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

enough pity. Let’s get you into bed, my love.”

      The baby made no protest.

      After making sure the baby monitor, with its multiple receiving units that she’d placed in each room, was turned on, C.J. gently closed the nursery door.

      The doorbell rang.

      She sighed. Now what?

      Training had her glancing at her holstered gun on the hall table before approaching the front door. The weapon was in easy reach, just in case. “Who is it?” she called out.

      “Rumpelstiltskin. Who do you think? Open the door, C.J.”

      Warrick. Their conversation in the hallway came back to her. She’d completely forgotten.

      About to appeal to his better nature and beg off, C.J. opened the door. She didn’t get the opportunity to say the words. Warrick walked in, juggling a large pizza box in one hand and a couple of books in the other. He held the latter aloft.

      “I come bearing pizza and not one baby name book, but two.” He tossed the books on the sofa as he came into the living room. “I couldn’t decide between the two and thought I’d splurge. I figured, Murphy’s Law, the one I didn’t buy would have the name that appealed to you.” The coffee table was littered with papers. She was the only one he knew who was a worse housekeeper than he was. “Where do you want this?” He indicated the pizza. “It’s hot.”

      Walking ahead of him, she moved the infant seat off the table and put it on the floor in the corner. “You didn’t have to bring that.”

      He was already opening the box. The smell of pepperoni and three kinds of cheeses filled the air. “Hey, I’ve got to eat, too.”

      C.J. went to the kitchen and reached into the cupboard for a couple of plates. “I could always have rustled up something.”

      He shivered at the thought. “No offense but I’d rather eat my shoes.” He took a plate from her. “You’re a woman of many talents, C.J. Cooking is not one of them.” He held up the first slice, offering it to her. “My dog cooks better than you.”

      She slid the slice onto her plate and sat down at the table. “You don’t have a dog.”

      He took a slice for himself. “If I did, he’d cook better than you.” He sank his teeth into the slice and savored the taste. It had taken him almost four years to find the right pizza place. It wasn’t just about tossing the right ingredients onto dough, it was about care and timing and crust. Though his body gave no indication of it, Warrick loved his food. “And I’m thinking about getting one.”

      She stopped midbite. “You?”

      He could just hear her mocking him. “Is that so hard to imagine?”

      “Yes. I can’t see you getting attached to anything.” His marriage and its disastrous termination testified to that.

      “Who says I’m the one getting attached? Dogs are supposed to be the loyal ones, the ones that stand by the door, waiting for you to come home.” He had to admit, he kind of liked the thought of having something there to greet him. Though he enjoyed his solitude, there were times when there was too much of it.

      “Good luck with that.” She took another bite, then looked at him. “And since when do you care about those kinds of things, anyway?”

      He wasn’t about to admit to having a real need. “Seems like the right thing to do. Then my goddaughter would have something to play with whenever she came over to visit.”

      “My daughter’s coming over to your house? When did this happen?”

      “Well, not right now.” Polishing off the slice, he helped himself to another. “I mean later. When she can walk and talk and stuff. I haven’t even got the dog yet,” he pointed out.

      C.J. laughed and shook her head. Getting up, she went to get a couple of napkins.

      “If you ask me, I came back from maternity leave just in time.” She tossed several napkins on the table between them. “You sound like you’re losing your mind.”

      He had to admit he’d missed having her around. “Rodriguez and Culpepper aren’t exactly next week’s contestants for Jeopardy.” At least not as far as day-to-day conversations went. “All Culpepper wants to talk about is that gopher he’s been battling since the beginning of time, and Rodriguez keeps getting that goofy look on his face whenever he thinks about his fiancée.”

      “How can you tell the difference? He always looks goofy.”

      Warrick laughed. “Goofier.” He realized he needed something to drink. “I didn’t bring beer, I didn’t know if you were, um, you know.”

      “No, I’m not, um, you know.” Getting up, she went to the refrigerator and fetched a bottle of beer for him and a can of diet soda for herself. “The baby’s pediatrician said she needs a special formula. Seems that she’s allergic—”

      Warrick held up his hand. “Too much information.” He felt this was getting into a realm he had no business being in. “That’s violating doctor-patient privilege.”

      “How much privilege are we talking about?” C.J. laughed, then looked at her partner. Was that a pink hue she saw creeping up his cheek? Warrick? This was a man who’d busted a prostitution ring and walked in on two naked women without blinking an eye. “Pink is not your color, Warrick.”

      He pushed the box toward her. “Why don’t you just finish eating so we can get down to business?”

      She helped herself to a second slice. “Okay, but I warn you,” her eyes indicated the books, “this might not work.”

      “Every known name in the world is in these books. If you can’t find a middle name here, you’re going to have to make one up.”

      She hadn’t thought of that. The idea was not without its appeal. “There’s an idea.”

      Warrick was sorry he’d said anything. “Let’s just leave it on the back burner until we’ve gone through this.”

      “Whatever you say.”

      He gave her a dubious look. “Now there’s something I never thought I’d hear from you.”

      The sound of her laughter enveloped him. He’d missed that, too, Warrick thought as he got up to get the books.

      Chapter 6

      Warrick shook his head as he got up from the living room sofa. It was getting late and they had more than done justice to the pizza, if not to the quest for a suitable middle name for C.J.’s daughter.

      The latter was not for his lack of trying. He glanced at the books on the coffee table. They looked as if they’d been run through the wringer. “You know, you’re impossible.”

      C.J. rose, as well. She stretched before rounding the table to join him.

      “No,” she said, “I’m selective.”

      She wasn’t any happier about the situation than he sounded, but she was determined not to rush this process. Her daughter’s full name had to be absolutely right for her.

      Warrick had another word for it, but kept it to himself.

      “It’s just a middle name. Just pick one.” She glanced back at the books. “I don’t know, maybe I went through them too fast, but none of the names I looked at ‘feel’ right for my daughter.” She frowned.

      Why did he even bother trying to win an argument with her? “You know, rather than Christmas, your parents should have named you Mary. Like in that nursery rhyme—‘Mary, Mary quite contrary.”’ He took a closer look at her. There were shadows beneath her eyes. He hoped her daughter would let her get a few hours rest. “Do you have to disagree with everything I say?”

      “I don’t have to…”