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Authors: Janice Kay Johnson
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hadn't wanted to believe she could get pregnant. She'd been as foolish as any teenager. Why hadn't she gone to the doctor and asked for a morning-after pill? There was such a thing nowadays, wasn't there?
What difference did it make? She was too late.
She stood, went to the sink, washed her face in cold water, then reached for her toothbrush. She might as well get ready for bed. The neighborhood drugstore was closed, and she didn't relish the idea of lying to Kim about where she was going and why anyway.
Tomorrow was soon enough.
Nell whacked irritably at the alarm clock, missed it and swore when she banged her hand on the lamp base. Finally finding the button, she wondered who had ever thought waking to music was any more pleasant than to a buzz?
She closed her eyes and longed for sleep—sweet, sweet oblivion. Last night it had been elusive, but now drew her irresistibly into its embrace. Weighted eyelids refused to lift. She was losing the battle when her stomach gave an uneasy turn. Fresh panic did what the alarm clock hadn't, bringing her abruptly awake. Was she really sick to her stomach?
No, only mildly queasy. Which scared her worse.
Maybe the mayonnaise she'd used in last night's potato salad had been off. Or that guy she and McLean had interviewed two days ago—he'd said he wasn't feeling well. The flu. She was coming down with the flu.
Please.
Breakfast cured the queasiness, making her wonder if she'd imagined it in her fear. She hadn't suffered much from morning sickness in her first pregnancy, so why would she this time? Not that there was a this time. Heck, everyone had an upset stomach once in a while.
The drugstore wasn't open yet, and it wouldn't do her any good to carry the damn kit around all day anyway.
She might as well have been carrying it. The moment she saw Hugh in roll call, she became painfully self-conscious. Today he was leaning against a window frame on the far side of the room, talking to John. The moment she walked in, Hugh's vivid blue eyes met hers. He murmured something to his brother, who looked at her, too. Oh, good. She'd turned green.
It took an effort not to glance down to see whether her belly had swelled.
Mercifully, the captain cleared his throat just then and said, "Okay, people, stow the gossip and listen up."
He began the usual summary of the night's crime, outstanding warrants, APBs and the like. Nell only half listened, as she and Hugh weren't currently on patrol.
She waited out in the hall for Hugh, who nodded when he reached her. So why had he looked at her so oddly? They walked silently to the briefing room, where the team discussed yesterday's interviews and their plans for today. She and Hugh were starting today to interview the workers on the fifth floor, where only one victim and Jack Gann's body had been found. In the past ten days, they had learned little that was new, hearing variations on the same story over and over. The worst were the hospitalized wounded and those people who had seen a co-worker murdered. Horror was palpable as they talked, like a gas that seeped through the barriers the police officers had erected to protect themselves.
The briefing room was now papered with blueprints of each floor, showing Gann's progression, the location of wounded, corpses and discarded weapons. Notations from witnesses further tracked his every move. The sum of the story was simple: an angry man had walked into the Joplin Building with half a dozen weapons, bypassed the offices on the first two floors, then moved methodically up and down the halls of The Greater Northwest Insurance, shooting everyone he saw. He had made no apparent effort to distinguish individuals; among the dead were a client and a legal secretary from a law firm on the second floor. Nor had he wasted time hunting down the hidden. Gann must have known his time was limited.
"No surprises," Detective John McLean concluded somberly. He paced at the head of the table. "This week should wrap up
What difference did it make? She was too late.
She stood, went to the sink, washed her face in cold water, then reached for her toothbrush. She might as well get ready for bed. The neighborhood drugstore was closed, and she didn't relish the idea of lying to Kim about where she was going and why anyway.
Tomorrow was soon enough.
Nell whacked irritably at the alarm clock, missed it and swore when she banged her hand on the lamp base. Finally finding the button, she wondered who had ever thought waking to music was any more pleasant than to a buzz?
She closed her eyes and longed for sleep—sweet, sweet oblivion. Last night it had been elusive, but now drew her irresistibly into its embrace. Weighted eyelids refused to lift. She was losing the battle when her stomach gave an uneasy turn. Fresh panic did what the alarm clock hadn't, bringing her abruptly awake. Was she really sick to her stomach?
No, only mildly queasy. Which scared her worse.
Maybe the mayonnaise she'd used in last night's potato salad had been off. Or that guy she and McLean had interviewed two days ago—he'd said he wasn't feeling well. The flu. She was coming down with the flu.
Please.
Breakfast cured the queasiness, making her wonder if she'd imagined it in her fear. She hadn't suffered much from morning sickness in her first pregnancy, so why would she this time? Not that there was a this time. Heck, everyone had an upset stomach once in a while.
The drugstore wasn't open yet, and it wouldn't do her any good to carry the damn kit around all day anyway.
She might as well have been carrying it. The moment she saw Hugh in roll call, she became painfully self-conscious. Today he was leaning against a window frame on the far side of the room, talking to John. The moment she walked in, Hugh's vivid blue eyes met hers. He murmured something to his brother, who looked at her, too. Oh, good. She'd turned green.
It took an effort not to glance down to see whether her belly had swelled.
Mercifully, the captain cleared his throat just then and said, "Okay, people, stow the gossip and listen up."
He began the usual summary of the night's crime, outstanding warrants, APBs and the like. Nell only half listened, as she and Hugh weren't currently on patrol.
She waited out in the hall for Hugh, who nodded when he reached her. So why had he looked at her so oddly? They walked silently to the briefing room, where the team discussed yesterday's interviews and their plans for today. She and Hugh were starting today to interview the workers on the fifth floor, where only one victim and Jack Gann's body had been found. In the past ten days, they had learned little that was new, hearing variations on the same story over and over. The worst were the hospitalized wounded and those people who had seen a co-worker murdered. Horror was palpable as they talked, like a gas that seeped through the barriers the police officers had erected to protect themselves.
The briefing room was now papered with blueprints of each floor, showing Gann's progression, the location of wounded, corpses and discarded weapons. Notations from witnesses further tracked his every move. The sum of the story was simple: an angry man had walked into the Joplin Building with half a dozen weapons, bypassed the offices on the first two floors, then moved methodically up and down the halls of The Greater Northwest Insurance, shooting everyone he saw. He had made no apparent effort to distinguish individuals; among the dead were a client and a legal secretary from a law firm on the second floor. Nor had he wasted time hunting down the hidden. Gann must have known his time was limited.
"No surprises," Detective John McLean concluded somberly. He paced at the head of the table. "This week should wrap up
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