that she thought she might die of them. He didn’t remember. It was a good thing. She didn’t want him to remember.
“Don’t touch my son!”
She froze, jerking her hand back, as Cammy Blackhawk came into the room. She glared at the younger woman as she moved to the bed, her back to Joceline.
“Jon,” she whispered. “My poor, poor boy!”
She bent to kiss his forehead, and fought tears. She smoothed back his hair and stared at him for a long moment. Then she turned to Joceline, all cold dignity and hostility.
“You have no right to be in here,” she snapped.
Joceline didn’t argue. She looked one last time at Jon before she turned and left the cubicle.
“Where are you going?” Kilraven asked, surprised to meet her in the hall.
“I’m leaving,” Joceline said, very pale but composed. “Life goes on. Your mother is in there,” she added stiffly.
“Oh, God, now the real torment begins,” he groaned. “She’ll stand the staff on its ear and they’ll threaten to hang her from a window by a sheet!”
She laughed suddenly.
“Don’t let her worry you,” Kilraven said in a low tone. “She’s not what she seems. Honest.”
Joceline didn’t reply. “I hope he does well.”
“He will. I’ll call you myself if there’s any change.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Kilraven.”
His eyes narrowed. “Joceline, I’ve had Rourke stake out your son’s preschool.”
“What?” she exclaimed, going white.
“Monroe made threats,” he reminded her. “We can’t prove it so we can’t have him arrested. He’s being watched, that’s all I can say. But your son may be on the firing line. He has to have protection. So do you.”
It was horrifying to think that Markie might end up in a hospital bed, victim of some deranged criminal. “Surely, not! He’s just a child!”
“So was Melly,” Kilraven reminded her with a grim expression, speaking of his daughter who had been killed. “She was barely three, when—” His voice broke.
“I’m sorry,” she told him. “Truly sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t bring her back, and it won’t protect your son, either,” he added. “Rourke will. So tolerate him.”
She grimaced.
“You don’t have to like him. I know he’s a pain. But he’s the best private security I know.”
“All right.”
He studied her for a moment. “You never bring your son to work. You don’t have a photo of him on your desk. But you obviously love him very much.”
“Don’t speculate,” she bit off.
He was just staring at her. Not even blinking. “I’m not speculating.”
“I keep my work life and my home life separate,” she said stiffly. “I’m somewhat defensive about my status,” she added, and averted her eyes.
“So you don’t draw attention to it.”
“Yes,” she said quickly, anxious for an answer that would shut him up.
“I get it.” He didn’t press her. But he was getting some very interesting vibrations running underneath the casual conversation. “Don’t worry about your boss,” he added gently. “He’s in great hands.”
She looked toward the glass cubicle, where Cammy Blackhawk was still smoothing her son’s hair and talking to him. “I noticed.”
“I meant the doctor,” he mused.
“Oh.”
“You don’t know about Cammy’s past, and I won’t tell it to you,” he said surprisingly. “But there’s a reason she’s the way she is. Try not to take her attitude too seriously.”
“She loves her son. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“She does, but she’s micromanaging his life. Or she’s trying to.”
“She wants the best for him.” She pursed her lips and her blue eyes twinkled suddenly. “She wants him to have the best fashion advice money can buy.”
“He’d do a lot better with a woman who could play video games with him.”
“Don’t look at me,” Joceline said firmly. “I have one man in my life. I don’t need another.”
“Your son’s father went missing in action, you said.”
“Yes.”
“I still have contacts in active military circles,” he said, watching her with uncanny closeness. “I could have them do some checking.”
She dropped her purse. She bent and picked it up. “Sorry, it’s been an unsettling day,” she said. “I’m clumsy. No, thanks, it’s already been checked out. He disappeared in those mountains where they think the remnants of Al-Qaeda were hiding in a secret base. They were certain that he was killed, they just were reluctant to tell me.”
She hadn’t looked up once.
“I see,” he said.
She was hoping for an interruption when Winnie Sinclair came up with two cups of coffee. She handed one to her husband. “You’ve had a long day, you should go.”
“Yes,” Joceline said gratefully. “You’ll call me, if there’s any change?” she added worriedly.
“Of course we will,” Winnie assured her.
“The assistant D.A. asked about you,” Kilraven said. “She’s still hoping you might jump ship and go to work for her,” he added, teasing.
“There might be a real possibility of that,” Joceline said on a heavy sigh. “They’re talking about cutting staff in my office. Betty has seniority, so if one of us is cut, it will be me.” She shook her head. “This has been a bummer of a day.”
Kilraven frowned. “They’d never let you go.”
She smiled sadly. “They’ll let anybody go, if they have to. I don’t have any illusions about being the best administrative assistant on earth.” She sighed. “Now I have to worry about that and my boss, and my son …”
“Not about Markie,” Kilraven assured her. “Rourke will make sure no harm comes to him. Or to you.”
Joceline ground her teeth together. “Okay.”
“And
