She walked into the lobby and up to the desk, to ask which room in ICU he was in and if she could see him. But they’d already moved him out of ICU into a room, she was told. Her heart lifted. He couldn’t be dying if they’d done that!
It turned out to be a private room on the second floor, very clean and bright. She stopped in the doorway, gripping her purse, waiting for Cammy to explode out into the hall and tell her to go away.
Jon turned his head on the pillow and spotted her. His dark eyes brightened. “Come in.”
She looked around warily.
“She’s not here.” His voice was strained. “She’s gone shopping with the fashion adviser.”
She laughed then walked to the bed and looked down at him quietly. “I’m glad you’re better.”
“I’m better?” he asked with a grimace.
“You must be, or you’d still be occupying a cubicle in ICU,” she assured him. “I called the office but they said I didn’t have to go in today. I told them I was coming to see you,” she added. “Everyone sends their regards and some of the other agents in your squad are coming to see you as soon as visitors are allowed.”
“I work with a great group of people.” He drew in a painful breath. “I’m going home to Oklahoma, to the ranch, when they release me. I won’t be able to work at the office for a couple of weeks, and the scenery is better there. So is the security,” he added grimly. He looked at her pointedly. “You’re coming with me.”
Her heart flipped over. “I … I … what?”
“You and the child,” he said curtly. “Rourke told my brother what happened. You’re not going to be killed because I made an enemy.”
Her legs felt wobbly. “I can’t go to Oklahoma,” she said quickly. “I’d have to take a leave of absence and take Markie out of school …!”
“Details that can be worked out quite easily. I sent Mac to deal with all that.” He waved an elegant hand and winced at the movement.
“But …!”
“Don’t argue,” he said heavily. “I’m in no condition for a fight.”
She bit her lower lip. There were a dozen good reasons why she shouldn’t let Markie be anywhere around this man, ever. She couldn’t find an argument that would work without telling the truth, which would never do.
“It’s a nice ranch,” he said curtly. “Your son loves animals. He can even ride a horse.”
“No!”
“Joceline, both Mac and I were riding ponies at the age of three,” he told her. “I wouldn’t let him get hurt. We have cowboys trained to work with disabled children who come to the ranch to ride our horses.”
“You do?” She was surprised. She’d never thought that disabled people could ride.
“Yes.” He shifted and grimaced. He was sore and sick. He hated being confined to a bed, being hospitalized. It was the first time in his law enforcement career that he’d suffered a bullet wound. He could remember vividly the sense of sudden slowing when the bullet hit. He’d not felt the pain at first, just a hard blow, like a fist in his back. Then everything slowed down and he saw the sidewalk coming up to hit him, and felt blood in his mouth. It had been an absolute shock.
“You shouldn’t be moving around,” Joceline said, concerned. “You might reopen the wound.”
He glared at her. “I have my mother to harass me about such things. I don’t need you to help her!”
She bit her lip again. Faint color touched her cheeks. “Sorry. Slip of the tongue. Won’t happen again.” She crossed her heart.
He laughed despite himself and then groaned, because it hurt.
“Another slip. Very sorry,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to see you, to make sure that you were all right.”
“I got shot,” he said icily. “I’m not all right!”
“You’re not dead, either,” she reminded him.
He sank back on the pillows and fiddled with the lightweight sheet and blanket that covered him. The hospital gown was barely visible above it. “I’m freezing to death,” he muttered. “I want a real blanket and a comforter. And I want to go home!”
The nurse stuck her head around the door and grimaced. “Sir, could you complain in a little quieter manner?” she asked gently. “There’s a gentleman next door recuperating from a knife wound. He’s trying to sleep.”
Jon glared at her.
She cleared her throat, and walked back out.
Jon muttered unspeakable things under his breath.
“Your mother will have kittens if you even suggest taking me to Oklahoma,” Joceline told him firmly. “I cannot work in a combat zone.”
He sighed. “Neither can I, really, but what sort of choice do we have?” he asked. His black eyes narrowed. “Rourke told me that you had a break-in at your apartment and that there was a harassing phone call.”
She looked as tired as she felt. “Yes. We had to call the police and have them investigate. Markie was scared to death until one of the investigators gave him a piece of chewing gum and enthused over his Diego toys,” she added, alluding to a children’s program on TV.
Jon was surprised. “Not your typical investigator.”
“It was Rick Marquez,” she said, laughing. “He’s sort of in a class all his own. He knows Rourke, too, apparently.”
“Most people in law enforcement know Rourke, or know about him,” he added. He shifted and grimaced again. “I don’t want you alone in your apartment until we get the case wrapped up. Peppy may have been involved in my niece’s murder. If that’s the case, and he’s helping Monroe get even with me, he’d have no problem shooting another child,” he added meaningfully. He didn’t say that he was convinced that Monroe would never have been able to carry out the shooting without flubbing it.
She knew what he was referring to. It made her pale. “That being said, I would feel safer at your ranch. I understand you have at least one retired federal agent on your payroll.”
“We have three,” he corrected, “plus a former hit man for the mob.”
She stared at him without blinking.
He laughed. “He was very young and desperate when he did his first job. He was tricked into it and he didn’t fire the fatal shot. He did go to prison and he was able to redeem himself before he became a hardened criminal. He did his time and paid the price. It was twenty-five years ago. He needed a job when he got out and he’d worked with livestock at the prison where he served his time. I talked to him there several times when I was interviewing convicts on current cases.”
She was still leery.
“You’ll understand when you meet him. I’ll have our private jet fly you and Markie up there tomorrow.”
“Your mother …”
“She’s on her way to Paris tonight, with the fashion consultant, to see the new spring lines,” he said in a droll tone. “I promised to call her daily about my progress. She’ll never know you were there.”
“You should tell her,” she said worriedly.
“If I do, you’ll never arrive. She’ll commandeer the plane and land you on a desert island somewhere.”
She laughed. “Okay.”
“It’s