Merciless by Diana Palmer Page B

Copper of little Melly Kilraven’s murder,” Joceline said quietly. “Kilraven still isn’t over it,” she added gently, “although he and his wife, Winnie, are expecting around the new year.” She smiled.“What a Christmas present they’re going to have this year if she goes into labor early!”
    â€œChristmas!” Betty exclaimed. “I haven’t even started shopping!”
    â€œIt isn’t even Thanksgiving yet,” she was reminded.
    â€œYes, but I usually have everything bought by August.” She laughed. “I’m efficient on the job. I wish I could be that efficient off it.”
    Joceline laughed, too. “Well, we all do what we can.”
    The phone rang. Joceline got to her feet. “Back to work. Thanks for the heads-up,” she added in a soft tone. “At least if I get the ax, I’ll be somewhat prepared. Perhaps I should start working up a résumé.”
    â€œWait,” Betty advised. “A lot of this is all talk. I don’t think the office can operate with just me taking a workload from the squad, and only a part-timer for Mr. Blackhawk all at once. I’d have a nervous breakdown. And I can’t persuade people to talk to me like you can. You’re marvelous at digging out information.”
    Joceline pursed her lips. “I can do that,” she agreed. “Maybe there’s work for a skip tracer,” she added, indicating a line of work that involved digging out information for detectives. “I might look good in a trench coat.”
    Betty laughed again.
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    Just before quitting time, the phone rang as Joceline was gathering things into her bag to take home, including the long file on Bart Hancock.
    Joceline picked up the phone. “Hello?”
    â€œMy love! It’s been so long!”
    She knew that voice. Its South African accent was unmistakable. She pictured a rugged, tanned face with an eye patch and blond hair in a long ponytail. “Rourke,” she muttered.
    â€œYou know you’re happy to have me around again,” he drawled. “Guess what? I’m going to be your shadow for a few weeks. Until the would-be perp stops making threats, at least.”
    â€œI can’t wait,” she replied. “Do you have body armor?”
    He hesitated. “Excuse me?”
    â€œBody armor,” she emphasized. “Riot gear.”
    â€œNo. But I can borrow some. Why will I need it?”
    â€œIf you attempt to shadow me, I’ll rub bear grease all over you and open the lion cage at the zoo,” she said sweetly.
    There was a slow, deep chuckle. “Joceline, my love, I have two tame lions who live with me back home in South Africa. I’m not intimidated by big cats. However, if you’d like to rub me all over with bear grease,” he added in a deep, velvety tone, “I can be in your office in two minutes flat. I’ll even run red lights!”
    She slammed the receiver down, her lips making a thin line. She muttered under her breath.
    A minute later, the phone rang again. She jerked it up and, without thinking, said, “If you call here one more time, Rourke, I’ll have you up for harassment!”
    There was a faint pause, as if she’d shocked the listener.Then Kilraven’s voice came over the line, deep and very somber.
    â€œJoceline, I’ve got some bad news.”
    â€œWinnie…?” she began worriedly, because she was fond of his wife. They often went shopping together.
    He swallowed. “Not Winnie. My brother…”
    â€œJon? Something’s happened to Jon?” She sounded almost hysterical and she didn’t care. Harold Monroe’s phone call came back to her in a flash of anguish. She gripped the phone, hard. “What happened?”
    â€œHe’s been shot. Critically. He’s at the Hal Marshall Memorial Medical Center… Hello? Joceline?”
    He was talking to himself. Joceline