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He was getting ready to leave for lunch with his brother, McKuen Kilraven, when Joceline came to the doorway. She wasn’t smiling.
“What’s up?” he asked.
She hesitated. “They cut Harold Monroe loose this morning.”
He rolled his eyes. “Is my life insurance policy current?” he drawled.
She shook her head. “It isn’t funny. I mean, Monroe manages to fumble everything he does, but he did attack a policeman with a Bowie knife when you had him arrested.”
It was ironic that another man who’d made terrible threats to Jon earlier in the year had died of a heart attack in prison the day before he was due to be released. Joceline had thought her boss was safe, and had breathed a sigh of relief. But it didn’t last. A few days later, Monroe was arrested for human trafficking and charged and swore vengeance against the people who had landed him in jail, including Jon.
“Monroe came at the policeman with a Bowie knife, tripped on the carpet, went head-over-heels and stuck the knife in his own leg,” he reminded her with twinkling black eyes. “Then he tried to have the policeman prosecuted for assault.”
“I understand some of the people in our legal system are still chuckling over that one,” she agreed. “But even people who fumble sometimes manage to follow through on threats.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “If he ever kills me, you can stand over my grave and say you told me so. I’m sure I’ll hear you from wherever I am.”
She didn’t like that thought. She averted her eyes. “Anyway, the district attorney’s office felt you should be aware of Monroe’s parole status.”
“I’m very grateful. You can pass that along to Mary Crawford at your leisure.”
She grinned. Mary was one of their ablest assistant D.A.s and would probably win the big office one day.
Jon was reading her expressions. “Even if she gets to be D.A., you aren’t going to work for her,” he said firmly. “I’m too old to start breaking in new employees. The one we’ve got part-time is twisting my nerves raw.”
“Phyllis Hicks is a nice girl,” Joceline protested. “Just because she messed up one deposition …”
“Messed it up!” he exclaimed. “The woman can’t even spell!”
“The spellchecker was malfunctioning,” she said defensively.
“Joceline, she’s in college part-time. They’re supposed to teach you basic grammar in school before you even get to college, aren’t they?” He threw up his hands. “Every time I go online, I see people using the contraction for ‘it is’ for the possessive form, using ‘there’ for ‘their,’ giving personal pronouns for inanimate objects …!”
She held up a hand. “Sir, we can’t all be brilliantly literate. And there is the spellchecker function on all modern computers.”
He glared at her. “Civilization will fail. You mark my words. If people can’t spell, it’s just a short jump to not being able to read instructions at all. Havoc will result.”
It was his pet peeve. She just shook her head. “Havoc can’t result from not reading instructions.”
“Wait until some idiot strikes a match next to an oxygen tank and tell me that again.”
Her eyes brightened. “There was this guy on the Miami Vice TV series—I have it on DVD—who walked into an illegal drug processing operation with a lit cigarette and blew up the whole building …!”
“Don’t tell me. You still watch the A-Team, too.” He rolled his eyes.
“They had to knock out B.A., Mr. T’s character, every time they flew somewhere because he was terrified of airplanes,” she chuckled.
“There are all sorts of programs on television,” he began.
“Yes. How wonderful for people who can afford cable or satellite reception.” She sighed dreamily. “It’s wonderful to have a DVD player, even if it’s old.”
He was shocked. He’d never inquired about her finances. But now he took a closer look at her. Her clothing seemed serviceable, but quite old. Not that he cared much about women’s fashions, but what she was wearing seemed several years out-of-date. Her shoes were nicely polished, but worn and scuffed.
She blushed when she noticed his intent scrutiny. “There’s nothing wrong with dressing conservatively,” she muttered.
His eyebrows arched. “God forbid they should put you in stocks,” he commented.
“We don’t live in Massachusetts and we aren’t mucking about in the seventeenth century,” she pointed out.
“Point taken.” He sighed. “Is my brother going to pick me up for lunch?”
She put a finger to her forehead and closed her eyes. “I see a black SUV pulling into the parking lot as we speak.” She opened one eye and looked past him out the window.
He threw up his hands and walked out the door.
Joceline grinned to herself. She liked winding him up. She did it often. He was far too somber. He needed to loosen up a little and stop taking life too seriously.
Then she thought about her own situation and sighed. It was just as well that she had a sense of humor, or she’d be dead herself. Her life was no bed of roses. However, it was just as well to smile as to cry. Neither would change anything.
“YOU’RE OUT OF SORTS AGAIN,” Kilraven mused, eyeing the brother who resembled him so much. Well, they had the same hair color, but Kilraven kept his hair short, and Jon’s eyes were very dark, where Kilraven’s were pale gray and glittery. They were half brothers, but that didn’t stop them from being close.
“Cammy’s getting on my nerves,” Jon said tersely. “It was another dizzy debutante yesterday morning. I had half an hour on fashion and hairstyles.”
Kilraven glanced at him as he pulled into traffic. “You could use a little fashion sense. No offense.” He chuckled.
“I dress quite well, thank you,” Jon said, referring to his three-piece watered gray silk suit.
“You’re elegant, all right,” said Kilraven, dressed in khaki slacks and a white polo shirt. “But your hair’s way out of style.”
“I’m Lakota,” he pointed out. “Nothing wrong with long hair.”
“You’re Cherokee, too,” came the droll reply.
Jon sighed. “I like my roots and my culture.”
Kilraven smiled. “So do I.”
Jon glanced at him. “You don’t show it.”
He shrugged. “I’m not defined by my ancestry.”
Jon glared. “Neither am I. But I prefer the Native American side of it.”
“I wasn’t making accusations,” the older man said blithely. “You’re just bent out of shape because Cammy wants you to get married yesterday and present her with a dozen grandkids.”
