Pregnant Protector. Anne Duquette Marie

if we have a serial cop killer on our hands?”

      “Don’t get hysterical, Officer.”

      Lara’s mouth opened, but before she could honestly protest, someone called out Girard’s name and he turned away. Nick gently pushed her toward her squad car.

      “Drop it, Nelson. And get in.” He jerked a thumb at the passenger side. “This time, I’m driving.”

      LARA SHIFTED in her seat during the drive, her nerves still raw—and aware that both her dog and the man driving had picked up on it. Nick kept flicking her quick glances, while Sadie, in back, kept her long nose near Lara’s neck, past the open grill that, when locked, separated a prisoner from the officers in front. The remote control could pop open the back door, as well, when a quick exit was needed.

      “Are we almost there?” she asked.

      The corners of Nick’s lips twitched. “You sound like Julio’s kids. Next you’ll be wanting ice cream.”

      “Ha, ha,” she replied, feeling more of her courage flow back into her spine. “Still, it’s better than being accused of being hysterical. Talk about old school.” Girard’s comment still stung.

      “Girard is old school.” Nick glanced at her. “You ever been shot at before?”

      “Never.”

      “First time for me, too. Guess we’re not virgins anymore.”

      Lara deliberately made her voice light. “Another milestone in a cop’s life.”

      “Well, you handled yourself well. Drove us out of the line of fire. Plus that fishtail spin so the shooter had a smaller area of car to hit. Excellent work, lady.”

      “You, too, Detective,” Lara admitted. “I saw you draw your weapon and check for our shooter. All out of the corner of my hysterical little right eye.”

      “I’ll take your hysterical over others’ calm any day.” Nick flicked on his signal light. “We’re here,” he announced, then gestured at the other squad car waiting for them. “And there’re my guys.” Nick pulled up into an oil-stained driveway in front of a faded apartment complex. It was definitely older, but maintained well.

      “You live here?” Lara asked, surprised. She took in the old trees, their roots making cracks in the sidewalk. They were just a part of the many concrete areas, including the driveways and carports, where children played in lieu of yards or parks. Water in San Diego was expensive, as was irrigation. Grass refused to grow on just air and sunlight. Landlords knew that—and children tore it up, anyway. Better to mount swing sets in cement and let the parents deal with skinned knees.

      “Not La Jolla, but it’s home,” Nick said casually.

      “I’m no snob. I meant that this place looks more like it’s for families. Pets, kids, picnic tables. Swing sets and slides.”

      “Julio and his wife used to live here until they found a bigger place. I moved in. My last place was bulldozed for condos and the management company takes good care of this place.” He shrugged, then reached for the mike as the car’s radio crackled with confirmation from the other two officers that they’d searched his apartment, courtesy of the landlord’s key, and the premises were secure.

      “Would you mind leaving Sadie in the car?” Nick asked.

      “Actually, I would. Sadie’s like my badge and gun—they rarely leave my side.”

      “I wouldn’t ask, but I’ve got a cat, and he’s not too good with dogs,” Nick said.

      “Oh. Well, since we already have men here.”

      In German, Lara ordered Sadie to stay in and guard the car, which was parked in the shade with open windows. Nick and Lara went through the open courtyard filled with dead leaves, gum wrappers, bikes, toys and the accompanying children. Some shouted out his name and waved. He smiled, caught and returned a tossed football.

      Lara actually jumped as an aged cat emerged from behind the potted cactus near his door. As it hissed and arched its gray back, Nick met her gaze.

      “Calm down, Nelson. It’s only my cat.”

      “I’m calm, and is that what this is?”

      “Yep.” To her surprise, Nick bent over and scooped the wild-looking thing up into one hand, while with the other reached for his mailbox on the stucco outer wall. “I don’t have the wife or kids yet, but I do have the pet. Someday…”

      Lara blinked, thinking of Jim and the family they’d planned. Only, she’d wanted a family dog for the children, not a scarred feline with defiantly unsheathed claws. The animal had obviously been through some rough times, had probably tangled with San Diego’s coyotes, which shared the heavy areas of population due to habitat destruction; their only source of water was automatic city sprinklers. Adult coyotes learned the hours they went on and off, females taught their pups. Generations of coyotes who’d lost their fear of man trekked through the streets like so many stray dogs. Trouble was, these animals lived off fruit from the local citrus trees and mammals, including small domestic pets. Even fenced yards weren’t protection.

      “You picked out this cat?” she asked.

      “He picked out me…used to live next door. The last tenants left him behind. The new ones couldn’t take him in. Their youngest is allergic.”

      “Poor thing.”

      “The cat or the child?”

      “Both.” Lara couldn’t imagine a life without animals, but she didn’t venture closer to pet the feline. Smelling of dog, she wasn’t about to socialize with this set of claws.

      “The child is happy, and this cat is old and doesn’t like kids, anyway. He’s been fixed, I get him his shots, and he’s content to hang here.”

      “That’s good. I doubt the shelter would consider a war-torn veteran like him adoptable,” Lara observed.

      He stroked the gray head once, then set the cat down and opened his door.

      “What’s his name?”

      “The old tenants just called him ‘the cat.’” Nick unlocked the door. “It’s all he’ll answer to. Come on in.”

      The gray tiger streaked by her as she stepped inside. It immediately made its way to the kitchen at the other end of the living room. After a quick shuffle, Nick tossed his mail on the coffee table.

      “They’ve already searched the place, so make yourself at home. I’ll grab my things,” Nick said.

      Lara felt tempted by the comfortable, padded recliner. Murder, the morgue and a bullet-riddled Mercedes had made for a rough day, she thought, as she studied the room. The inside of Nick’s place was a pleasant contrast to the shabbier courtyard outside. She took in the neat surroundings, freshly painted walls, clean carpet and the dust-free furniture. As she waited, she realized the room held few touches of its owner. There were no magazines or newspapers carelessly scattered, no photographs on the wall, no personal mementos anywhere.

      If it weren’t for a single boating magazine and mail on the coffee table, she could have been in a nice hotel and never known the difference. Lara’s gaze wandered about, her eyes troubled. There had to be something that spoke of the man who lived there. She saw nothing except a cat without a name.

      “Everything meet with your approval?” Nick asked suddenly.

      Lara turned to see him watching her, a nylon gym bag and plastic suit carrier slung over his arm.

      “I was trying to learn more about you,” she admitted.

      “Any success?”

      “Nope. You don’t even have a television. A room like this—” she gestured with one hand, and met his gaze “—seems so sterile.”

      “My cleaning lady lives