Their Baby Girl...?
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Another crack, however veiled, about her weight. She could do without that, even though she’d gained a good twenty-eight pounds in the past two months. Before then, she’d stayed rail thin, actually losing weight because of an extra-long bout of morning sickness.
“Forever the gentleman. Thanks,” she waved him away, “but I’ll pass.” She opened the folder and spread it out on her desk. “I want to go through this file.”
Serial killers were not something a woman about to give birth should be concentrating on. Maybe that made him old-fashioned, he mused.
“You know, you could start thinking about decorating that spare bedroom of yours.” He knew from her brothers that she still hadn’t bought a single thing to reflect her pending motherhood.
C.J. looked at him sharply. Not him, too. He was the last one she would have thought would bother her about this. “Bad luck.”
He shook his head. “I never took you to be the superstitious type.”
Her shoulders rose and fell in a vague gesture. “We’re all superstitious in our own way.” It had taken her time to come to terms with this phase of her life, but now she wanted this baby, wanted it badly. And was afraid of wanting it. “I don’t like counting on anything unless it’s right there in front of me.”
Her comment surprised him. It wasn’t like her. “I thought I was supposed to be the cynical one.”
Her smile went straight to his inner core. It never failed to amaze him how connected he and this woman were. Even more so than he and his wife had been. As a rule he wasn’t given to close relationships, always keeping a part of himself in reserve. But there was something about C.J. that transcended that rule.
“Spend six years with someone,” she told him, “some bad habits are bound to rub off. But if you must know, you didn’t have anything to do with this one. My mother’s four aunts did a number on me once the cat was out of the bag.” Aided and abetted by her enduring trim figure, it had taken her five months to tell her family about her condition. They’d been wonderfully supportive, and ever so slightly annoyingly intrusive. “They had a dozen stories about miscarriages to tell me. Each.”
He leaned over the desk. A strand of her hair hung in her face, and he tucked it behind her ear. In typical obstinate behavior, she shook her head, causing it to come loose again. He wondered why he found that so damn attractive. He shouldn’t.
“You’re eight months along and the doctor gave you a clean bill of health. I don’t think you have to worry about miscarrying. Just about how to make the spineless wonder pay his fair share.”
Warrick was definitely too close—and making odd things happen inside her. C.J. pushed herself away from the desk—and her partner. “Warrick, I know that in your own twisted little way, you care about me. But get this through that thick head of yours. I don’t want anything from Tom Thorndyke. As far as I am concerned, this is my baby and only my baby.”
He crossed his arms before his chest. “Another case of the immaculate conception?”
Her temper was dangerously close to going over to the dark side. “Byron—”
He winced at the sound of his first name. One of these days, when he got a chance to get around to it, he was going to have it legally changed. Lord Byron had been his mother’s favorite poet while she was carrying him, but there was no reason that he had to suffer because of that.
“Okay, I’ll back off.”
“Thank you.”
He started to head for the door. “Want me to bring you back anything?”
She glanced at the folder on her desk. “Just the Sleeping Beauty Killer’s head on a platter.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Afraid that’s not the special of the day.” Warrick paused for a moment longer, looking at her. There was affection in his eyes, as well as concern. “Take some personal time.”
She just waved him off, then watched appreciatively as he walked away. The man had one hell of a tight butt.
“Damn hormones,” she muttered to herself as she began to pore over the folder he had given her.
Her hands braced on the arms of her office chair, C.J. pushed herself up to her feet. It was late, but she wasn’t finished yet. Time for her hourly sojourn to the bathroom.
She hated this lumbering girth that had become hers. In top condition since the age of ten when she’d picked up her first free weight to brain her older brother, Brian—an occurrence her father had prevented at the last moment—C.J. hated physical restrictions of any kind. The last two months of her pregnancy had forced her to assume a lifestyle she disliked intensely.
The only thing that made it bearable was knowing that she was doing it for her baby’s good. But it was rough being noble, especially as she watched War rick team up with other people, handling cases she wanted to be handling. She’d never been one to sit on the sidelines and it was killing her.
“Ah, I see you’re ready to go.”
