Sorry, Claire said silently to her belly, as she set her gun in its holster on the toilet paper dispenser, wiggled her pants down, and then balanced precariously over the toilet seat, determined not to allow her skin to make contact.

When she was done, she got her pants back up—maternity pants were really wonderful, that elastic waist—and pulled her sleeve down to cover her hand before she flushed. You couldn’t be too careful.

She was still reattaching the holster to the elastic waist of her pants when she came out of the stall. There was a naked woman waiting there. Claire averted her eyes reflexively. In the bathroom, the music muffled by the walls, it felt like different rules. Claire secured the holster. The woman hadn’t moved. She was still there, her ass perched on the edge of the counter in front of the sink where Claire needed to wash her hands. Claire lifted her eyes. The woman wasn’t naked. She was wearing glitter, red devil horns, a red G-string, and sky-high pumps. Her body was lithe and toned. A small tattoo of a star peeked out above the matchbook-sized front panel of her G-string. She was either a stripper or someone very committed to pulling off a realistic stripper costume. Claire tugged at the waist of her maternity pants, feeling like a whale.

“All free,” Claire said. She hoped she hadn’t gotten too much pee on the seat.

The stripper still didn’t move. They were the only two people in the bathroom. The other stall was still empty. The stripper hadn’t been waiting to use a toilet, Claire realized. She’d been waiting for her, for Claire. Claire stepped to the sink and reached around the stripper’s hip for the faucet. The stripper shifted slightly to make room for her. She was tall even before the heels. It was like meeting a slutty, naked Amazon. Claire held her hands under the faucet.

“You’re here with him,” the stripper said cautiously. “The cop.”

“I’m a cop, too,” Claire said, a little defensively. People were always surprised by that—like she didn’t look cop-ish enough or something. It made Claire crazy.

The stripper didn’t look surprised. She looked thoughtful.

Claire glanced around for the soap.

“There,” the stripper said, pointing to a small soap dispenser.

Claire squirted the orange gel into her wet hands.

“The bald guy knows Archie,” the stripper said. “Do you?”

Ha! The bald guy. Henry would love that.