She enjoyed the once-a-month outing as much as he did. They had little money for frivolous things like this, but she didn’t want Markie to miss out on entertainment that other children had access to. For a four-year-old, he had an amazing dexterity and skill at the game.
She was aware of movement behind her. Suddenly there were three other people in the compartment, parked on either side of her and Markie, putting game cards into the slots.
“Think you’re good, do you?” Mac Kilraven chided. “Let’s see!”
“Don’t let him bait you, Joceline,” a very pregnant Winnie Sinclair said and laughed from beside him. “I can outshoot him! So can you!”
“A likely story,” Jon Blackhawk scoffed as he manned the console next to Joceline’s.
“I thought you were having dinner with them at home,” she said to Jon, indicating his brother and sister-in-law.
“We did, but this is our favorite hangout,” Jon said. “We like the games.”
“If we had a bigger apartment, I’d import some like this.” Mac chuckled. “It will be great for the kids.”
“Your son seems to like it,” Jon commented to Joceline as Markie took down another fighter.
“Look! I hit it!” He laughed.
“Good shot, there,” Jon agreed, smiling at the child, who smiled back.
“Get in much practice in real life, do you?” Mac asked the boy with a wink.
“I don’t get out much,” Markie said in a very adult tone, and with rolled eyes at his mother.
Joceline laughed. “He’s not allowed to carry antiaircraft weapons in public,” she said, tongue-in-cheek.
“Aw, Mom.” Markie sighed. “I never get to have any fun!”
“Tell you what, first enemy fighter jet that dives on you, I’ll get you the best missile launcher I can find,” Joceline told him.
“Wow,” Markie said with pure worship in his eyes. “Thanks, Mom!”
She shrugged. “Nothing’s too good for my boy,” she said, and winked at him. She fought down her discomfort at having Markie around her boss. She didn’t want any problems to crop up, and Jon Blackhawk’s mother would be livid if she knew he was even playing video games with his administrative assistant outside work. But she wouldn’t know. Hopefully.
CHAPTER FOUR
JOCELINE AND MARKIE walked toward the exit an hour later. They’d spent the balance on their game cards, although Mac and Jon had subsidized them, in a nice way.
“Thanks,” she told Jon at the door. “Markie had so much fun. So did I,” she added, but with averted eyes.
“It’s all right to admit that you like something I do,” he murmured dryly. “You so rarely approve of my actions.”
“We wouldn’t want you to get a superiority complex, would we, sir?” she asked.
“Why do you call him ‘sir’?” Markie asked.
“He’s my boss,” she replied.
“Oh. Like those guys in the military call their bosses ‘sir.’”
“Something like that,” Joceline agreed.
“Does he put you in ‘time-out’ if you do something bad?” Markie persisted.
“I would never do such a thing,” Jon assured him. “And your mother has never done anything bad.” He hesitated. “Nothing really bad,” he amended, giving her a speaking look.
“Menial tasks are not part of my job description, sir,” she reminded him. She smiled.
“Making decent coffee isn’t menial.” He sighed.
“That depends on your definition,” she retorted.
“You shoot real good,” Markie told the tall man. He was looking pointedly at the bulge under Jon’s jacket. “You got a gun.”
“That’s right,” Jon told him. “I work for the FBI.”
“I know. Mom talks about you all the time.”
“We should go,” Joceline said, a little flushed. “Thanks again,” she added. “I’ll see you Monday, sir.”
“Mommy …” Markie protested as she rushed him out the door.
Mac had been listening. He glanced at his brother. “Talks about you all the time, huh?”
“I’m sure he meant in a work-related way,” Jon said stiffly. “Joceline has worked for the agency for several years.”
“So have you.”
Jon glared at his older brother. “She works for me. Period.”
Mac pursed his lips, but he didn’t reply. He just chuckled and went back to the table where Winnie was waiting for him.
JON WAS OUT of humor when he walked into the office Monday morning. Joceline was still putting away her jacket and purse, having only just beaten him to work.
“You’re late,” he muttered.
She pointed to the clock over her desk. She was absolutely on time. It was eight on the dot.
He shrugged and went into his office to see what he had on his day planner. The phone rang while he was searching it.
His intercom buzzed. “Yes?” he replied.
There was a pause. “It’s for you, sir. A Mr. Harold Monroe.” She said the name pointedly.
He frowned and picked up the phone. “Blackhawk,” he said.
“Hiya,” he replied. “Remember me? I’m out now waiting for a new trial. I’ll beat that trafficking charge. I got a great lawyer.”
“Congratulations,” Jon said. “I’ll send over balloons.”
There was a pause. “Balloons?”
“For the celebration.”
“Cele … oh. Oh! Ha ha ha.”
“Was there something else?”
“No, nothing else. I just wanted you to know I was out.”
“Thank you.”
Another pause. “You made a mistake.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah. You want to be careful. My family gets even with people who hurt it. Always. I’ll
