game. He grimaced when his mother started talking about his acting out in class and his inability to sit still.
“Nobody likes me,” he muttered.
“Yes, they do. But when you won’t stay at your desk, you make a lot of problems for your teacher. You aren’t the only student she has.”
He sighed. “It’s so boring in there,” he told her. “I already know all that stuff. But I’m younger than the other kids, and they make fun of me when I can’t run like they can, on account of my lungs.”
She felt that pain all the way to her shoes, but she knew from long and hard experience that bullies were a fact of life at any age. Unless the bullying was taking a dangerous toll, she found it best to let Markie handle those problems himself. Which he did. Once, when an older child tried to force him to give up his pocket money, he yelled “Thief!” at the top of his lungs until the owner came. He was reprimanded, but the bully got in trouble, too. He never tried to extort money again. For a sickly little boy, Joceline thought proudly, Markie had a stout and brave spirit. He wasn’t afraid of anything.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked.
“I’m very proud of you,” she said. “Your father would be proud of you, too, for the way you handle yourself when people try to pick on you.”
“My dad was brave, wasn’t he?”
“Very brave,” she replied.
“Don’t we have any pictures of him?” he asked.
This question was disturbing. She knew it would only get more difficult as time went by. “No, I don’t,” she said honestly. “I’m really sorry, Markie.”
“Did he look like me?”
She studied him with a sad smile. “Only a little,” she said, and hid her relief.
“Most of the other kids have daddies to take them places. I wish I knew him,” he told her.
She picked him up and hugged him close. “I wish you did, too.”
“You like your boss, don’t you?” he asked when she put him down.
She felt flushed. “He’s very nice.”
“He plays video games just like us,” he said.
“His brother plays them, too.”
“You don’t play much,” he accused.
She bent and kissed his forehead. “I have housework to do. Mothers are busy people. But I play with you on the weekends, don’t I?”
“Yeah. You do.” He grinned at her. “And I beat you.”
“Every time,” she agreed with a laugh.
“I might let you win next time,” he said thoughtfully.
“You might?”
He started to answer her playful reply when the phone rang.
Joceline picked up the receiver, still laughing from Markie’s teasing. “Hello?”
There was a pause. It was cold and unnerving.
“Hello?” she asked again.
“Your boss is first,” a gruff voice said. “Then you.”
“What?” she exclaimed.
A dial tone was the only response she got. She wanted to think it was a mistake, a wrong number. But she knew it wasn’t. She felt cold chills at the threatening words.
“Who was it, Mommy?”
“Just a wrong number, baby,” she said, and forced a smile. “I have to get your clothes ready for school tomorrow. I’ll be in the laundry room.”
“Okay,” he said absently, already lost in his video game.
Joceline closed the door of the playroom and leaned back against the wall with her eyes closed. She couldn’t remember ever feeling so afraid.
She almost called her boss to tell him about the threat, but she thought she’d involved him too much already in her private life. It wasn’t a good policy, to bring domestic problems to work. She didn’t want to jeopardize his job, or her own. She didn’t want him around Markie, either.
On the other hand, she had a sneaking hunch about the identity of her caller. She couldn’t prove it. She’d only heard Harold Monroe’s voice once, when he’d called brazenly to tell her boss he was out of jail. Strange, though, the voice seemed deeper than Monroe’s. But he could be disguising it.
THE CALL BOTHERED HER. So after she reminded Mr. Blackhawk about his day’s schedule and noted that he had ten minutes free before he was due in federal court to testify on a case, she walked into his office and closed the door.
He gave her a surprised look.
She sat down in front of the desk. “I’m sorry, but I had a phone call last night, and although I can’t swear to the identity of the caller, I think it might have been Harold Monroe.”
He sat up straighter. His black eyes narrowed. “What did he say?”
“That you were first, and I was next.”
His expression was hard to read. “Do you have an answering machine on your phone?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes, sir, and a ham radio and a plasma TV, a couple of sports cars …!”
“Ms. Perry,” he said curtly.
“Sorry, sir. I forgot myself. Won’t happen again.” She crossed her heart.
He shook his head. “It’s not a laughing matter.”
“I wasn’t laughing. It’s just that I don’t have the budget for that type of equipment,” she said with a straight face.
“I should have known that.”
Probably so, but, then, he and his brother—not to mention his seethingly rabid mother—were worth millions, if the gossip was true. She didn’t doubt that he could walk into the nearest electronics store and purchase the highest-ticket item it contained without blinking an eye. Joceline was on a much stricter budget.
“You live in an unsecured apartment house,” he said, thinking aloud.
“We have locks on the doors and a telephone.”
He glared at her. “Locks keep honest people out. That’s all they do.”
She folded her hands in her lap. “Over the years that I’ve worked here,” she began, “I’ve heard a lot of people make threats. I don’t know of a single one that actually turned into an incident.”
“Yes, well I do,” he said curtly. “I won’t take chances with your
