Untameable: Merciless. Diana Palmer
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he must get it from his father or someone else in his family,” he said easily.
Joceline went pale. “You think so? I’d better check and make sure nothing was taken.” Which brought back the enormity of having her apartment ransacked. She was terrified and trying not to show it, because she didn’t want to upset Markie
She went quickly from room to room and found that though she’d thought nothing else had been touched, she was wrong. There were papers scattered, drawers askew, even chair cushions upended.
“What in the world could they have been looking for?” she wondered uneasily.
“What sort of important papers do you keep here, besides that diary?” Rourke asked, nodding toward the diary that she was holding so tightly in one hand.
She pushed back her hair and looked around worriedly. “Nothing much. The usual bills and important papers. Birth certificates.”
“Are they all here?”
She went to the folder where she kept her personal documents, in a cheap cardboard filing cabinet, and pulled out the file folder. There was nothing that would prove anything. She’d been very careful about that.
She opened the folder and looked inside, and sighed with helpless relief. “Everything’s right here,” she said, and laughed unsteadily.
Rourke’s eyes were narrow and thoughtful. He wasn’t going to tell her that there were ways to collect documents without physically removing them. Any good agent carried a tiny camera, often disguised as a cigarette lighter or pen. A lock on a diary was so simple to open that a beginner could do it with ease, and without leaving any telltale mark of tampering. She was unusually worried about that diary and some of her important papers. Why?
She saw his mind working and her face tautened. “Don’t pry.”
“Was I prying?” he exclaimed, and grinned.
“You were thinking about it,” she accused.
“Pretty and smart and reads minds, too,” he teased.
She flushed. “Let’s leave it at ‘smart.’”
“And doesn’t like flattery. I’m taking notes,” he added. He smiled at her. “How would you feel about living in Africa?”
“I am not leaving the country with you,” she said firmly.
“I have a nice little place there in Kenya, with a pet lion.”
“A lion? You got a lion?” Markie was out of his chair in a flash, looking up at the tall blond man. “Could I pet it?”
“You could even ride him,” Rourke assured him with a big smile. “He’s very tame. I raised him from a cub. Poachers got his mum.”
“Oh, that’s very sad,” Markie said. “I would feed him hamburgers, if I had a lion.”
“I don’t think they’d like it if you tried to keep him in your apartment,” Rourke assured him.
“These two guys in England did just that.” Joceline chuckled. “It was viral on the web about two years ago. Two boys bought a lion cub and kept it in their apartment, then they had to let it go to a preserve in Africa because it got so big. They went to see it, despite people warning that it was wild and would attack them. But it ran right up to them and put its paws on their shoulders and started rubbing its head against them. It even took them to see its mate.” She sighed. “I cried like a baby, watching it. They had the story on the news. Afterward, I sent a little check to the foundation that took in the boys’ pet.”
“Wild animals aren’t so very wild after all,” Rourke agreed. “Pity so many people see them as a way to quick profits.”
“Oh, I do agree,” Joceline said.
“See how much we have in common?” he asked.
“I want to go to Africa and see his lion,” Markie announced. “Can we go now?”
“Logistics aside,” Joceline told him gently, “I do have a job and you have to go to school tomorrow.”
“Oh.” He thought about that for a minute. “Can we go Saturday, then?”
Both adults laughed.
“Children make impossible things seem so uncomplicated,” Rourke remarked when Markie had gone back to his program and Joceline was serving up cups of strong black coffee. He wondered if her budget would stretch to giving free coffee to visitors, and decided that he’d bring her a pound of his special South African coffee next time he came over.
“Yes. Markie’s had a hard time of it,” she remarked with a sigh. “He has asthma and his lungs aren’t strong. We spend a lot of time in doctors’ offices.”
“There are allergy shots,” he said helpfully.
“He takes them,” she said. “And they help. But if he’s stressed or exposed to viruses, he gets sick easier than most kids do.”
“He’s a fine little boy,” he remarked, glancing at him. “You’ve done well.”
“Thanks.”
The diary was lying beside her right hand. She hadn’t let it out of her sight since they’d been in the apartment. It wasn’t really his business, but he was quite curious about what dark secrets she was keeping.
“What are you going to do with that?” he asked, indicating it.
“Tear it up and burn it,” she said at once. “It must never be read by anyone except me. Ever.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Stop speculating.”
His eyebrows arched.
“My, you can say a lot without opening your mouth,” she muttered.
“Facial expressions 101,” he replied.
“Will they come back, you think?” she asked worriedly.
He shook his head. “Either they found what they were looking for, or it wasn’t here.”
“Found …?” She was staring at him with stark horror. She looked again at the diary. It was locked. Then she remembered something she’d heard from a visitor from a covert agency, about how easy it was to pick a lock and photograph a document. Her face went pale.
“Joceline,” he said gently, reading her horror, “what do you have in there that’s so frightening?”
“A great source of blackmail if I were rich,” she said heavily. She smoothed her hand over the diary. “But I’m not rich. And I can’t imagine what use anyone else would have for it.” That wasn’t quite true. The right person could do a lot of damage with the information in that little book. She shuddered to think what a criminal like Monroe could do with it.
“You mustn’t worry,” Rourke said gently. “I’ll check around and see what I can dig out. I have all sorts of sources.”
She searched his expression worriedly. “I’m not afraid for myself. I don’t want anyone else hurt.”
“You think someone else could be?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
“What tangled webs we weave,” he murmured, alluding to a poem about deception.
“Indeed.” She sipped rapidly cooling coffee. “We make choices. Then we live with them.”
“Do you think you made the right one?” he asked.
She smiled. “I made the only one I could.” She looked toward her son, who was oblivious to everything except the Japanese manga on the television. “I’ve never regretted it.”
“He’s quite a boy.”
“Thanks.”