Diana Palmer - Untameable

“I know a minister who was involved in a murder,” Jon said, tongue-in-cheek.

Harris laughed. “I know what you mean. But this kid was straight from the time he was old enough to walk. I talked to every relative he had and several friends, not to mention educators who taught him, vouched for him.”

“That’s a lot of legwork.”

“Yes, it is, and I did it on my own time. I believe in this kid. I want to help him. If I can get him a job, and make him understand that he has to stay away from his so-called friends, who are also out on parole, he might have a chance. He’s got a three-year-old kid,” he added heavily. “And a sweet young wife who adores him.”

“Sad case.” Jon was noncommittal. He’d heard this story so many times it was grating. It usually ended badly. But he wasn’t going to tell this naive but passionate new attorney that. Ideals should be worth something.

“The boy lives in Jacobsville. I thought, since your brother worked in Jacobsville with Cash Grier he might be willing to talk to the local parole officer and put in a good word for him, mention the bad crowd that he got in with and see if there’s some way he can be kept away from it,” the public defender said hopefully. “A good talking-to at the outset of his parole might do some good.”

Jon laughed. “It might at that. Okay. I’ll ask him.”

Harris brightened like a lightbulb turning on. “Thanks! I owe you one.”

“None of us in law enforcement want to see a man fail for one mistake. However,” he added solemnly, “if he steps out of line again, you’ll be talking to a brick wall if you ask for help.”

“I know that.”

Jon smiled. He’d talk to Mac. But he knew how this was going to go down, all the same.

“The guy’s a born loser,” Mac said predictably when Jon phoned him. “If he’s stupid enough to be led into crime, he’ll stay there. He’s a follower with no sense of judgment about other people.”

“I don’t doubt it. But I promised Harris I’d ask you to intervene. If the kid can be kept away from his old associates, it might help. You can say no. It’s not my problem.”

Mac sighed. “I suppose I could talk to Grier,” he said grudgingly. “But if Harris’s client gets into any more trouble, ever, I’ll be his worst nightmare.”

“I’ll be his second worst. Thanks.”

“Why are you making your own phone calls?” Kilraven asked suddenly. “Doesn’t your AA do that for you?”

“She didn’t come in this morning,” Jon said, and the worry he felt was reflected in his tone. “Didn’t call, either. That’s not like her.”

“Did you phone her apartment?”

“Yes. No answer.”

“Curious. Does she have enemies?”

Jon laughed in spite of himself. “I’m not likely to find her in a sack in the river, if that’s what you mean.”

“Sorry. I guess I’ve been in law enforcement too long.”

“Join the club. You and Winnie coming to dinner Friday night?”

“Yes, if Cammy isn’t going to be there.”

“Winnie likes Cammy!”

“I know, but we’ve both had the tirade from Cammy about her new candidate for your affections. She’ll be on a roll and we don’t want to spoil a perfect dinner with a lot of argument. If you get what I mean.”

Jon chuckled. “I haven’t invited her, if that’s a help.”

“Then you can expect us. Winnie will bring homemade rolls. I didn’t ask. She offered.”

“I’m amazed she can still manage to bend over the oven with her belly sticking out that far,” Jon remarked. “Cammy’s sure it’s going to be a boy because she’s big in front like that.”

“Childbirth is a mystery to most people. Not to Cammy. We’ll be over about six.”

“See you then.”

Jon hung up. He hadn’t let it show in his tone, but he was worried about Joceline. It was the first time she’d ever missed work without calling first. Something big must be up. He immediately thought of her son.

He picked up the phone and started calling hospitals.

JOCELINE was pacing the waiting room floor. She’d brought her knitting bag with her, but even that chore hadn’t diverted her. This had been a bad attack, the worst one yet. She’d tried to go into the cubicle with Markie, but the attending physician and a nurse had shooed her out in the kindest way possible. They needed to run tests, they explained.

It was hard to leave a child who sounded as if he were smothering to death. Joceline was beside herself. Markie was her whole life. What if he died this time? What if they couldn’t save him …?

“Joceline?”

She jumped and gasped at the sound of her boss’s voice behind her. She jerked around, astonished.

“It’s not like you,” he explained, “not to call, if you can’t make it to work. I figured it had to be something catastrophic.”

She bit her lower lip. “It’s Markie,” she said on a long breath. “A bad attack. The worst one he’s had yet.” She folded her arms over her small breasts. “They’re running tests.”

At least she had medical insurance, good insurance, from her job. But it wouldn’t cover all of the expense, and she didn’t know how she’d add another monthly payment to the bills she already had.

“What sort of attack?” Jon repeated. Her mind was busy. She hadn’t even heard him.

“He has asthma,” she said heavily. “In the spring and fall, colds go down into his chest. He has chest infections, sometimes pneumonia. There are new drugs, good ones, for his condition, and we use them. He has allergy shots every week, too. But his lungs are just weak. He’s never had an attack come on so quickly, or be this bad. I didn’t think I’d even get him here in time …” She bit her lip and turned away.

“Has he seen a specialist?”

“Yes. Lung specialists, allergists, the works.” She sighed. “I don’t even smoke,” she said plaintively.

He wondered how she managed to pay specialists. It would be rough for anyone, but especially for a single mother on a limited budget. He didn’t have to be told that a child with uncontrolled asthma was an expensive little person to treat. He’d had his own share of respiratory problems as a child, Cammy had once told him. He still had allergies, too.

Joceline looked worriedly at the door to the emergency room from which a white-coated physician with a stethoscope around his neck had just emerged.

“That’s Dr. Wagner,” she explained as she moved toward him. “He’s our family doctor.”

The tall, thin physician smiled as she approached. “It’s all right, Joceline, he’s doing very well. We’ll have the test results for you very soon. You have to stop worrying so much,” he added gently. “Odds are very good that he’ll outgrow the asthma, and that the allergies will respond to the shots and diminish. It just needs time.”

She let out a breath. “I try so hard to make him wear his jacket when it’s cool and a raincoat when it’s raining,” she muttered. “He whips them off the minute he gets out of my sight. Then he catches cold. There was a cold rain yesterday morning, and he went outside during play period without a coat and didn’t tell me until he woke up smothering this morning.”

Dr. Wagner chuckled. “Don’t blame yourself. He’s very sorry that he did it, more because of how upset you were than how dangerous it was to him,” he added. “He has a big heart for such a small child.”

“He gets picked on a lot at school because he can’t run like the other kids without getting out of breath,” Joceline said heavily. “And because he has to take shots for the allergies. Why are kids so mean to each other?”

“Why are there bullies?” Dr. Wagner replied. “I don’t know. I wish it was an issue that could be resolved. Now with cyberbullying so prevalent, a victimized child can see no peace even in his own home.”