The Quickie - James Patterson [41]
Something cold inside me began to change then. The whole time I’d been convalescing, not an hour had gone by when I hadn’t been attacked with feelings of guilt and shame and black anxiety.
But standing there, being waltzed around my bedroom by my joyous, good-looking husband, I suddenly came to realize something startling. Paul and I had simply tried to have what everyone wanted. A happy marriage, a happy family. We were good people, hardworking, humble. But from day one, we’d been faced with hardship. Stasis. We were two people who, try as they would, couldn’t become three.
Did we divorce? Part ways because it was inconvenient to be together? No. We clung to each other, tried to make it work. For years, we struggled to make our love conquer some biological gyp. We spent years trying to keep things together while our separate careers and the everyday stresses of modern life did everything in their power to wrench us apart.
I started crying when Paul cupped my stomach with his palm. A baby! I thought, grasping Paul’s hand.
A sign of hope finally.
And forgiveness.
A new life for both of us.
We can get through this after all, I thought. We really can get through this.
“I love you, Paul,” I said. “You’re going to make an amazing father.”
“I love you, too,” Paul whispered, and he kissed away the tears on my cheeks. “Mommy.”
Chapter 60
THERE WERE TWO MEN sitting in my boss’s office when I finally came back to work the following Monday. From the other side of the squad room, I took in their executive-looking haircuts, their dark suits.
My paranoid brain went to work instantly. Scott had worked with the DEA, which was a section in the Department of Justice. The FBI did the legwork for the DOJ. This was all I needed now, a visit from the Feds!
I didn’t even make it as far as my desk before Lieutenant Keane opened his door.
“Lauren, could you come in here a second?” he said.
I brought my bodega coffee with me to make it look like I really thought this would take only a second. I was getting good at deception. At least I hoped I was.
“Have a seat, Detective Stillwell,” a man in a navy suit said from one of my boss’s chairs. His partner, wearing what looked like the same style three-button, only in gray, stood at his shoulder, staring at me expressionless, motionless.
Their authoritative attitude both irritated and scared the living hell out of me. And since showing fear wasn’t an option at this juncture, I tried pissed-off on for size.
“What’s the dealio, boss?” I said to Keane. “You set me up on a blind date? Where’s bachelor number three?”
Two badges came out. My adrenaline shifted down half a gear when I saw that they weren’t the tiny gold badges the Feebs sport. They were copies of the one in the Chanel knock-off on my desk.
“IAB,” Navy and Gray said in unison.
So, they weren’t Feds here to arrest me, I realized. My relief was short-lived when I considered that they were definitely tin collectors here about Mike’s shooting. It was too late to play demure, I realized as I sat down. Never take a step back, my father advised me when I’d decided to get on The Job after law school. He’d also given me another tidbit of wisdom.
Fuck the IAB.
“Hey, nice. Synchronized rats,” I said, plopping down in the guest chair. “You guys should try out for the Special Olympics.”
They glared at me. I glared back.
Keane’s pale face turned scarlet as he struggled to not spontaneously combust with laughter.
“That’s very funny, Detective,” Navy said with a click of his pen. “What’s less funny, I guess, is the shooting death of Victor Ordonez. As we speak, there is a rally being planned in his Washington Heights neighborhood. The cry for the details of his death has gotten loud enough to be heard way down at One Police Plaza. We fully intend to find and report the truth of what occurred.”
I stared at him for a beat after his little speech.
“I’m sorry,” I said, cupping the bandage on my ear and cheek. “Did you