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!”
“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 information and then tells the whole community!”
“You don’t get to join the family unless we know everything about you,” Clark pointed out.
Kilraven scowled. “What family?” he asked suspiciously, and glanced at Winnie, who blushed as warmly as Keely had.
“The Jacobsville family,” Clark returned. “We’re not a town. We’re a big extended family.”
“You don’t live in Jacobsville, you live in Comanche Wells,” Kilraven retorted.
“It’s an extension of Jacobsville, and you’re avoiding the issue,” Clark said with a grin.
Kilraven’s wide, sexy mouth pulled up into a faint snarl. “I’m leaving. I don’t want to be part of a family.”
“With that attitude, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Winnie said under her breath.