“Maybe she hired someone.”
Chapter Fourteen
Suds
The day half over, I fast forward through hours of hotel footage and get to thinking. When my womandoesget pregnant, she sure as hell better stay home. Maybe the Catholic study guide is right. We should get this shit resolved before there’s a bun in the oven.
“What?” Sitting across from me at the table, Sam lifts her eyes, her smurfy face lit blue by her monitor.
“Can’t I just stare at you, sugar?”
“Not if we’re supposed to be finding a murderer.” She eyes me, then sighs. “Listen, I’m sorry about not being pregnant and you thinking I was, but really… If it was the other way around, I would’ve picked the stick out of the trash, stuck it in your face, and asked if we were having a baby. Plain and simple.”
“Is that so? What if youwereme? And what if you were worried your fiancé wasn’t so keen on bein’ pregnant and so you gave her a little space to think about it?”
She grants me a big ol’ smile shooting me dead center in my chest. Hell, I feel like I scratched off a circle and underneath was a million bucks.
It’s probably why what comes out of my mouth ain’t so brilliant. “I figured, what with Suds and Sam just getting off the ground, you weren’t quite ready to stop workin’.”
“Excuse me?” Her voice goes up an octave.
Oh fuck. Having stepped knee deep in shit, I backpedal real fast. “Honey lamb, according to the Catholic class you got us takin’, we best have this conversation before we say our vows. Y’all gotta know I’d never let you put my baby in danger.”
“Sebastian, I wouldn’t either. But I’m not going to stop working when andifI get pregnant.”
Hell, no way will I agree to that.“Nah-uh. No field work. Period.”
“C’mon now, Suds. You wouldn’t care if I snapped a few infidelity pictures outside a hotel? That’s not dangerous at all.”
“I dunno but I’m not sayin’ yes and not sayin’ no. For sure, no going into prisons, no getting clues from Uncle Vinny, and no playing with guns… or sharp knives, or… well anything else I might think of.”
She hugs me then kisses me on the nose. “Chill. I’m sure we’ll be on the same page when the time comes. For now, we need to concentrate on Sienna. She’s the one with a baby to protect.
Our conversation is interrupted by the chirping of Sam’s phone.
“We ain’t done yet.” I get the final say.
“Can I help you?” Ignoring me, Sam plops her mobile on the table.
The small monitor displays a video feed outside our front door where a woman in her fifties wears a black t-shirt and jeans.
Leaning over, she peers into our doorbell. “Hello, I’m Trish Jackson, your cat therapist. We have an appointment.”
“When did you schedule that?” My tone probably is off because Sam rolls her eyes.
“You’re the one who insisted. Last Sunday? Remember? Only the best for my baby?”
“Hell girl, I thought we was talkin’ about a pediatrician, not a crazy cat shrink. You should’ve known better.”
“Hey, this is not my fault. What do I do? Should I send her away?”
In the camera feed, the woman glances at her watch and frowns.
“Nah. This should be good. We need a little comic relief.”
My gal gives me a funny look, buzzes the woman up, and opens the door. “Come on in. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee?”
“No, I should get right to work. Could you introduce me to Catrina?” She eyes me up and down like maybe I should’ve dressed up for the occasion.
