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.
“I’m really sorry about walking in the rain, Mommy,” Markie apologized when they were back home in their small apartment. “I love rain,” he added plaintively.
“I know you do, sweetheart, but your lungs don’t,” she said, trying to explain. “You don’t like being sick.”
He shook his head. “I don’t like making you upset, too.” He dived against her side and held on tight. “I love you so much, Mommy!”
“I love you, too, pumpkin,” she replied and hugged him back, hard.
“I’ll wear my coat next time.”
They both knew he was lying. She’d just have to be more careful. It wasn’t the rain, the doctor had told her, but the fact that Markie was sensitive to viruses and he’d had one starting when he got wet. It wasn’t dangerous for a healthy child, but then, Markie had never been really robust.
The specialist changed his allergy medicines. Joceline talked to the drug company and they agreed voluntarily to give her the inhalers for a fraction of the retail cost. The medication seemed to be working, too. Markie perked up. His valleys and peaks leveled off and he settled into school with resignation. Joceline had a long talk with Markie’s teacher and the owner of the day care, and an attorney who was kind enough to help her pro bono. For the time being, the bullying was curtailed. But they did mention that Markie was distracting in the classroom and set a date for her to come back, alone, and discuss it with them.
Meanwhile, Markie got better and Joceline got her nerves back together. There was still the question of a diagnosis for Markie’s behavioral problems. She didn’t know what to do. There was really nobody who could help except their doctor. She’d asked him about Markie and he agreed that it was possible that the child had attention deficit disorder. He was researching the medications and considering a reply for her.
She was doing well until Cammy Blackhawk stormed into the office and glared at Joceline as if she was a hooker.
“I would like to see my son,” she said haughtily.
Joceline, practiced at handling gruff and unpleasant individuals, gave her a vacant smile. “Of course, ma’am. Won’t you have a seat in our modern and ergonomically designed waiting area?”
Cammy blinked.
Joceline picked up the phone. “Mrs. Blackhawk is here to see you, sir.”
Jon came out the door at once, looking oddly protective as he glanced at Joceline and then at Cammy.
“Hi,” he said.
Cammy stared at Joceline uncomfortably and then back at her son. “I want you to come to supper tonight,” she said firmly. “I’m having a soiree …”
“Soiree?” Jon asked, surprised.
“It’s a French word, sir,” Joceline told him helpfully. “It means a small, informal dinner …”
“I know what it means!” he snapped.
She saluted him.
He rolled his eyes. “Cammy, I can’t come. I’m having supper with Mac and Winnie,” he said firmly.
“Don’t call me Cammy! I’m your mother!” she grumbled.
“And I don’t want to try to eat while I’m being regaled with the latest fashion information,” he continued irritably.
“Many, many people buy specialized magazines to ferret out that information,” Joceline began enthusiastically.
“Do you mind?” Cammy snapped at her. “I am trying to speak to my son!”
Joceline saluted her, too, smiled again and went back to typing on the computer.
“Come in here,” Jon muttered, pulling Cammy into his office. He closed the door. “For the last time, I do not want to have supper with your matrimonial candidate!”
“She’s a nice girl!”
His narrowed eyes glittered. “I don’t want to get married! Winnie’s pregnant. Why don’t you go and overwhelm her with motherly advice?”
Cammy averted her eyes. “She’s getting that from her own mother. I’m superfluous.”
“Well, you can advise Mac on being a father,” he countered.
“He’s always being called away from the phone, and when I try to visit his office, he’s always out,” she said irritably.
“You’re a bulldozer,” he told her. “You don’t think anyone can live if you’re not telling them how to go about it.”
“I’m
