have taught Cammy how to recognize a call girl.”
“Too late now.” He pursed his lips. “Ms. Perry still giving you hell at the office?”
“Come to think of it, no.” Jon frowned. “I can’t figure out why. I did praise her for doing such a good job of digging up info on our murder victim. She’s been different since then.”
“Different, how?”
“You know, I haven’t really thought about it,” Jon said. “She’s stopped sniping at me. She smiles once in a while. Things like that.”
“Look out.”
He chuckled. “No need. She’s not interested in me. She doesn’t like men.”
“She has a child.”
“Strange thing about that. She seems afraid of men, if they come too close physically.”
“Where’s her husband?”
“He wasn’t her husband,” Jon replied somberly. “He went overseas and got killed. Maybe there was some violence in the relationship. But before she got involved with him she didn’t date much, either.”
“She might have other preferences.”
“She might, but she doesn’t. She keeps to herself.”
“What’s the little boy like?”
“Don’t know,” Jon said. “I’ve never seen him.”
“Don’t you have those Bring Your Child to Work days?”
Jon glared at him. “We have an FBI office—we don’t encourage employees to use it as a day-care center.”
Kilraven held up both hands.
“I don’t like children.”
Kilraven was giving him an odd look. “Why?”
“I just don’t.”
“Oh. I remember. The soap thing.”
“It was not a soap thing,” Jon corrected him. “The kid wrote obscene words all over the passenger side of my car, and I didn’t notice until one of my coworkers was rolling in the aisles laughing about it.”
“I thought you had to be observant to work for the FBI,” Kilraven said innocently.
“Observant? Who looks at the passenger side of his car every morning?” Jon asked belligerently.
“CIA personnel, checking for bombs,” Kilraven replied.
“In your case, I’d even be checking the paint for C-4,” his brother pointed out. “But nobody ever tried to blow me up.”
Kilraven chuckled. “It wasn’t much of a bomb.” He recalled the incident his brother was alluding to. “The brown envelope he’d shoved it into was torn and you could see the wires sticking out.”
“Lucky for you.”
“Lucky for him, too. He’s only doing five to ten for attempted murder. He could be facing the needle for a capital crime.”
“I believe the defense attorney was insinuating that we need a better educated class of criminal and looking straight at you when he said it?”
“So I cost him a couple of gold stars on his defense record as a public defender,” Kilraven scoffed. “One of the lowlifes he got off raped a girl one day after he was acquitted. The pissant knew he was guilty—he defended him anyway and got him off. I just made sure the prosecutors knew that the public defender had ‘encouraged’ a witness not to testify at the first trial. He got a reprimand from the bar association.” He glanced at Jon. “Pity we don’t still have the rack and public stocks.”
“You need to lay off that sixteenth-century Scottish history,” Jon advised. “Why don’t you read something modern?”
“I do. Combat manuals and books on antiterrorism.”
Jon threw up his hands.
BUT JON HAD, AT LEAST, convinced Kilraven that he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Winnie if he continued with his present plan. He went back home to his apartment downtown to think about his next move.
It was a nice apartment, roomy and open. He had three bedrooms, one of which he used as an office. It contained all his high-tech equipment, weight-lifting bars and traveling accessories, including a bag that remained packed year-round in case he was sent overseas on a mission with a few minutes’ notice. That had happened in the past. It wouldn’t anytime soon because he was officially on a leave of absence.
There was a bed in the room, also a desk where his laptop stayed connected to the Internet—hard-wired and monitored, to make sure he had no hackers on board.
There was a guest bedroom next to his own, with the minimum of amenities. It was just a place to stay, in case some out-of-town agent needed a secure place to bunk down.
His own bedroom was Spartan, just a double bed, because he liked room to turn over, and a chest of drawers and bookcase. The bookcase was almost the size of the bed, and chock-full of historical tomes. In a corner was a big Schmidt-Casssegrain telescope, which he rarely had time to use.
In the living room was a spacious white-leather-covered sofa and matching chair. In front was a fifty-inch TV with the latest technology, a satellite receiver and three complete gaming systems, his favorite of which was the Xbox 360, which he accessed with Xbox Live. He had most of the newer games, but his favorite was Call of Duty, followed by the Halo series. He had one sword and sorcery game—Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion—and played it for variety.
He plopped down on the sofa and activated the television. He had access, through the Xbox, to all the latest movies on download. He’d just put on the latest Star Trek film before he went to see Jon. Now he keyed it up, popped the lid on a wine cooler he’d brought from the fridge, and settled down to watch Kirk, Spock and McCoy begin all over again for a new generation. He grinned as he watched. The original Star Trek was his favorite retro TV series.