Turning around, C.J. saw Diane Jones coming toward her. She didn’t remember making any arrangements to meet her mother at the office. “What are you doing here?”
“Is that any way to greet your mother?” Diane pressed a quick kiss to her daughter’s temple. “Ethan had a deposition to take not far from here. He dropped me off.” She tapped her wristwatch. “Chris, your Lamaze class starts in half an hour. At this time of day, it might take us that long to get there. Let’s go.”
She’d only gotten halfway through the details in the reports. Besides, she wasn’t in the mood to stretch and lie on the floor. Class wasn’t as much fun now that Sherry and Joanna were gone, each having given birth.
“I was thinking of not going,” she told her mother.
Protests had never gotten in Diane’s way. She hooked her arm through her daughter’s, tugging her in the direction of the door.
“Fine. And you can continue thinking about it on the way there.” She used her “mom” voice, the one that had allowed her to govern four energetic boys and a daughter whose energy level went off the charts. “Let’s go, Chris. Don’t make me get Warrick in here to convince you.”
Funny how much a part of her family her partner had become. “He’s out in the field.”
Diane picked up on her daughter’s tone. “You’ll be out there, giving me heart failure, soon enough.” She gave C.J.’s arm another tug. “Now let’s go.”
Resigned, C.J., sighed and got her purse from the bottom desk drawer. “Yes, Mother.”
Diane nodded, pleased at the capitulation. “Well, it could be a little more cheerful, but I’ll take what I can get.”
So saying, she gently pushed her daughter out the door.
“We have to stop at the bathroom,” C.J. told her.
Diane’s smile didn’t fade. “I never doubted it for a minute.”
Chapter 2
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” Lamaze instructor Lori O’Neill whispered to C.J. as the class began breaking up.
Handing her pillow to her mother, C.J. looked at the perky, rather pregnant blond instructor. The session had run a little long tonight. All C.J. wanted to do was drop her mother off at her house and go home herself.
She’d been preoccupied throughout the entire session, her mind constantly reverting to some stray piece of information about one or another of the Sleeping Beauty Killer’s victims. Twice her mother’d had to tap her on her shoulder to get her to pay attention to what was going on in class.
This was a far cry from the way the classes normally used to go, Lori thought. It wasn’t all that long ago that she, Lori, Sherry Campbell and Joanna Prescott would go out together after class to a local, old-fashioned ice cream parlor where they would indulge their insatiable craving for sweets. But Sherry and Joanna were no longer part of the class, or the inner clique Lori had pulled together and whimsically dubbed the Mom Squad. Sherry and Joanna had each given birth and with new men in their lives as well, were on their way to no longer being single mothers.
C.J. shook her head. “I don’t think—”
On a mission of mercy, Lori was not about to take no for an answer. “You’ve been looking a little down these last two sessions, so I called up Sherry and Joanna and invited them out for the evening. They’re waiting for us at the ice cream parlor.”
She really didn’t need the extra calories. Even so, C.J. could feel her taste buds getting into gear. Still, she felt she needed to review the personal notes she’d kept at home dealing with the serial killer’s various victims. There just had to be something she was missing.
C.J. grasped at a plausible excuse. “But I’ve got to drop off my mother—”
The excuse died quickly. “Not another word about it,” Diane protested. She was already digging her cell phone out of her purse. “I’ll just call your father and he can come to pick me up.” Her blue eyes sparkled lustily as she grinned at her only daughter. “Did I ever tell you about the first time he picked me up?” She sighed dramatically. “Your father was the handsomest thing on two legs, and I would have followed him to the ends of the earth.” She winked at Lori. “Luckily, I didn’t have to. His apartment was right around the corner.”
C.J. had grown up hearing the story in its various forms, originally amended because of her age, then updated on every occasion. In its time, it had made a wonderful bedtime story, but not tonight. She cut her mother off before she could get rolling. “You don’t mind calling him?”
