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Paying attention to the details of the investigation consumed another hour of her afternoon, but the traffic gods blessed her with a smooth commute. She slipped into an auditorium seat, in time to catch the last few minutes of Eva’s dance class.

And Eleanor leading them.

The sweet sight brought a smile to her face, throat aching for a different reason. They’d probably be fighting within minutes of arriving home, but in this moment, Eva’s attention remained glued to her older sister while she copied Eleanor’s graceful movements.

Eleanor gathered the little girls around her for their closing, then shrugged into her sweatshirt before scanning the auditorium. Lifting a hand in a subdued wave, she directed Eva’s attention toward Caitlin.

“Mama!” Bag bouncing against her side, Eva scampered up the aisle to her, and Caitlin caught her in a hug, loving the warmth of sturdy little arms about her neck. Eva pulled back, dark eyes wide. “Will Daddy be home tonight?”

“Hmm, let’s figure that out.” She cupped a hand under Eva’s chin. “What day is it, topolina?”

“Thursday.”

“When is Daddy supposed to be home?”

“Friday.” Eva’s face fell, thin brows drawn together before she brightened. “That’s tomorrow.”

“Barring anything unforeseen, then Daddy should be home tomorrow.” She dropped a quick kiss on Eva’s nose. “And I’m sure he’ll call tonight.”

He was good about that, when his hours ran long or he traveled, as he had this week for a training session on undercover protocols.

“Mama, we need to stop at CVS.” Eleanor folded an arm about her neck and plopped a kiss on her cheek, lowering her voice to a whisper near Caitlin’s ear. “I need tampons. I used the last one out of my bag, and I don’t have very many at home, either.”

Ushering Eva toward the door, she slanted an inquiring frown at Eleanor. “Are you early?”

“No.” Eleanor shrugged, pushing the heavy wooden door open.

A chilly wind caught a stray lock of Caitlin’s hair, and she pushed it behind her ear. Eleanor had to be early — already her daughter was as regular as she was, and her own cycle always started a week before Eleanor’s.

Fishing her phone from her bag, she scrolled through to the health app as they walked to the car. Surely Eleanor was . . .

Holy Mother.

She was nine days late and hadn’t even realized. Stress for sure, with her schedule packed and Tick busy and distracted, not quite himself still. The disruption must be stress-related, although she was so regular Tick joked he could set his watch by her, but he’d had a vasectomy and that nausea had to be—

“Mama?” Half-smiling, half-frowning, Eleanor gazed at her, a quizzical light in her eyes, and Caitlin blinked at her elder daughter, having come to a dead stop in the middle of the path to the parking lot, other parents and daughters streaming by them.

“CVS, of course.” She passed trembling fingers over Eva’s smooth hair, moving them toward the car.

Night had fallen and grown late once dinner and chores and homework were done and both girls had talked to Tick via videochat, their own conversation brief and centered on work and their daughters. Caitlin found herself grateful for the brevity and his distraction because “I’m about to take a pregnancy test” wasn’t something she wanted to say over the phone.

With the CVS bag taunting her from the foot of their bed, she checked her email, replying to Beech about a shared case and sending Frazier a recap of the Linney homicide so far, along with her thoughts on the possible link to the murders Beatty was already working.

Phone in hand, she sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the bag. She was being ridiculous. She’d skipped a period before, that crazy stressful fall when Eva had been an infant, both of them sagging with relief over a negative test.

Now . . . she didn’t want to do this without him. He should be here, to laugh with her over this negative test, to pull her into him and call her precious.

She missed him like she always did when he was gone, a deep, visceral emotion, but he wasn’t here and she couldn’t live in limbo forever.

With short, tight movements, she snatched up the bag and marched into the en suite. This was ridiculous. His vasectomy was almost as statistically reliable as her IUD had been, so a negative result was a given.

Three minutes later, she stared at a pair of blue lines with numb shock amid a wave of infuriated terror.

No.

She was pregnant and he was off learning to play 007, or well, 007’s supervising agent.

When she got her hands on him again, he was a dead man.