THE NEXT DAY, HE GOT into his car and drove down to Jacobsville again. He wasn’t sure how he was going to convince Winnie to go to Nassau, but he was going to try one last time. He couldn’t afford to give up now, when he was so close to finding that one vital clue that would finally solve the tragic murder of his family.
He drove up to her front door. He’d already checked with the EOC center to make sure she wasn’t working this morning. Sure enough, when he rang the doorbell, she came herself to
answer it.
She looked at him warily. She was dressed in jeans and a red T-shirt that said President of the Jacobsville Dog Chasing and Cursing Society.
He read the T-shirt and burst out laughing.
She hadn’t realized what she was wearing because she was still drinking her first cup of coffee of the day, so the laughter surprised her. Then she looked down and recalled the legend on the shirt, and she laughed, too, breaking the ice.
“Where the hell did you get a shirt like that?” he asked.
“Had it made,” she said simply. “It was after one really bad day, when I got yelled at by three different callers for not sending an officer to deal with a stray dog.” She smiled. “It was the day the branch bank was robbed and we had every officer dealing with it. Not a lot of time to go looking for a stray dog.”
“Especially a giant German Shepherd Chihuahua that was gray, black, off-white and had three legs, they thought,” Kilraven quoted the report.
“That’s the one.” She shook her head. “You wonder why eyewitness testimony is supposed to be so valuable when you get calls like that.”
“Exactly.”
She opened the door. “Come on in. But if you came to try and convince me to go with you on a trip, Boone’s in the living room.” It was a threat.
“I didn’t. I need to talk to him, though.”
Surprised, she waved him through to the next room.
Boone was watching the news. He looked up when Kilraven walked in. He pursed his lips and turned off the television. “I know why you’re here,” he told him. “And the answer’s no.”
Kilraven dropped into an armchair across from him. “She’s over twenty-one,” he pointed out. “Old enough to decide for herself.”
Boone leaned forward. He looked formidable. “You want someone to help you open a can of worms. This is a big can, and it might contain pit vipers instead of worms. Just by asking her to go with you, you could be putting her life in danger.”
Kilraven’s face was impassive. “I know your background. I think you should know mine. I’ve spent the past few years as a special operative. They send me in when the situation is considered too dangerous for unskilled personnel. I’m trained in every method of combat known to man, and a few I made up as I went along. I’ve had four partners, one of whom I saved three times from certain death. I can defuse a bomb, build one, disarm an armed man, blow up a bridge and recruit men to work for me in some countries that are barely on the map. I’m also a skilled negotiator. I’m trained in weaponry, martial arts and my specialty is innovation. There isn’t a man alive your sister would be safer with. Possibly, not even you. And if you think I’d permit anyone to harm her, despite my own interest in solving this case, you are grossly mistaken.”
He sat back and waited for Boone to take that in and reply.
Boone was surprised at the admissions. He knew very little about Kilraven, except that he worked undercover for some federal agency. Now he knew more. He respected the man for laying it on the line. But he was still uneasy about letting Winnie become involved in this.
While he was debating his next sentence, Winnie came walking in with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Kilraven and sat down beside her brother.
“You can decide whatever you like,” she told her brother without actually meeting his eyes, and her hands shook. “But I’m going with him.”
Kilraven and her brother wore the same perplexed expression.
“It’s dangerous,” Boone said gently.
Her hands became steadier. She’d been bluffing, but it seemed to have worked. Boone wasn’t trying to dominate her, as he had most of her life. She was scared to death of him, but she kept seeing Kilraven’s eyes when he spoke of his little girl who had been killed. That look, more than any of his words, had changed her mind. She’d been waiting, hoping, that he’d ask her again. Keely had been right. Kilraven had come back.
“Life is dangerous,” Winnie said. “I do know Senator Sanders’s wife, and she won’t think it strange if I show up in our beach house. Even with a husband.” The word made her color slightly. She’d dreamed, hoped, wished that someday Kilraven might want to marry her. She’d never expected that it would be a sham marriage. But even a few days was more than she might have expected in the normal run of things. She had to take the chance that he might like her enough to keep her.
Boone glanced at Kilraven, who was watching her with an impassive face. His silver eyes, however, were glittery with feeling. He could feel the man’s anguish. Cash Grier had told him quite a bit more about the case than Winnie knew. He didn’t have the heart to interfere, even if his gut instinct was to do just that. Anyway, if there was a threat, he knew how to deal with it. So did Kilraven. It wasn’t right to let the men who’d killed a child walk.