Diane pressed a single number on the cell’s keypad. “Not in the slightest.” Her eyes took on a glow as a male voice echoed in her ear. “James? Chris can’t drop me off, would you mind coming to get me?” Catching her daughter’s eye, she shook her head tolerantly. “No, she’s not going out in the field.” Diane covered the cell phone with a well-manicured hand. “He worries about his little girl,” she confided to Lori.
C.J. rolled her eyes. “I’m probably the only FBI agent who has to look over her shoulder to make sure her father isn’t trailing after her.” Her father would have been a great deal happier with her if she’d put her law degree to use and followed him into the firm, as her three older brothers had. Even Jamie, the youngest, was studying law. She was the only maverick in the family—and she liked it that way.
Lori laughed, slipping an arm around C.J.’s shoulders. “Hey, it’s nice having a family care about you. I’d give anything to have my dad trailing after me.” Both of her parents were gone now. The only family Lori had left was her late husband’s older brother.
Diane flipped her phone shut. “There, all settled.” She tucked the cell phone into her purse. “Your father’ll be here in fifteen minutes.” She shooed the women off. “Go, have an ice cream for me.” She looked down at a figure that was still trim by anyone’s standards except her own and sighed. “Anything I eat goes right to my hips. No passing go, no collecting two hundred dollars, just directly to my hips.”
Lori gave C.J. a quizzical look. C.J. was quick to provide an explanation. “Mom’s a Monopoly enthusiast.”
Diane leaned in and confided to Lori. “She’d say ‘freak’ if I wasn’t here.” The look she gave her daughter spoke volumes. “We all have our little obsessions.”
Her mind on other things, C.J. couldn’t help thinking about the Sleeping Beauty Killer and the women he had singled out to eliminate. “Yes,” she agreed quietly, “we do.”
The ice cream parlor, with its quaint booths and small tables, looked as if it belonged to another era, nestled in another century. C.J. felt completely at ease here. There was something soothing about the decor. It spoke of innocence and simplicity, something she found herself longing for.
By the time she and Lori arrived, Sherry and Joanna, both now enviably slim, were already seated at a booth. Sherry waved to them the moment they walked in.
There was no need to place an order. The instant the waitress saw the four of them, she began making notations on her pad. The women’s choice almost never varied.
“I’m really glad you called,” Sherry told Lori as she settled back with her hot-fudge sundae. “I’ve been meaning to get in touch.” Her eyes swept over the faces of the other two women. “With all of you.” Leaving her spoon buried deep within the mountain of French vanilla ice cream, she dug into her purse and pulled out three official-looking ivory envelopes. She handed one to each of them. “I’m not economizing on stamps,” she explained. “I just thought the personal touch was nicer.”
Taking a generous spoonful of ice cream, Sherry savored the taste as she watched her three friends open up the lacy envelopes.
The tearing of paper was followed by squeals of enthusiasm and mutual joy.
C.J. was the first to collect herself and say something closer to a level pitch. “You’re getting married.”
Sherry grinned. If anyone had told her three months ago that she would be marrying one of the richest men in the country, not to mention one of the best looking, she would have told them they were crazy. But here she was, wildly in love and engaged. Life had a funny way of working things out with excellent results. “Yeah, I know.”
Joanna tucked the invitation away into her purse and began sipping her strawberry ice cream soda in earnest. “Talk about the lengths that a journalist is willing to go to in order to get an exclusive interview…”
A reporter for the Bedford World News, Sherry’s assignment had begun as a challenge. To get a background story on an elusive, successful corporate raider dubbed Darth Vader. Things had gotten tangled up when she’d suddenly gone into labor at his mountain hideaway. St. John Adair had wound up delivering her baby. From there, everything had just escalated.
Sherry looked at her friends. They all knew her story. She’d become as close to them as she was to her own family.
“Exclusive is definitely the key word here.”Sherry sighed, temporarily forgetting about the sinful dessert. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” Her grin widened. “Part of me feels that it’s got to be illegal to feel this happy.”
Reaching over the table, C.J. squeezed her hand. “Enjoy it while you can. As far as I know, they haven’t passed a law against that yet.”
Since her sundae was beginning to drip a little around the edges, Sherry’s attention reverted back to her dessert. “I tried to time the ceremony so that it didn’t interfere with either of your due dates.”She looked at the two pregnant women. “You will come, won’t you?”
