Her eyes widened. She motioned frantically to the open door, so he humored her by closing it. “Now see, this is why I didn’t say anything,” she exploded. “This is precisely the kind of conversation I didn’t want to have!”

He remained standing there, staring at her. She had one hand splayed across her lower abdomen. How had he never noticed that before, he the former sniper? The way she cradled her belly, almost protectively. He felt stupid, and realized now he’d never needed to ask the question. He knew the answer just by looking at the way she was standing: She was keeping the baby. That’s what had her so terrified.

Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren was going to be a mom.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said.

“Oh God!”

“D.D., you have been great at everything you’ve ever wanted to do. Why should this be any different?”

“Oh God,” she said again, eyes wilder.

“Can I get you anything? Water? A pickle? How about ginger chews? Annabelle lived on ginger chews. Said they settled her stomach.”

“Ginger chews?” She paused. Appeared a little less frantic, a little more curious. “Really?”

Bobby smiled at her, crossed the room, and because it felt like the right thing to do, he gave her a hug. “Congratulations,” he whispered in her ear. “Seriously, D.D. Welcome to the ride of your life.”

“You think?” She looked a little misty-eyed, then surprised them both by hugging him back. “Thanks, Bobby.”

He patted her shoulder. She leaned her head into his chest. Then they both straightened, turned to the whiteboard, and got back to work.

Chapter 21

21

I stood, my hands shackled at my waist, as the district attorney read off the charges. According to the DA, I had deliberately and willfully shot my own husband. Furthermore, they had reason to believe I may have also killed my own daughter. At this time, they were entering charges of Murder 1, and requesting I be held without bail, given the severity of the charges.

My lawyer, Cargill, blustered his protest. I was an upstanding state police trooper, with a long and distinguished career (four years?). The DA had insufficient evidence against me, and to believe such a reputable officer and dedicated mother would turn on her entire family was preposterous.

The DA pointed out ballistics had already matched the bullets in my husband’s chest to my state-issued Sig Sauer.

Cargill argued my black eye, fractured face, and concussed brain. Obviously, I’d been driven to it.

The DA pointed out that might have made sense, if my husband’s body hadn’t been frozen after death.

This clearly perplexed the judge, who shot me a startled glance.

Welcome to my world, I wanted to tell him. But I said nothing, showed nothing, because even the smallest gesture, happy, angry, or sad, would lead to the same place: hysteria.

Sophie, Sophie, Sophie.