Pregnant Protector. Anne Duquette Marie

9 mm. “Fine. You have my resignation—effective immediately.”

      “Sit down, Detective. You can stay.”

      “I can?” Nick couldn’t believe it. “No refusal, lecture or a trip to the police psychologist before forced desk duty or a leave of absence?”

      “Later. Your co-workers warned me you’d pull a stunt like this. We need your help now. That is what you want, isn’t it?” Girard asked.

      “Yes. What’s the catch?”

      “You need a partner to watch your back.”

      “I already have…” For the first time, the full impact of his loss sunk in. He didn’t have a partner. He had a partner. Julio was dead.

      Nick’s hazel eyes narrowed. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

      “Until we know more, you get one. She’s a cop, it’s her job and you have to sleep sometime.” Girard handed Nick a file from across the desktop. “Consider yourself joined at the hip until this case is solved.”

      Nick read the name on the file. “Lara Nelson? Doesn’t ring a bell.”

      “She’s never worked San Diego Downtown. She works Pacific Beach and La Jolla.”

      If he hadn’t been so grief-stricken, Nick would have felt envious. The seaside section of San Diego called Pacific Beach sprawled north from Mission Bay and Sea World. P.B., as locals called it, teemed with bronzed surfers, college students, bars, nightclubs and comedy clubs. P.B. ran smack into La Jolla’s multimillion-dollar cliffside homes of the rich and famous—San Diego’s version of Los Angeles’ Malibu Beach. And it definitely lacked the crime other parts of San Diego had.

      Grief didn’t quite suppress his curiosity. “How’d she manage that beat?”

      “She’s just come off compassionate leave. We’re easing her back in.”

      Nick avoided the too-sensitive subject of compassionate leave.

      “Besides, the Nelsons breed and train canines for us. We want them to keep providing those dogs. Nelson Kennels are the best, Cantello. The best.”

      “She’s not a detective?”

      “No, K-9.”

      “That’s no help!”

      “Doesn’t matter. She and her dog also do private bodyguard work. She’ll keep you in one piece. And she’ll understand your feelings. She just buried her fiancé—I understand he flew choppers for the hospital up near Yosemite.” The captain paused. “Anyway, she passed her psych evaluations. I want her to keep an eye on you. Emotional men with guns shouldn’t be working the streets alone—or at all, for that matter. If Lara Nelson tells me you’ve slipped up, you go on desk duty.”

      Nick swallowed hard at the thought of his new partner. He couldn’t work up resentment against anyone who felt the pain of loss he now experienced.

      “Or,” Girard continued, “straight to the seventh floor.”

      Nick didn’t want a trip to the police psychology unit. Profilers and counselors worked on the seventh floor. The only therapist he’d ever seen had been years ago during mandatory testing interviews for all rookies in the academy. A private person, he hadn’t enjoyed the experience, though he’d been classified as normal. His innate honesty would compel him to admit that he wasn’t feeling normal now.

      At present, he barely kept a lid on his emotions. And that inner whisper, the one saying he should have kept his own car in the rain, received the original phone call, come in and gone straight to “the scene,” had to be kept quiet. Because of a pleasure trip, others had supported his friend’s wife and two young sons. He hadn’t even seen them after the death and before they’d left for Mexico! What kind of cop wasn’t there for his partner’s family? He had to call them as soon as possible.

      Nick realized Girard was still talking. “…inter-agency cooperation. We’ve got the feds looking into this one. And Lara Nelson’s objectivity could be a plus. Lansky agrees.”

      Nick’s eyebrows rose. “Lieutenant Lansky?”

      “Yes. He and I both knew Lara’s mother—she was a cop—when she worked K-9,” Girard explained. “The Nelsons aren’t outsiders. I trust them. So does he.”

      “But the lieutenant’s—” Nick broke off. He’d been about to say: As close to retirement as you.

      A pause. “We won’t let Julio’s death go unsolved. Your job is to provide information. Nelson’s is to keep you alive.”

      “Get someone from Homicide. She’ll hold me back.”

      “Not as much as if you tried to do this as a civilian.”

      Nick backed off, knowing he’d pushed his luck as far as he could. He reached for the file and reopened it, scanning the photo. Lara Nelson, white, late twenties. She looked somewhat nondescript, as did most subjects in the small official photos. Her record showed brains and nerve. The blue eyes beneath blond bangs in the photograph spoke of determination, not foolishness. But then, determination hadn’t kept his partner alive. Nick took a deep breath.

      “When do I meet her?”

      “She’s waiting down the hall. For now, we’ve given her an office here instead of at K-9. You go where she says. And Cantello, no driving. Give yourself some time to get your feet back under you.”

      The meeting was over. Nick headed for the door, immediately using his cell to call the family in Mexico. There was no answer, nor did any answering machine pick up. He called again, with the same result.

      Sympathetic looks followed him as he headed for the office. Nick ignored them all. He wasn’t ready for sympathy. Sympathy never eased the pain of a death. He’d seen the families of too many victims to believe it did. Justice helped a little—sometimes. Nick’s heart ached anew for Julio’s widow and children. Even a marriage that included kids didn’t always make for happily ever after. Not if one parent was a cop.

      Nick knocked at the closed door of the spare office and stepped back as a woman with a big German shepherd at her side opened the door. He found himself meeting the eyes of a woman who didn’t hide her emotions. She might be a stranger who never knew Julio, but he knew that sympathetic look of pain couldn’t be faked. It hit him hard. He felt a powerful urge to reach out and pull her close.

      “Officer Nelson?” he said instead.

      She nodded, her eyes unblinking, her tanned face framed by head-hugging short blond curls. The simplicity of it suited her, Nick noticed objectively. He also noticed she wasn’t very tall, small even for a female cop. But he knew that brains often made up for brawn. With her dog, he suspected she had all the brawn she needed.

      “Detective Cantello.” She reached for his hand and held it tightly. “Sorry to meet under these circumstances.” Only after releasing his hand did she turn briskly to the door to close it behind him and gesture toward the chair.

      She ordered her dog to sit in German, the language the animals were traditionally trained to follow. Before 9-11, most police dogs were obtained in Germany, and though they weren’t now, law enforcement continued to use German commands. This prevented the dog from responding to a criminal’s English-language commands.

      Nick watched her dog sit strategically at the side of the desk where it could watch both partner and newcomer. Lara Nelson moved with strength and grace, and so did her dog, a large female, mostly tan, with black markings on the face, ears and legs.

      Lara introduced Nick to Sadie, then asked outright, “You have any problems with me, now’s the time to say so.”

      He appreciated her bluntness, and suddenly the words spilled out. “I don’t want a bodyguard. I only agreed to this to keep from getting a desk job during the case. I refuse to stay sidelined or holed up someplace, and I intend to find Julio’s killer with or without