He didn’t tell her. He had his suspicions, all wrapped up in mystery and Joceline’s reticence. But he was going to do some digging, when he had time.
He and Winnie went back to ICU to join Cammy.
“Has she gone, that awful girl?” Cammy asked angrily.
“She’s his right arm at work,” Kilraven reminded her firmly. “She’s stood by him when half a dozen other women would have run screaming out the door.”
“I don’t like her. She’s not a moral person.”
“What if she’d ended the pregnancy, would that make her any more moral in your eyes, Cammy?” Kilraven asked coldly. “What if it had been you, pregnant with Jon?”
Cammy swallowed, hard, and averted her eyes. Her jaw tightened. He was provoking nightmares and she couldn’t even tell him. She couldn’t tell anyone. She smoothed Jon’s hair. “He looks so pale.”
“His system has been through a shock,” Kilraven reminded her. “Been there, done that.”
“Yes, I know, my dear,” she said gently, and she hugged him. “I’m sorry. I’m being terrible. I was so worried …” Tears stung her eyes.
He hugged her. “Jon’s going to be fine.”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “I thought the murders were neatly wrapped up. But there’s a new trail emerging. I just found out that the guy we think did this,” he indicated Jon, “has a brother-in-law who may also have been involved in Melly’s death.”
“What?” Cammy exclaimed, horrified.
“That’s not all. Now he’s after Joceline’s little boy.” He wasn’t certain of that, but it was a good guess.
Cammy was conflicted. She didn’t like that Joceline person. But she loved children. Anybody’s children. “That’s too bad.”
“It is.”
“She doesn’t have a live-in boyfriend or someone who could protect him?”
“Joceline lives alone. But I sent Rourke to watch the boy.”
“Rourke.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, on the other hand, he is a bachelor and of an age to marry.” She was thoughtful. If Joceline married Rourke, she’d move to South Africa, far from Jon. She smiled. “Perhaps they might like each other.”
Kilraven didn’t reply. He could see wheels turning in Cammy’s mind, and suddenly he felt sorry for Rourke.
JOCELINE dropped her things off at her apartment. She was going to be late getting Markie, but she’d phoned and the owner, especially under the circumstances, told her to take her time that she’d be glad to wait. She’d heard about Jon’s shooting on the news. She was very sorry. Not nearly as sorry as Joceline, who was sick and worried out of her mind.
If he died, how would she live with the secret she kept? It gnawed at her like a dog with a bone. She was so upset that her hands shook as she locked her door and went out to get into her car. She thought she saw a shadow move, but she was certain it was her imagination. She was so much on edge, she was seeing things.
She tried to put Jon’s condition in the back of her mind. She didn’t want to upset Markie. She thanked the owner profusely when she picked up Markie at the day care center. He had new drawings to show her. “This is my teacher,” he said, showing her a sketch he’d done, which was crude but recognizable. “And this is a dog that came to the playground. A man came in a truck and took him away,” he added sadly. “Will they kill him?”
“No! They’ll just find his owner. That’s all.” She smiled and hoped that it was the truth.
“I wish we could have a dog,” he said.
She fastened him into the backseat and got in behind the steering wheel. Of all the things about modern life that she disliked, this was her pet peeve. A child should sit beside its parent, not isolated in the backseat. Yes, air bags saved lives and they were dangerous and could kill a small child. But when she had been small, Joceline had ridden in the front seat of her father’s pickup truck, strapped in like a miniature adult, happy and laughing. Someone should figure out a child seat that could withstand the air bags going off, and allow kids to be closer to their parents.
She sighed as she pulled out into traffic. Her boss was going to be all right. He was going to be all right. She had to believe that, to save her own sanity. Markie would be all right, too. Rourke would watch out for him. She didn’t have to like Rourke to know that he was good at his job—whatever it was, when he wasn’t doing favors for Kilraven. She started looking around to see if she could recognize the one-eyed lunatic in any passing cars.
“Mommy, are you looking for somebody?” Markie asked curiously.
She cleared her throat. “I’m just checking traffic, that’s all.”
“Isn’t your boss named Mr. Blackhawk? Somebody said he was shot. Is he dead?”
“No! He’s just wounded and in the hospital. He’s not dead,” she said at once.
“I’m glad. We played video games with him that night. I like him.”
She smiled sadly. “I like him, too.”
“Could we go and see him?” he asked.
Joceline, surprised, just stammered. “There’s an age limit, Markie,” she foundered. Well, there used to be. She wasn’t sure of modern hospital policy. It had been several years since she herself had been in one, when she’d had Markie.
“You mean I can’t see him?”
“Yes. That’s what I mean. His mother is with him.”
“Oh, that’s okay, then.”
Joceline had other thoughts about that, but she didn’t share them. “How about an ice-cream cone?” she asked.
“Wow! Could we?”
“Yes.” It was the little things, she considered, that made life bearable. Even the hard times were smoothed over by something simple and comforting.
She stopped at an ice-cream parlor and ordered two cones, strawberry for herself and butter pecan for Markie. She handed his to him with a smile.
He licked it and laughed up at her with sparkling eyes. He was going to be handsome when he was older, she thought. She thanked God every day that he looked more like her than his father.
When they got home, just after dark, the front door was standing open.
“Stay here,” Joceline told Markie firmly.
“What is it, Mommy?”
She didn’t answer. She went to a point where she could see the front door. Nothing was visible inside it. She knew better than to walk into the apartment. Someone had broken in. Someone who might still be in there, might be armed, might want to kill Joceline and Markie just for their closeness to Jon Blackhawk …!
“Well!” came a deeply accented voice from inside the apartment. “It’s a good thing you didn’t come home sooner.”
And Rourke appeared in the doorway, big and handsome and smiling.
CHAPTER SEVEN