She could use a little happy diversion in her life, C.J. thought. “Try and stop me.”
Lori patted her stomach affectionately. “Count me in. This little darling’ll be out and smiling in time for you to exchange your vows.”
“Babies don’t smile until they’re at least six months old,” C.J. contradicted. She saw Lori begin to protest. “Those funny little expressions you see on their faces is just gas.”
“Don’t you believe it,” Joanna interjected with all the confidence of a new first-time mother delving through the mysteries of babies. “My baby smiles at me all the time. And at Rick.”
“That’s not surprising,” Sherry commented. “A stone would smile at Rick.” Her eyes shifted toward C.J. The FBI special agent was the next one due and had plied both her and Joanna with questions about what giving birth actually felt like. “So, are you getting excited?”
C.J. had gone from excited to nervous to feeling twinges of encroaching panic. With the big event less than a month away, she was now banking down any and all thoughts regarding the pending experience. It was easier getting through the day that way.
“I’m trying not to think about it.” She took a long sip of her mint chocolate-chip shake and let the coolness slide down her throat before continuing. “I’m not much on anticipating pain.”
Or dealing with the fear that had descended over her, she added silently. For probably the first time in her life, she found herself afraid of the unknown. Afraid of what she did know about the unknown. Afraid of what came after, as well. Because, despite the support of her family and friends, she was afraid of screwing up.
Joanna waved away the comment. “That’s just a small part of it,” she assured C.J. “It’s true what they say, you know. You do forget.”
C.J. curled her lip cynically. “Probably because it hurts so much, you black out.”
Lori looked at her in surprise. “I’ve never heard you sound so negative before.” She studied her for a second. “Anything wrong?”
C.J. sighed, pushing her straw into a glob of ice cream. “Just feeling sorry for myself, I guess.” She saw the others were waiting for a more detailed “My partner’s out in the field, tracking down a serial killer.”
Sherry was the first to break the silence. “Serialkiller envy.” Exchanging looks with the others, she laughed incredulously. “Boy, that’s definitely not my thing.” And then she became serious. “You’re a mom-to-be, C.J. You’re supposed to be agonizing over what shade of blue or pink to paint the nursery, not about wanting to go chasing after the bad guys with a gun strapped to the inside of your maternity bra.”
They didn’t understand, C.J. thought. Though she gave the appearance of being flamboyant and quick to act, deep down, she felt a strong commitment to her work. She defined herself by it. There was this overwhelming need within her to put “the bad guys,” as Sherry called them, away.
“Speaking of nursery,” Joanna, ever the peacemaker, interjected, “have you decided to finally let us give you baby presents?”
It was a sore point with everyone, C.J. sensed. Even her brothers were commenting on it. Warrick’s crack this afternoon had made it unanimous. She shook her head, a curiously shy smile creeping along her lips. “There’s no need to give me presents.”
“Yes, there is,” Sherry insisted. She waved her hand around the table, taking them all in. “It’s part of the bonding process.”
Sherry thought back to when they had all initially gotten together. She knew as far as she went, talking with the women had gone a long way toward helping her remain calm about the challenges that were ahead of her. She had her parents, whom she loved dearly, but there was something infinitely comforting about being able to turn to women who were in the exact same rocky boat as she was and be able to talk out the fears that plagued her.
“We’re all in this together, so to speak,” Sherry pointed out. “C’mon, C.J., why won’t you let us give you anything?”
“After,” C.J. told them. “Once he or she is here.”
This time it was Joanna’s turn to shake her head. “I can’t believe that you’re the only one of the four of us who had an amniocentesis done and you didn’t ask the doctor to tell you what you were having.”
She had her reasons. “I always liked opening up my gifts at the end of the day, not the beginning.”
C.J. didn’t add that she was afraid if she knew the sex of the baby, she’d start thinking of it as a real person. This way, if something unforeseeable did happened and she lost the baby, she could still mentally divorce herself from it somehow.
Just the way she had from Tom.