“Keely and I can stand up with you, if you need witnesses,” he said finally.
Winnie smiled at him. “Thanks. But first, he and I need to discuss the parameters of our new relationship,” she told Kilraven bluntly.
He grinned. “Okay. We’ll drive up to San Antonio and I’ll show you how to get past the Hunters in Halo: ODST.”
“Nobody can get past those damned Hunters,” Boone scoffed.
“I can,” Kilraven said, grinning.
“You’d better teach me,” Boone told Winnie, smiling.
She laughed. “That’s a deal. I’ll just get my coat.” She couldn’t believe it. For the first time in her adult life, she’d told Boone what she was going to do. She’d actually gotten away with it. Maybe all it took was enough courage to say no. Even if your knees knocked together and your teeth chattered while you said it!
8
Winnie and Kilraven were almost to San Antonio when he got a call on his cell phone. He activated the phone from the steering wheel, putting it on the speakerphone.
“Kilraven,” he said.
“Marquez,” came the reply. “Thought you might like to know that it’s open season on detectives investigating your case.”
“Somebody else got mugged?” Kilraven asked.
“Shot,” Marquez said flatly. “My partner. They just took her to the Marshall Medical Center. I’m on my way there right now.”
“I’ll be right behind you.” He shut off the phone and glanced at Winnie. “Sorry, but this concerns me. She’s a friend of mine.”
“Let’s go!” she said, waving him on.
He floor-boarded the gas pedal.
FORTUNATELY, HE DIDN’T have to stop and explain why he was breaking speed limits. He arrived at the hospital and parked as close to the emergency room as he could get. He and Winnie ran for the entrance.
Marquez was waiting in the hall, looking morose. He looked up when they entered.
“Any news?” Kilraven asked.
Marquez shook his head. “All they could tell me was that it didn’t look lethal,” he said. He shrugged. “Like you can tell. I’ve seen so-called flesh wounds take a man out.”
“So have I,” Kilraven said quietly.
Marquez glanced at Winnie. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she returned.
“Do you know her?” Kilraven asked. When Marquez frowned, he said, “This is Winnie Sinclair.”
“Oh!” Marquez exclaimed. “You work at the EOC center,” he added, just when she thought he was going to come out with something about her family and its wealth.
Pleasantly surprised, she grinned. “That’s me. I work with Shirley. And I have lunch at your mother’s café most days. She’s a great cook.”
“She is.” He started to add something, but the doctor came toward him, still in his surgical greens.
Marquez stepped forward. “Well?”
The doctor grinned. “She’s a tough one,” he said. “We got the bullet out. She came to and looked at me and said, ‘You get me patched up quick, I’m going after the blankety-blank fool who did this to me!’”
Marquez chuckled. “That sounds just like her. She’ll be okay?”
He
nodded. “A few days in the hospital—she won’t like that, either—and she’ll be on sick leave for another couple of weeks.” He cocked his head at Marquez. “Any chance the two of you could give up ticking off criminals in my city? I could use some rest!”
“Complaints, complaints, when we give you the opportunity to practice your craft and perfect it,” Marquez taunted.
The physician chuckled. “So you do.”
“When can I see her?”
“In about an hour. They’ll wheel her down to a room. She breezed through the surgery.” He shook his head. “Wish all my patients did half that well.”
He walked away.
“We’ll wait with you,” Kilraven told him, glancing at Winnie to make sure she agreed, which she did. “I feel responsible.”
“What for? It was my idea, and hers, to reopen the case. You were the holdout,” Marquez reminded him.
Kilraven still felt guilty. She was a good woman. A good investigator. She’d been helping him. He hadn’t realized what she was risking until now. And he wanted to put Winnie in the line of fire. What if she got shot? What if the perp had a better aim next time? He felt sick to his stomach.
A noise behind them heralded the entrance of two uniformed officers and another plainclothes detective, who went straight to Marquez to find out the patient’s condition. They relaxed when told that she was out of surgery and had a good prognosis.
“That’s like Rogers,” one of the policemen chuckled. “She’s tough as army leather!”
“You ought to know,” Marquez joked back, “she was your training officer before she was bumped up to homicide.”
“Bumped up, the devil,” the plainclothes detective muttered. “You patrol guys get to take coffee breaks and sleep all night. We get dragged out of bed every time they find a body, even if we’re not on duty.”
“Always on call, that’s us.” Marquez chuckled.
The detective glanced at Kilraven and frowned. “Don’t I know you?”