LITMIR.BIZ

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the Bureau.”

      Jon lifted an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a stickler for rules, when you’re notorious for breaking them?”

      “Hey, we all mature. Some of us just do it later than others.”

      “True.”

      “Have you bought the new Halo game?”

      Jon smiled. “I bought it a long time ago, but it’s still sitting on the shelf at home.”

      “You and World of Warcraft.” Kilraven sighed, shaking his head. “My young brother-in-law, Matt, is crazy for it. When he’s not in school, he’s online, grouping with other people to kill monsters. His latest friend is a sixty-four-year-old grandmother of three. They do dungeons together.”

      Jon whistled. “Does she know his age?”

      “Oh, yes. And he also plays with a group from a nursing home. They all have internet connections, and most of them play WoW. It’s their sole entertainment now, since they’re physically handicapped and can’t socialize with the world at large.” He smiled. “You know, that’s not a bad thing. It keeps their hand and eye coordination going, and gives them a window into the whole world.”

      “I know. I play, too. What’s Matt’s WoW gamer handle?”

      “One of his toons is an eightieth-level Death Knight named Kissofdeaths,” Kilraven said.

      Jon’s eyes bulged. “That’s Matt? I’ve been doing random dungeons with him! He tanks and I heal with my druid.”

      “I’ll have to tell him. He’ll roll on the floor laughing.”

      “Don’t you dare,” Jon warned. “Now that I know who he is, I’ll ride him high.”

      Kilraven pulled into the parking lot of a local Mexican restaurant and turned off the vehicle. He looked at Jon. “They cut Harold Monroe loose,” he said quietly.

      “Don’t you start. Joceline told me already. She’s worried, too. Listen,” he said with faint exasperation, “the guy is a total idiot. He can’t even walk and chew gum at the same time!”

      “He’s had his finger in every illegal pie in San Antonio for years. He’s been accused of petty theft, running a gambling operation, not to mention houses of prostitution, and now this latest charge, pimping immigrant girls. He sleazed out of the other charges, but you and Joceline tracked down witnesses to have him prosecuted for kidnapping the teen daughter of illegal immigrants for a local brothel,” the older man said grimly. “He swore that he’d have the case dropped and he’d get even if he ever got out. He’s been in jail for three months waiting trial and he’s already spent more time in solitary confinement than any other prisoner they’ve got.”

      “Which only proves that he gets caught every time.”

      “That won’t do you much good if he gets caught after he’s offed you,” Kilraven reminded him.

      “I’m street smart,” Jon said. “I have built-in radar when it comes to possible ambushes. You should remember that I’ve never had a speeding ticket.”

      “At the speeds you travel, I’m still amazed.”

      Jon grinned. “I always know where they’re hiding to catch people.”

      That was true. It had dumbfounded Kilraven the first time Jon told him to slow down because there was a Department of Public Safety car sitting under a bridge over the next hill. Kilraven had just laughed, but he slowed down. Sure enough, when they topped the hill, there was the car, backed under a bridge out of sight.

      “Some ability, and you a cop,” Kilraven accused.

      Jon shrugged. “It wouldn’t do for a senior FBI agent to be caught for speeding in his own jurisdiction,” he said.

      “You shouldn’t be speeding in the first place,” Kilraven reminded him.

      “Everybody speeds. I just don’t get caught.”

      “There will come a day,” his brother predicted.

      “When it does, I’ll pay the fine,” Jon replied. “Are we going to eat or talk?”

      Kilraven popped his seat belt and opened the door. “Okay, hide your head in the sand about Monroe. But please keep your doors locked at night and be aware of your surroundings when you’re working late.”

      “You’re worse than Cammy.”

      “I am not,” Kilraven said huffily. “I haven’t sent one single unattached woman to your office for nefarious purposes.”

      “I guess you haven’t.”

      They walked toward the restaurant. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever noticed what’s right under your nose.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Joceline,” Kilraven replied easily. “She’s a fine young woman. Needs a helping hand with her fashion sense, but she’s intelligent and quick-thinking.”

      “You just like her because she knows sixteenth-century Scottish history,” Jon accused, because the subject was his brother’s passion.

      “She knows European history, as well. And seventeenth-century American history.”

      “Yes, she was spouting it to Cammy’s candidate yesterday. She tied her up in knots. The woman was going on and on about fashion and Joceline cut her off at the ankles with historical references to dress codes.”

      “Told you she was smart.”

      “She is smart.” He looked at Kilraven. “But I don’t want to get married. Not for years yet. I’m just thirty!”

      “Almost thirty-one, little brother,” Kilraven said affectionately. “And you really don’t know what you’re missing.”

      “If I don’t know, I can’t miss it. Now let’s get something to eat,” he said quickly, cutting the other man off.

      Kilraven chuckled as he followed him into the restaurant. Jon had actually taken Joceline on a date once, some years back. It had been a strange aftermath, including a hospital visit and some threats of legal charges. Jon never spoke of it. He kept secrets. But so did his brother. No doubt he didn’t like remembering that his drink had been spiked right under his nose.

       CHAPTER TWO

      “BUT SHE’S SUCH a sweet girl,” Cammy argued over the phone. “She’s pretty and she knows all the right people!”

      “She spent thirty minutes giving me news bulletins on the latest fashions and hairstyles,” Jon muttered.

      There was an exasperated sigh. “At least she’s better dressed than that acid-tongued secretary of yours!”

      “Administrative assistant,” Jon corrected. “And Joceline at least manages within her budget. She doesn’t have to borrow to buy clothes.”

      “It does show,” came the sarcastic reply.

      Jon frowned. “Cammy, don’t you remember being poor?” he asked quietly.

      “I do remember, and I’m your mother, so stop calling me by my first name.”

      “Sorry, force of habit. Mac does it all the time.”

      “Call him McKuen, if you please. I hate that nickname.”

      “So does he.”

      “Your secretary has a child out of wedlock,” Cammy continued, unabated. “I hate having you associated with someone like that.”

      He felt himself bristling. “We live in the twenty-first century,” he objected.

      “Yes, and morality is all that separates us from savagery,” she shot back. “We have

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