Their Baby Girl...?: The Baby Mission / Her Baby Secret

Something in common.

What did these thirteen women have in common? she wondered, staring down at the photographs spread out on her desk. Beyond the obvious, of course. If you looked quickly, and myopically, they almost looked like photographs of the same person.

Of her, she thought grimly. Because she bore the same eerily similar physical features as the dead women. She was a blue-eyed blonde within the age range that the Sleeping Beauty Killer gravitated toward.

There but for the grace of God…

C.J. shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t know if it was the thought or the unnerving twinges she kept feeling that was getting to her.

What had made the Sleeping Beauty Killer snuff out these women’s lives, executing them politely but firmly? Why them? Why not green-eyed redheads or brown-eyed brunettes?

There had to be a reason. Something.

One by one she held up the photographs of the young women, taken while they were still alive, and examined them closely. Did they represent some kind of fantasy woman to the killer? Someone in his life who had been unattainable to him? Who perhaps had spurned him?

Or was there some kind of other reason behind his choice?

She just didn’t know, and not knowing frustrated her to the nth degree. Muttering an oath, she tossed down the last photograph, taken of the last victim. A Bedford University sophomore named Nora Adams.

“Did you know him, Nora? Did you talk to him? Smile at him? Or did you not even see him?”

“Don’t you have a home to go to?”

Startled, C.J. almost jumped. It took a moment for her heart to stop slamming against her rib cage. Turning around, she saw that Warrick was standing not five feet away from her. She hadn’t even heard him come in.

C.J. took a deep breath and gathered the photographs together again. “Since when did you decide to become my keeper?”

As if that was possible. “It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.”

This pending motherhood with all its emotional baggage was getting her too jumpy, she thought disparagingly. Her nerves felt scattered and dangerously close to the surface. She just wished she didn’t ache so. “How’s the investigation going?”

He’d been on his way home when he’d decided to take a detour and stop at the field office. He had a hunch C.J. would still be here. There were times, such as these, when he felt that his partner didn’t have the common sense of a flea. Not when it came to herself, anyway.

Warrick shoved his hands into his pockets. The case was as frustrating to him as it was to her. There were dead ends as far as the eye could see. Just like the last time.

“No more dead girls, if that’s what you’re asking. No more clues, either. No fingerprints, no bodily fluids, no sloppy anything left in his wake.” He laughed shortly. “It’s like the guy’s a ghost.”

He’d put into words the thought she’d just been entertaining. “Maybe he is.” Warrick looked at her sharply. “What do you mean, like Casper?”

“No.” He knew she didn’t mean that, C.J. thought in exasperation. “Like someone nobody notices. One of those people who pass through our lives who we never take any note of.” Caught up in a fast-paced existence, she was as guilty as everyone else. “The kid bagging your groceries, the toll booth guy making change. The postal worker who weighs your package. People we see every day without really seeing them at all.”

She could be on to something. That could explain why no one ever noticed anyone out of the ordinary hanging around, Warrick reasoned. “That doesn’t mean he won’t make a mistake.”

She sighed, flipping the folder closed. She shifted again. Her back was aching in the worst way. She tried to remember if she’d done something to strain it. “He hasn’t until now.”

“And odds are, he won’t tonight.”

She looked at Warrick quizzically. What was that supposed to mean? Had he heard something? “Tonight?”

“Yes.” Pulling her chair back from her desk, he turned it around to face him and leaned over her. “Go home, C.J. You look tired.”

Feet planted on the floor, she scooted back. “Bad lighting.”

There was no such thing as bad lighting as far as C.J. was concerned. She looked good in shadow and in sunlight. Rousing his thoughts, he waved around the office. “Everyone else is gone.”

She raised her chin defiantly, knowing she was baiting him and enjoying it. “You’re not.”

“That’s because I’m checking in on you.” He stopped, knowing this was going to go nowhere. With C.J. it never did unless she wanted it to. “God, but you are a stubborn woman.”

She pulled up another program on her computer. Maybe a fresh perspective would help. “Wouldn’t have lasted all this time with you if I wasn’t.”

“Hey, the only reason we’re together is because I’m the patient one. You’re the one who’s always running off half-cocked.”

The ache began to sear through her body. “No running tonight,” she muttered.

He gave it one more try. “C’mon, C.J., let me take you home.”

She splayed her hand over her chest. “Why, Warrick, this is so sudden.”

Not really. The small voice in his head came out of nowhere, implying things it had no business implying. Damn it, what had gotten into him tonight?

He raised a brow at the wordplay. “Your home, not mine, partner.”

It was late and she didn’t know how much longer her energy would last. Maybe something she came up with here would ultimately save someone. “Later.”

He felt the edge of his temper sharpening. “Now.”

C.J. looked away from her screen, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “You’re not the boss of me, Warrick.”

He gave up. Drop-dead gorgeous or not, she was stubborn as a smelly mule. “Fine, sound like a two-year-old. You’ll be good company for that baby of yours.”

She knew he meant well, but so did she. There was a man out there killing women because they looked like real-live versions of Barbie, and she had to put a stop to it. “I don’t feel like going home, War. There’s a stack of dirty dishes in the sink waiting for me, and a pile of laundry held over from the Spanish Civil War. If I’m here, I don’t feel guilty about not cleaning.”

She had to be the most contrary woman he’d ever met. Nothing about her went by the book. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the nesting mode by now?”

She hated that term. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a woman, not a bird.”

“You’re a walking contradiction of terms is what you are.” Surrendering, Warrick sighed. “Never could get you to listen to reason.”

She spared him a look and grinned. “Right, why start now?”

Why indeed. There was a cold beer in his refrigerator with his name on it. It was time to start the reunion. “Good night, C.J.”

“Uh-huh.” Her attention was already fastened to the reports she knew almost by heart.

Warrick had crossed the room and was about to pass the threshold when he heard a strange little gasp behind him.

“Warrick?”