“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.
