Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [129]
“I’ve been thinking of adopting. There are a lot of children out there who need a family. In this country, in other countries. Maybe I could give a child a good home.”
“It’s a lot of work. Midnight feedings if you adopt an infant. Bonding issues if you adopt an older child. Children need the sun, the moon, and the stars at night. No more jetting around the world at the drop of a hat. No more dining at fine restaurants. You’d definitely have to cut back on work.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “Don’t get me wrong, Quincy. I like the work that we do. But lately . . . it’s not enough for me. We go from dead body to dead body, crime scene to crime scene. Catch a psychopath today, hunt a new one tomorrow. It’s been six years, Quince. . . .” She looked down at the table. “If I do this, I’ll quit the practice. I’ve waited too long to have a child not to do it right.”
“But you’re my partner,” he protested without thinking.
“Consultants can be hired. Parents can’t.”
He turned away, then tiredly shook his head. He didn’t know what to say. Perhaps it was only natural that someday she would want children. Rainie was younger than him, hadn’t already weathered the domestic storm that had been his pathetic attempt at domestic bliss. Maternal instincts were natural, particularly for a woman her age who was bound to be hearing the steady beat of her own biological clock.
And for a moment, an image came to him. Rainie with a small bundle wrapped in her arms, cooing in that high-pitched voice everyone used with babies. Him, watching little feet and hands kick in the air. Catching that first giggle, seeing the first smile.
But the other images inevitably followed. Coming home late from work and realizing your child was already in bed—again. The urgent phone calls that pulled you away from piano recitals and school plays. The way a five-year-old could break your heart by saying, “It’s okay, Daddy. I know you’ll be there next time.”
The way children grew too fast. The way they could die too young. The way parenthood started with so much promise, but one day tasted like ashes in your mouth.
And then he felt a hot, unexpected surge of anger toward Rainie. When he’d first met her, she’d said she never wanted marriage or kids. Her own childhood had been a dark, twisted tale, and she knew better than most to believe she could magically break the cycle. God knows, he’d asked her to marry him twice over the past six years, and each time she’d turned him down. “If it’s not broke, don’t fix it,” she’d told him. And each time, though it had hurt a little, stung more than he’d expected, he’d taken her at her word.
But now she was changing the rules. Not enough to marry him, heaven forbid, but enough to want kids.
“I’ve already served my time,” he said harshly.
“I know, Quincy.” Her own voice was quiet, harder on him than if she had yelled. “I know you raised two girls and dealt with midnight feedings and adolescent angst and so much more. I know you’re at the phase of your life where you’re supposed to be looking forward to retirement, not your kid’s first day of kindergarten. I thought I would be there, too. I honestly thought this would never be an issue. But then . . . Lately . . .” She gave a little shrug. “What can I say? Sometimes, even the best of us change our minds.”
“I love you,” he tried one last time.
“I love you, too,” Rainie replied, and he thought she’d never looked so sad.
When Dr. Ennunzio finally strode into the room, the silence was definitely awkward and strained. He didn’t seem to notice, however. He came to an abrupt halt, a stack of manila files bulging under his arm. “Up,” he told them curtly. “Out. We’re taking a walk.”
Quincy was already climbing out of his chair. Confused, Rainie was slower to follow suit.
“You got a call,” Quincy said to Ennunzio.
The agent shook his head warningly and looked up at the ceiling. Quincy got the message. Years ago, a BSU agent had spied on his fellow members