Well, Martha was herding children and I was blowing the whistle and giving commands. Martha was a little older than the kids, who were about six or seven, three girls and a boy.
I held Martha by the scruff of her neck, said, “Get ’em,” let her go, and she loped over to the little squealers and ran circles around them. I said, “Come,” blew on the whistle — high-low-high — and Martha ran back to me, wagging her tail, happy lights sparkling in her eyes.
I asked her to cut between the little kids, separate the tallest little girl from the rest. The kids and their nannies laughed and more people gathered.
Other dogs saw that a good time was going on and wanted to get in on it. And so barking and yapping added volume and range to the giddiness.
Bystanders called out asking for more tricks, and volunteers stepped forward to be herded. Martha showed off and we got rounds of applause.
Oh, man, I had to do this more often.
And that’s when I felt a pain in my gut.
I bent over, grabbed my knees, and Martha broke ranks and licked my face. I was hit with another cramp, and this time, I thought the worst.
I was about to miscarry in my second trimester. How could this happen? Please, God. Don’t let me lose my baby.
I leashed Martha, summoned a smile for the children, waved good-bye, and found a bench at the edge of the park.
My cell phone wasn’t charged to the limit, but I had enough juice to call police dispatch, then my doctor, and then Joe. I was able to reach only the police.
A squad car pulled up. Tom Ferrino jumped out.
I said, “Take me to the hospital, Tommy. I’m going to give you my keys so you can bring Martha home afterward.”
“What’s wrong, Sergeant? Are you in pain?”
He helped me and Martha into the back of the car. “Put on the siren,” I said. “Drive as fast as you can.”
My phone rang as we rounded the corner from Arguello Boulevard to Sacramento Street and were in sight of the hospital. I looked at my phone. The caller was Joe.
“Where are you?” I asked him.
“I’m at the airport. My flight leaves in fifteen minutes. What’s happening?”
“You’re going back to DC?” I asked.
I’d lost him. I’d lost Joe to that woman in DC. I’d shut him out, locked my door, refused phone calls. What in God’s name could I expect? I bit my lip and held on to the armrest as the cramps hit me again.
Joe said, “I’m told that I’m the best border security guy around. I’m in demand.” He laughed. “Lindsay? I can’t hear you. Wait until the sirens blow past you.”
I shouted, “I’m going to Metro Hospital. I need you, Joe. I need you to come right now. The sirens are with me.”
Chapter 119
I WAS HOME in bed, under the covers and with orders to rest. The cramping had turned out to be nothing more than ligaments stretching to support my growing womb.
But with the pain and my stress level, which was off the charts, I panicked.
Joe had canceled his flight and was sitting in the chair next to the bed with his shoes off, his feet on the mattress. My fingers crawled over to his toes and held them.
Joe was saying, “She had been my partner. When I was a Fed.”
“June Freundorfer.”
“We had a thing after my divorce.”
“A thing.”
“A fling.”
“Did you love her?”
“Maybe. Once. But then I wanted to move on. I said so and June took our breakup hard. I started seeing you. I fell in love with you.”
I felt tears welling up, but I was determined not to cry. “I fell in love with my honey-blond honey Lindsay Boxer, Sergeant Superwoman, SFPD. June asked about you and I told her.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She called me a lot. Sometimes I talked to her. She got promoted. After that, she called me less. A couple of years passed and I assumed she was over me. I had lunch with her a few times, as friends. And yes, I went with her to that charity dinner. I should have told you, but I thought the explanation was going to make it seem like more than it was. It was easier just to take her to the dinner and then fly home.
“Then Jason Blayney came across the photo. Don’t ask me how.”
“So why did June tell me that you two were still involved?”
“She lied, Lindsay. She lied her face off. I can’t know what she was thinking, but I’m guessing she was trying to drive a wedge between us. She hasn’t given up.”
I looked into Joe’s eyes. I like to think that I’m very good at telling when a person is lying. Joe’s eyes didn’t shift to either side. He kept a soft and steady gaze, put his hand on my cheek. I moved the blanket aside.
Patted the bed next to me.
Joe sighed happily, undid his belt, shucked his clothes, and came into the bed. I rolled toward him, put my hand on his chest. It was a gentle, even tentative touch.
I had to get used to being with him again.
Joe put his arms around me and pulled me close. He wasn’t tentative at all.
“I’m two hundred percent yours, blondie. I’m sorry this happened.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Joe.”
“It takes a while to make a marriage. We’re new at this. We’re still working out the kinks.”
I nodded, held on tight to my husband, my baby’s wonderful dad. I fell asleep. When my eyes opened again, Joe was still there, his arms around me and our baby.
I woke my husband up so that I could kiss him and tell him how much I loved him. I truly did.
Acknowledgments
OUR THANKS AND gratitude to these top professionals who were so generous with their time and expertise: Captain Richard Conklin, Stamford, Connecticut, Police Department; Dr. Humphrey Germaniuk, medical examiner and coroner, Trumbull County, Ohio; attorneys Philip R. Hoffman and Steven M. Rabinowitz, New York City; Chuck Hanni, IAAI-CFI; and forensic science consultant Elaine M. Pagliaro, MS, JD.
Thanks too to our talented researchers Ingrid Taylar and Lynn Colomello, and to Mary Jordan, aka the Control Tower.
I’m proud to support the National Literacy Trust, an independent charity that changes lives through literacy.
Did you know that millions of people in the UK struggle to read and write? This means children are less likely to succeed at school and less likely to develop into confident and happy teenagers. Literacy difficulties will limit their opportunities throughout adult life.
The National Literacy Trust passionately believes that everyone has a right to the reading, writing, speaking and listening skills they need to fulfil their own and, ultimately, the nation’s potential.
My own son didn’t use to enjoy reading, which was why I started writing children’s books – reading for pleasure is an essential way to encourage children to pick up a book. The National Literacy Trust is dedicated to delivering exciting initiatives to encourage people to read and to help raise literacy levels. To find out more about the great work that they do, visit their website at www.literacytrust.org.uk.
James Patterson
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