Keely hugged her, muttering sympathetic things, while Clark patted her on the shoulder and said that it would all blow over.
Winnie blew her nose and wiped her eyes. “I’m going to put in my resignation at the police station and at 911 dispatch and come home,” she sobbed. “I’m a menace! Kilraven said I was taking up jobs that some other woman needed desperately, anyway. He said rich women who got bored should find some other way to entertain themselves!”
“That’s harsh,” Clark muttered. “I’ll have a talk with him.”
Winnie looked up at her sweet brother through tear-filled eyes. “Are you kidding? Kilraven makes Boone look civilized!”
“Well, we could ask Boone to speak to him,” Clark compromised.
Just as Winnie was starting to answer him, a Jacobsville police car came flying up the long driveway and skidded to a halt in front of the barn. A tall, black-haired, powerful-looking policeman got out and stalked toward them.
“Uh-oh,” Winnie whispered, going pale.
“Who is that?” Clark asked.
Winnie took a breath. “Kilraven,” she said heavily.
CHAPTER FOUR
WINNIE LOOKED LIKE a professional mourner. Her long, wavy blond hair was ruffled by the wind and her dark eyes were red from crying.
“It’s all right,” she said, trying to deflect trouble as Kilraven came to a stop, towering over her. “You didn’t need to come all the way out here to tell me I’m fired. I’m going to put in my resignation first thing tomorrow morning.”
He propped his hand on his holstered gun and stared down at her with glittering silver eyes. “Who asked you to quit?”
“You said I should,” she accused, and dabbed at new tears. “You said I needed to leave law enforcement to people who were qualified to work in it.”
The tall man grimaced. The tears were real. He’d been browbeaten into coming out here by his boss, Jacobsville Police Chief Cash Grier, protesting all the way because he thought Winnie was putting on an act for sympathy. But this was no act. His rage dissolved like tears on hot pavement.
“I could have gotten you killed,” Winnie told him, red-eyed, and started crying all over again. “That man held a pistol to your head!”
Kilraven’s perfect teeth clenched. “It wasn’t loaded.”
Winnie stared at him through a mist. “What?”
“It wasn’t loaded,” Kilraven repeated. “He was too drunk to realize the clip was missing.”
“Wouldn’t there still be one bullet chambered?” Winnie asked.
Kilraven shrugged. “Didn’t matter.”
Winnie frowned. “It didn’t matter? Why?”
He drew in a long breath. “He couldn’t remember how to get the safety off.”
Winnie was just looking at him now, not saying anything.
“But it could have ended in tragedy,” Kilraven continued quietly. “I mean, if he’d managed to actually fire the damned thing…” He left the rest unsaid.
Winnie blew her nose and wiped her eyes again. “I know.”
“They stuck you in that dispatch job with no real training,” he muttered. “Any big city 911 staff goes through a training program. Well, Jacobs County has one, too,” he conceded. “But the director thought you were just playing around, that you weren’t really serious about working in the 911 center since you worked full-time for us in the police department. So he just stuck you in as an assistant to one of the regulars and let you get on with it. He thought you’d fold after a few days, that you only took the job because you were bored with being at home, and that you thought working for the police and emergency dispatch was entertainment. I had a long talk with the director before I came here.”
“You did?” Winnie was fascinated. She hesitated. “You didn’t…hit him or anything?”
“I do not hit people,” the tall officer replied haughtily.
“That’s not what Harley Fowler says,” Keely murmured under her breath.
Kilraven glared at her. “That guy pulled a knife on me and threatened to cut off my…well, never mind what he threatened, he was lunging at me with it. It was hit him or shoot him.”
“How many pins did they have to put in his jaw?” Keely wondered aloud.
“It was better than having to have a bullet dug out,” Kilraven protested. “And I should know. I’ve had three bullets dug out, over the years, along with various bits of shrapnel, and I’m wearing two steel pins, as well. The pins hurt less.”
Winnie was studying him curiously.
“I’m not telling you where they are,” Kilraven said. “And shame on you for what you’re thinking!”
Winnie flushed. “You don’t know!”
“The hell I don’t,” he huffed. “My great-grandfather was a full-fledged shaman who could read minds.”
“That’s not what Harley Fowler says he was,” Keely interrupted.
He gave her an exasperated glance. “What does Harley Fowler know about me? I’ve never even met the man!”
“He doesn’t know you, but he plays poker with Garon Grier, who works with Jon Blackhawk, who’s your half brother,” Keely explained.
“Damn the FBI!” Kilraven cursed.
“Harley doesn’t belong to the FBI,” Winnie pointed out.
“Garon and my brother do,” Kilraven said. “And they can stop telling people lies about me and my family.”
“Jon is your family,” Winnie replied. “And Harley didn’t tell lies, he said your great-grandfather got mad at a local sheriff and smeared him with fresh meat and shoved him headfirst into a wolf den.”
“Well, the wolf den was empty at the time,” Kilraven defended his ancestor.
“Yes, but your great-grandfather didn’t know that.” Keely laughed.
Kilraven made a face at her. “You didn’t get that from Harley Fowler, you got it from Bentley Rydel.”
Keely blushed.
Kilraven threw up his hands. “You take your dog to a vet and expect him to stick to medicine, instead of which he pumps you for personal
