have any—what do they call it?—separation anxiety?”
C.J. laughed shortly. “She didn’t. I did.” Even now she couldn’t help wondering what her baby was doing. Did she realize C.J. wasn’t around? Or was Mommy just another face to look up at? God, but she was getting mushy. How long before hormones adjusted themselves back into place? And then she looked at Warrick in wonder. “How do you know about separation anxiety, anyway?”
He was the methodical one. “I thought that since I’m supposed to be her godfather, I should bone up on these things.” He looked at his partner pointedly. “I should also insist that she have a middle name to go with the first name. You can’t just call her Joy Jones.”
She saw nothing wrong with that. “Why not?”
“Do you want people to call her ‘J.J.’?
“I don’t just want her to have any old middle name. I want the whole name to be special. To fit her.”
Time was running out, Warrick thought. The christening was set for next week. “Okay, what d’you say I come over tonight after work with a book of baby names, and we’ll start tossing out names at her? One of them is bound to stick.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
He cocked his head and peered at her, the teasing note gone from his voice. “You going to be okay?”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, raising her chin. He was familiar with that move. It was her “the world can go to hell” gesture. “I’m already okay. Just took the wind out of my sails, that’s all. Worse things could have happened, right?”
“Right. You could be marrying the guy.” They began to walk back down the hall when he stopped her again. “Hey, have you got any pictures of the baby with you?”
She thought that was an odd question, coming from him. “In my purse. Brian’s been snapping his camera so much around her, she’s probably debating getting a career as a model right now. Why?”
“Because Culpepper’s expecting you to come back with pictures.” He didn’t want the other man quizzing her and having his suspicions raised. Culpepper might come off as a busybody, but there was nothing wrong with his deductive reasoning. “He thinks that’s what you went to get from your car.”
“I’ll just tell him I made a mistake.” But as they started to walk again, she placed a hand on his arm. She had to ask. “War, does anyone else know? About Thorndyke and me?”
Warrick shook his head. “Not unless Thorndyke told them, and considering how fast he put in for a transfer to another field office after you told him, I really don’t think he did.”
“Good.” Despite the fact that she was outgoing, C.J. hated having her business plastered all over the office.
She supposed that gave her something in common with Warrick.
“It was good to go back to work, but it’s even better to come back to you,” C.J. told her baby as she let herself into her house. “I forgot how long days could feel.”
Still holding Joy in her infant seat, C.J. kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes. The rug felt good beneath her feet.
Despite her mother’s protests and her offer to make dinner, C.J. had opted to come home to snare a little peace and quiet, or a reasonable facsimile thereof. The day had been deadly dull and overly long, at least it seemed that way. Their investigation was going nowhere—slowly. At times it felt as if every minute was being individually held hostage, doubling in size before it was released.
She supposed that missing her daughter had something to do with that. At twenty-eight, she was surprised to find out something new about herself.
C.J. rotated her neck, trying to ease away some of the tension. She looked down into the car seat. Joy’s eyes were shut, long black lashes creating dark crescents along her cheeks.
“Oh, honey, are you asleep already? I thought I’d get in a little quality time with you.” She banked down her disappointment. “I guess not.” She smiled to herself. “With my luck, you’ll probably want quality time at two in the morning.”
Carrying the infant seat over to a safe, flat surface, C.J. placed it on the dining room table. Careful not to wake the baby, she unbuckled the restraining straps one at a time.
“Well, don’t get used to being a dictator. Once you figure this language of ours out and can understand me, there are going to be lines to toe, young lady, and hoops to jump through.” She laughed, nuzzling her daughter as she picked her up out of the infant seat. “Yeah, and I’ll probably be the one doing the toeing and the leaping. Just don’t tell anyone your mom’s a softie, okay? It’ll be our little secret.”
Holding her daughter in the crook of her arm, C.J. looked down at the perfect little face. “Slept right through that, didn’t you? Next you’ll be telling me I’m boring.” She thought of the news about Thorndyke and his wedding. “Maybe I am at that. Okay, enough pity. Let’s get you into bed, my love.”
The baby made no protest.
After making sure the baby monitor, with its multiple receiving units that she’d placed in each room, was turned on, C.J. gently closed the nursery door.
The doorbell rang.
She sighed. Now what?
Training had her glancing at her holstered gun on the hall table before approaching the front door. The weapon was in easy reach, just in case. “Who is it?” she called out.
“Rumpelstiltskin. Who do you think? Open the door, C.J.”
Warrick. Their conversation in the hallway came back to her. She’d completely forgotten.
About to appeal to his better nature and beg off, C.J. opened the door. She didn’t get the opportunity to say the words. Warrick walked in, juggling a large pizza box in one hand and a couple of books in the other. He held the latter aloft.
“I come bearing pizza and not one baby name book, but two.” He tossed the books on the sofa as he came into the living room. “I couldn’t decide between the two and thought I’d splurge. I figured, Murphy’s Law, the one I didn’t buy would have the name that appealed to you.” The coffee table was littered with papers. She was the only one he knew who was a worse housekeeper than he was. “Where do you want this?” He indicated the pizza. “It’s hot.”
Walking ahead of him, she moved the infant seat off the table and put it on the floor in the corner. “You didn’t have to bring that.”
He was already opening the box. The smell of pepperoni and three kinds of cheeses filled the air. “Hey, I’ve got to eat, too.”
C.J. went to the kitchen and reached into the cupboard for a couple of plates. “I could always have rustled up something.”
He shivered at the thought. “No offense but I’d rather eat my shoes.” He took a plate from her. “You’re a woman of many talents, C.J. Cooking is not one of them.” He held up the first slice, offering it to her. “My dog cooks better than you.”
She slid the slice onto her plate and
