The public defender, a slender young man with his blond hair neatly trimmed, came down the hall carrying a plastic cup with black coffee in it. He made a face.
“Don’t you have anybody here who can make a decent cup of coffee?” he complained. “You could take rust off old cars with this stuff.”
“I make excellent coffee,” Joceline said dryly.
The visitor looked at her. “Why aren’t you making it, then?”
“It’s not in my job description, sir,” she said with a vacant smile. “I don’t do menial tasks.”
“You’re his secretary, and you won’t make him coffee?”
“I am not a secretary, I’m an administrative assistant and a paralegal,” Joceline corrected. “And Mr. Blackhawk would faint on the floor if I ever did such an odd thing here.”
“I wouldn’t faint,” Jon said indignantly. He paused. “I’d have heart failure.”
“Fortunately I know CPR,” Joceline said. “You’re safe with me, sir.”
Jon glared at her.
“Don’t make an enemy of her,” the public defender suggested. “If you drink coffee like this for long, you may have need of her medical training.” He made a face and put the cup down on Joceline’s desk.
“Please don’t do that,” she told him. “I’m not responsible for unsupervised beverages. If it spilled on a computer, the agency would have to ask you to replace it.”
“How would it spill on a computer?” he asked.
Joceline’s hand moved toward it. “It’s sitting in a very bad place,” she said, and indicated the laptop computer just inches away. “If my hand slipped …”
The public defender removed the coffee with a grimace. “I never,” he began.
“Give me that.” Jon took the cup of coffee, walked down the hall and dumped it into a potted ficus plant.
“How cruel!” Joceline accused when he returned and tossed the empty cup into the trash can beside her desk. “What did that poor plant ever do to you?”
“Nobody ever waters it,” he muttered. “It won’t complain. And don’t you dare,” he added narrowly.
She cleared her throat. “I don’t even know anyone who has connections to plant abuse societies.”
“With my luck you’d start one,” Jon muttered. “Come in. Harris, isn’t it?” he asked the public defender as he opened his office door.
“Bill Harris,” the defender said, nodding.
“Have a seat. Now what is it you need to discuss?”
JOCELINE was late because she had to finish typing up three letters, and then print them out since Jon needed hard copies of them. The printer ran out of ink and it took her forever to find the cartridges. Then it ran out of paper and she had to open another carton. She was looking at her watch and grimacing when she finished. She only had ten minutes to get to the day care facility before it closed. The owner was going to be furious. She’d been warned about this once before.
“What is it?” Jon asked when he noticed her expression.
“I have ten minutes before the day care closes,” she began.
“Get out of here,” he said easily. “I’ll finish up.”
She hesitated.
“Go on!”
She grabbed her purse. “Thank you, sir.”
“No problem.”
She made it, but with only two minutes to spare. The taut expression on the owner’s face when she arrived spoke volumes. Joceline was worried even more because there had been complaints about Markie’s behavior at the day care.
“If this happens again …” the woman began.
“It won’t,” Joceline promised. “I’ll arrange for someone to pick him up, if I’m ever asked to stay late again.”
The owner sighed. “You work for a federal office. I suppose you can’t keep regular hours.”
“It’s difficult,” Joceline agreed. “I need the job too much to refuse overtime.”
“My husband was a federal agent, many years ago,” the woman said surprisingly. “He was always on call.”
“I suppose it was rough for you, too.”
The woman looked surprised.
“I know the wives of a couple of our agents, including our Special Agent in Charge. They bite their fingernails when we’re on dangerous cases.”
The woman smiled. “I had two children and I couldn’t afford to put them in day care, so I stayed at home until they started school. Then I couldn’t find day care I could afford afterward, so I started my own business.”
Joceline smiled. “A wise solution.”
The woman nodded. She drew in a breath. “If you have to be late like this again, just call me. I have a girl who left to raise her own children. She’d be happy to keep Markie and she’d pick him up for you. Would you like her phone number?”
“Yes,” Joceline said at once, and wondered how she’d afford it.
She wrote the number down and gave it to Joceline. She smiled. “It won’t cost you an arm and a leg.”
“Your fees are unbelievably reasonable,” she pointed out.
The older woman chuckled. “Because I had to afford day care myself,” she replied. “I thought there should be a way to make it affordable to people on strangled budgets.”
“I’m very grateful.” Joceline grimaced. “My budget has gone past strangled to near homicide.”
“You could ask that handsome boss of yours for a raise.”
“How do you know he’s handsome?” she asked.
“His picture was in the paper after he and another agent caught one of the human traffickers they were looking for. Makes me sick what some people can do to helpless poor people in the name of profit. Imagine, using little kids in brothels …” She smiled. “Sorry, I hate people who exploit children. I tend to stand on a soapbox on the subject. I’ll get Markie for you.”
She brought the little boy out a couple of minutes later.
“Mommy!” Markie laughed, holding out his arms to be taken. “I learned how to draw a bird. Miss Ellie taught me! She said I did it real good!”
“You’ll have to show me. Tell Mrs. Norris good-night.”
“Good night, Mrs. Norris,” he said obediently, and smiled at her before he did a nosedive with his face into his mother’s throat and held on tight.
“Thanks,” Joceline said.
The older woman shrugged. “Men have no idea how tough it is on women who work,” she replied.
“None at all,” was the quiet reply.
“I had fun!” Markie said when they went into the small, sparsely furnished apartment and Joceline put the three door locks in place. “I got to show you my pictures!”
He handed her a file folder.
She sat down, worn to the bone, and opened it with no real enthusiasm. What she saw shocked her.
“Markie!” she exclaimed. “You drew this?”
“Yes! I saw that bird outside and I drawed him.”
“Drew him,” she corrected absently.