their boy was impossibly small, more kitten than baby, she thought. He’d been whisked away to the NICU first thing, some issue with stabilizing his blood sugar levels. But this morning he was back, and she was holding him; the doctors said all was well, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt as happy.
“What about Natalie?” she demanded now, still gazing down at her fuzz-topped child.
“Arraigned for murder, currently being held without bail.”
“Great, a drama queen in jail. Hope they pay the COs double.”
“Maybe they’ll organize a play on life skills. Could be a valuable educational opportunity for all.”
“We should investigate the murder blog,” D.D. said. “Natalie said she found some script online that helped her plot out Chaibongsai’s killing. Call me crazy, but we should investigate that.”
“Internet postings fall under freedom of speech.”
“I’m not saying we arrest the blogger for the postings. I’m saying we search the blogger’s basement for dead bodies, then nail him for those crimes.”
Alex folded up the paper, tucked it under his arm. “You know you’re nursing our child.”
“Yeah.” She glanced down. Ten impossibly tiny fingers, ten impossibly tiny toes. She counted them at least every hour.
“And you’re discussing dead bodies in crawl spaces.”
She looked at Alex. The next word came out flat: “Yeah.”
He said, “I love you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“But I’m in a maternity ward, holding our newborn, talking violent crime.”
“I didn’t realize I was having any trouble following the conversation.”
“Alex, I’m a cop. I can’t quit, I can’t give it up. I love you, and I really, really, really love him. But I’m a cop.”
“I know, D.D. And I’m partial to blood spatter.” Alex moved closer, taking a seat on the edge of the hospital bed, where he could touch her cheek, then brush the top of Jack’s downy head. “I love you, Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren. It would make me happy if both you and Jack moved into my house. And I’m only saying my house, because your condo is too small. Or we could buy, or rent, or build a place on the moon if you prefer. But I love you. And I really, really, really love him, and I want us to be together. A criminalist, a detective, and a baby boy who’s going to grow up in a very interesting family.”
“I don’t like being scared,” D.D. mumbled.
Alex smiled down at her and their now sleeping child. “Honey, we’re parents. Better get used to it.”
D.D. and Jack went home to Alex’s house. Her squadmates Phil and Neil helped pack up the few things she had in her condo, while a couple of neighbors helped paint the nursery. In a matter of days, it was done.
Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren, on maternity leave, sharing closet space.
Life is good, she decided, holding her baby close.
And for six whole weeks, it was.
Click here for more books from this author.
Read on for an exclusive early look at
Lisa Gardner’s next Detective D. D. Warren thriller
Catch Me
On sale February 7, 2012
Chapter 1
My name is Charlene Rosalind Carter Grant.
I live in Boston, work in Boston, and in four days, will probably die here.
I’m twenty-eight years old.
And I don’t feel like dying just yet.
It started two years ago, with the murder of my best friend, Randi Menke, in Providence. She was strangled in her living room. No sign of a struggle, no sign of forced entry. For a while the Rhode Island cops thought maybe her ex had done it. I guess there’d been a history of domestic assaults. Nothing she’d ever told me, or our other best friend, Jackie, about. Jackie and I tried to console ourselves with that, as we wept together at Randi’s funeral. We hadn’t known. We just hadn’t known or of course we would’ve done . . . something. Anything.
That’s what we told ourselves.
Fast forward one year. January 21. The anniversary. I’m at home with Aunt Nancy in the
“What about Natalie?” she demanded now, still gazing down at her fuzz-topped child.
“Arraigned for murder, currently being held without bail.”
“Great, a drama queen in jail. Hope they pay the COs double.”
“Maybe they’ll organize a play on life skills. Could be a valuable educational opportunity for all.”
“We should investigate the murder blog,” D.D. said. “Natalie said she found some script online that helped her plot out Chaibongsai’s killing. Call me crazy, but we should investigate that.”
“Internet postings fall under freedom of speech.”
“I’m not saying we arrest the blogger for the postings. I’m saying we search the blogger’s basement for dead bodies, then nail him for those crimes.”
Alex folded up the paper, tucked it under his arm. “You know you’re nursing our child.”
“Yeah.” She glanced down. Ten impossibly tiny fingers, ten impossibly tiny toes. She counted them at least every hour.
“And you’re discussing dead bodies in crawl spaces.”
She looked at Alex. The next word came out flat: “Yeah.”
He said, “I love you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“But I’m in a maternity ward, holding our newborn, talking violent crime.”
“I didn’t realize I was having any trouble following the conversation.”
“Alex, I’m a cop. I can’t quit, I can’t give it up. I love you, and I really, really, really love him. But I’m a cop.”
“I know, D.D. And I’m partial to blood spatter.” Alex moved closer, taking a seat on the edge of the hospital bed, where he could touch her cheek, then brush the top of Jack’s downy head. “I love you, Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren. It would make me happy if both you and Jack moved into my house. And I’m only saying my house, because your condo is too small. Or we could buy, or rent, or build a place on the moon if you prefer. But I love you. And I really, really, really love him, and I want us to be together. A criminalist, a detective, and a baby boy who’s going to grow up in a very interesting family.”
“I don’t like being scared,” D.D. mumbled.
Alex smiled down at her and their now sleeping child. “Honey, we’re parents. Better get used to it.”
D.D. and Jack went home to Alex’s house. Her squadmates Phil and Neil helped pack up the few things she had in her condo, while a couple of neighbors helped paint the nursery. In a matter of days, it was done.
Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren, on maternity leave, sharing closet space.
Life is good, she decided, holding her baby close.
And for six whole weeks, it was.
Click here for more books from this author.
Read on for an exclusive early look at
Lisa Gardner’s next Detective D. D. Warren thriller
Catch Me
On sale February 7, 2012
Chapter 1
My name is Charlene Rosalind Carter Grant.
I live in Boston, work in Boston, and in four days, will probably die here.
I’m twenty-eight years old.
And I don’t feel like dying just yet.
It started two years ago, with the murder of my best friend, Randi Menke, in Providence. She was strangled in her living room. No sign of a struggle, no sign of forced entry. For a while the Rhode Island cops thought maybe her ex had done it. I guess there’d been a history of domestic assaults. Nothing she’d ever told me, or our other best friend, Jackie, about. Jackie and I tried to console ourselves with that, as we wept together at Randi’s funeral. We hadn’t known. We just hadn’t known or of course we would’ve done . . . something. Anything.
That’s what we told ourselves.
Fast forward one year. January 21. The anniversary. I’m at home with Aunt Nancy in the
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