All her protests to Warrick and her family notwithstanding, when Tom told her that he thought it was best if they just stopped seeing each other, she’d felt cruelly disappointed. She’d honestly thought that for once, she’d found someone she could count on. Someone who felt as strongly about her as she did about him.
That was what happened when you expected too much, she told herself. You wound up with too little. Or, in this case, with almost nothing at all.
But she was determined that no one would suspect how she really felt. It didn’t go with the image of herself she wanted to project.
Wanting to change the direction of the conversation, she looked at Joanna. “So, your turn. How are things going with you?”
Joanna’s eyes glowed. She pushed aside her almost depleted dish of dessert, wiping off the area in front of her. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Digging deeply into her purse, she pulled out a small white album that was almost bursting at the seams. It was crammed full of brand-new photographs of her brand-new baby.
Sherry laughed as she dug into her own purse. “I’ll meet your stack—” she plunked down her own album “—and raise you five pictures.” “You’re on,” Joanna declared.
Lori exchanged looks with C.J. “I think we’re about to get babied to death.”
“Bring them on,” C.J. encouraged. “I can’t think of a sweeter way to go.”
* * *
Last night had been nice break, but it felt good to get back to work, C.J. thought as she sat, reading over the folder that Warrick had left with her yesterday. She was reviewing it for the umpteenth time.
The office was empty, except for her. There were times she welcomed the quiet.
She enjoyed getting together with the other women. That in itself was a constant source of surprise to her. Apart from her mother, she’d been raised in a world of men. With three older brothers and one younger one, C.J. found that she had a difficult time relating to other women.
But Lori, Sherry and Joanna were different. Maybe because, for different reasons, they had all found themselves approaching motherhood while in a single status. Facing the biggest event in their lives without a life partner beside them had given them all something in common.
Something in common.
What did these thirteen women have in common? she wondered, staring down at the photographs spread out on her desk. Beyond the obvious, of course. If you looked quickly, and myopically, they almost looked like photographs of the same person.
Of her, she thought grimly. Because she bore the same eerily similar physical features as the dead women. She was a blue-eyed blonde within the age range that the Sleeping Beauty Killer gravitated toward.
There but for the grace of God…
C.J. shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t know if it was the thought or the unnerving twinges she kept feeling that was getting to her.
What had made the Sleeping Beauty Killer snuff out these women’s lives, executing them politely but firmly? Why them? Why not green-eyed redheads or brown-eyed brunettes?
There had to be a reason. Something.
One by one she held up the photographs of the young women, taken while they were still alive, and examined them closely. Did they represent some kind of fantasy woman to the killer? Someone in his life who had been unattainable to him? Who perhaps had spurned him?
Or was there some kind of other reason behind his choice?
She just didn’t know, and not knowing frustrated her to the nth degree. Muttering an oath, she tossed down the last photograph, taken of the last victim. A Bedford University sophomore named Nora Adams.
“Did you know him, Nora? Did you talk to him? Smile at him? Or did you not even see him?”
“Don’t you have a home to go to?”
Startled, C.J. almost jumped. It took a moment for her heart to stop slamming against her rib cage. Turning around, she saw that Warrick was standing not five feet away from her. She hadn’t even heard him come in.
C.J. took a deep breath and gathered the photographs together again. “Since when did you decide to become my keeper?”
As if that was possible. “It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.”
This pending motherhood with all its emotional baggage was getting her too jumpy, she thought disparagingly. Her nerves felt scattered and dangerously close to the surface. She just wished she didn’t ache so. “How’s the investigation going?”
He’d been on his way home when he’d decided to take a detour and stop at the field office. He had a hunch C.J. would still be here. There were times, such as these, when he felt that his partner didn’t have the common sense of a flea. Not when it came to herself, anyway.
Warrick shoved his hands into his pockets. The case was as frustrating to him as it was to her. There were dead ends as far as the eye could see. Just like the last time.
“No more dead girls, if that’s what you’re asking. No more clues, either. No fingerprints, no bodily fluids, no sloppy anything left in his wake.” He laughed shortly. “It’s like the guy’s a ghost.”