Merciless (3 page)

“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.

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.