Merciless by Diana Palmer

amused.
    â€œWe have a part-time administrative assistant,” she was reminded grimly. “And Phyllis Hicks does offer to make coffee for the boss.”
    â€œI don’t do menial chores,” Joceline reiterated. “It isn’t in my job description.”
    Betty sipped her coffee. “Yes, but, dear, she’d work for half what they pay you,” she added worriedly. “It’s a flat economy. So many people are out of work.”
    Joceline didn’t let her uneasiness show. She just smiled. “Mr. Blackhawk is used to me and he doesn’t like strangers.”
    â€œThat’s true. It’s just that he doesn’t make the major budgetary decisions.”
    Joceline stared at her. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
    Betty bit her lip. “It’s probably nothing…”
    â€œTell me.”
    â€œI overheard one of the senior agents discussing something Mr. Grier said at lunch.” Garon Grier was now the Special Agent in Charge for the Jacobsville satellite office, and he frequently showed up at the San Antonio office to have lunch with the San Antonio SAC. “Mr. Grier was disturbed at talk that they were going to reduce his office staff, and our own SAC apparently wondered out loud if we could make do with one administrative assistant for the Violent Crimes Squad here, with a part-time assistant.”
    Joceline didn’t move. She stared at the other woman with dawning horror. Betty had been with the Bureau for a long time, over ten years, and she had seniority.
    â€œI said it was probably just talk. He might have even been joking. Please don’t worry,” Betty said gently. “Probably they’ll come up with some other idea for saving money by cutting our travel budget. I just didn’t want it to come at you out of the blue. You’re a great paralegal. I know Judge Cummings would snap you up in a second for his office, or the assistant D.A. would for hers.”
    That was true. But no matter how good the working conditions, or how great the pay, those offices wouldn’t contain Jon Blackhawk. While that might be a good thing, in some respects, it was devastating in another.
    â€œJoceline, you’re not going to lose your job,” Betty said, her tone reassuring. “The SAC and Mr. Blackhawk would both fight for you.”
    They would. She knew that. Despite her insistence on the parameters of her duties, she was good at what she did, and she never slacked or avoided work. There were those unavoidable times when she was late for work…
    She looked up at Betty worriedly. “I’ve been late sometimes.”
    The older woman was sympathetic. “Everybody knows why,” she said surprisingly.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWe know your son has medical problems,” the older woman replied with a smile.
    â€œBut I never told anyone,” she stammered. “I mean, Mr. Blackhawk came by when I had to bring Markie to the hospital,” she began.
    â€œAnd he told all of us,” she said. “He didn’t want anyone assuming that you missed work for some frivolous reason. He’s quite fond of you, in his way. Although watching him react to you is funny. You do put his back up, as they say.”
    â€œKeeps him on his toes.” Joceline laughed. “He really does tend to brood.”
    â€œOh, coffee!” Phyllis said, smiling. “Can I have some, too?”
    â€œSure, sit down,” Joceline invited. She noted the younger woman’s clothing; it looked like the sort of thing Cammy Blackhawk would wear. But Phyllis had said her fatherworked as a police detective and Phyllis was in college part-time. Where would she get the money for expensive clothes? Maybe Joceline was just tired and getting irritated over minor matters.
    â€œWe were talking about our workload,” Betty commented.
    â€œIt’s so boring,” Phyllis said. “I wish I could be a