“Aren’t you and Winnie working on that?” Jon asked dryly, referring to Kilraven’s new wife, Winnie Sinclair from Jacobsville.
Kilraven chuckled. “Yes, we are. I can’t wait.”
“I’m glad you can finally let go of the past,” Jon said with affection. Kilraven’s wife and child had been brutally murdered seven years earlier. He’d never dreamed that his older brother would ever get married again. It delighted him that Kilraven had found such a kind and loving partner.
“You ever going to get married?”
Jon grimaced. “Not to any of Cammy’s idiot candidates.”
He laughed. “This one wasn’t from an escort service …?”
“I don’t know.” He pursed his lips. “I need to have Joceline run a background check on her, just to see.”
“Illegal, unless she’s applying for a job with the Bureau.”
Jon lifted an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a stickler for rules, when you’re notorious for breaking them?”
“Hey, we all mature. Some of us just do it later than others.”
“True.”
“Have you bought the new Halo game?”
Jon smiled. “I bought it a long time ago, but it’s still sitting on the shelf at home.”
“You and World of Warcraft.” Kilraven sighed, shaking his head. “My young brother-in-law, Matt, is crazy for it. When he’s not in school, he’s online, grouping with other people to kill monsters. His latest friend is a sixty-four-year-old grandmother of three. They do dungeons together.”
Jon whistled. “Does she know his age?”
“Oh, yes. And he also plays with a group from a nursing home. They all have internet connections, and most of them play WoW. It’s their sole entertainment now, since they’re physically handicapped and can’t socialize with the world at large.” He smiled. “You know, that’s not a bad thing. It keeps their hand and eye coordination going, and gives them a window into the whole world.”
“I know. I play, too. What’s Matt’s WoW gamer handle?”
“One of his toons is an eightieth-level Death Knight named Kissofdeaths,” Kilraven said.
Jon’s eyes bulged. “That’s Matt? I’ve been doing random dungeons with him! He tanks and I heal with my druid.”
“I’ll have to tell him. He’ll roll on the floor laughing.”
“Don’t you dare,” Jon warned. “Now that I know who he is, I’ll ride him high.”
Kilraven pulled into the parking lot of a local Mexican restaurant and turned off the vehicle. He looked at Jon. “They cut Harold Monroe loose,” he said quietly.
“Don’t you start. Joceline told me already. She’s worried, too. Listen,” he said with faint exasperation, “the guy is a total idiot. He can’t even walk and chew gum at the same time!”
“He’s had his finger in every illegal pie in San Antonio for years. He’s been accused of petty theft, running a gambling operation, not to mention houses of prostitution, and now this latest charge, pimping immigrant girls. He sleazed out of the other charges, but you and Joceline tracked down witnesses to have him prosecuted for kidnapping the teen daughter of illegal immigrants for a local brothel,” the older man said grimly. “He swore that he’d have the case dropped and he’d get even if he ever got out. He’s been in jail for three months waiting trial and he’s already spent more time in solitary confinement than any other prisoner they’ve got.”
“Which only proves that he gets caught every time.”
“That won’t do you much good if he gets caught after he’s offed you,” Kilraven reminded him.
“I’m street smart,” Jon said. “I have built-in radar when it comes to possible ambushes. You should remember that I’ve never had a speeding ticket.”
“At the speeds you travel, I’m still amazed.”
Jon grinned. “I always know where they’re hiding to catch people.”
That was true. It had dumbfounded Kilraven the first time Jon told him to slow down because there was a Department of Public Safety car sitting under a bridge over the next hill. Kilraven had just laughed, but he slowed down. Sure enough, when they topped the hill, there was the car, backed under a bridge out of sight.
“Some ability, and you a cop,” Kilraven accused.
Jon shrugged. “It wouldn’t do for a senior FBI agent to be caught for speeding in his own jurisdiction,” he said.
“You shouldn’t be speeding in the first place,” Kilraven reminded him.
“Everybody speeds. I just don’t get caught.”
“There will come a day,” his brother predicted.
“When it does, I’ll pay the fine,” Jon replied. “Are we going to eat or talk?”
Kilraven popped his seat belt and opened the door. “Okay, hide your head in the sand about Monroe. But please keep your doors locked at night and be aware of your surroundings when you’re working late.”
“You’re worse than Cammy.”
“I am not,” Kilraven said huffily. “I haven’t sent one single unattached woman to your office for nefarious purposes.”
“I guess you haven’t.”
They walked toward the restaurant. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever noticed what’s right under your nose.”
“What do you mean?”
“Joceline,” Kilraven replied easily. “She’s a fine young woman. Needs a helping hand with her fashion sense, but she’s intelligent and quick-thinking.”
“You just like her because she knows sixteenth-century Scottish history,” Jon accused, because the subject was his brother’s passion.
“She knows European history, as well. And seventeenth-century American history.”
“Yes, she was spouting it to Cammy’s candidate yesterday. She tied her up in knots. The woman was going on and on about fashion and Joceline cut her off at the ankles with historical references to dress codes.”
“Told you she was smart.”
“She is smart.” He looked at Kilraven. “But I don’t want to get married. Not for years yet. I’m just thirty!”
“Almost thirty-one, little brother,” Kilraven said affectionately. “And you really don’t know what you’re missing.”
“If I don’t know, I can’t miss it. Now let’s get something to eat,” he said quickly, cutting the other man off.
Kilraven chuckled as he followed him into the restaurant. Jon had actually taken Joceline on a date once, some years back. It had been a strange aftermath, including a hospital visit and some threats of legal charges. Jon never spoke of it. He kept secrets. But so did his brother. No doubt he didn’t like remembering that his drink had been spiked right under his nose.
CHAPTER TWO
