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

“How about Hannah? Are you a Hannah?”

C.J. looked down at her daughter, trying out yet another name on her. The christening had been postponed because Father Gannon had suddenly been called away on personal business. His aged mother in Ireland was ill and not expected to recover. She could, of course, go with another priest, but she had her heart set on Father Gannon. She could wait. And while she waited, she continued searching for that elusive middle name.

Wide blue eyes looked back at her. Picking the baby up, C.J. patted the small, dry bottom.

“No, huh? How about Annie? Annie do anything for you?” She held the baby away from her, peering at the almost perfect face, trying to envision her daughter responding to the name. “Nothing.” C.J. tucked her against her left hip. “Okay, Desiree, how about that one? No, you’re right, it’s all wrong. Napoleon’s mistress after Josephine, what are we trying to say here, right?” She sighed. “Let’s forget about this name game for now and get you some breakfast, Joy.”

C.J. hummed softly to herself as she walked back into the kitchen, the baby nestled against her hip. Outside, the world was dressed in dreary shades of gray, a rainstorm threatening to become a reality at any moment. But it was Saturday and she wasn’t going into work today. She intended to make the most of it and spend the day bonding with her daughter.

It amazed her how quickly this little person had become such an integral part of her life. She couldn’t begin to imagine life without her now.

The baby seemed to be growing a little each day right in front of her eyes. Each stage filled C.J. with wonder, but made her feel nostalgic, as well, something she would never have thought she’d experience. Nostalgic for the precious, small person she’d held against her breast, even though it had only been two short months since she was born.

Looking at her daughter, C.J. laughed softly to herself. “I don’t know, Baby, I’ve turned into a real marshmallow when it comes to you.” She opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of milk, then placed it on the counter. Maybe she’d just name her Babe and be done with it. Naw. “If I feel this way now, what am I going to do when you want to start dating? Hanging out to the wee hours of the morning with who knows what kind of characters. And all they’ll want is—”

C.J. stopped abruptly. Something akin to a revelation came to her. What she was feeling had been felt by mothers since the beginning of time. What her own mother must have gone through with her. She’d been more than a handful, determined to stay out as late as her brothers had, eschewing curfews.

Wow. Her poor mother. “Omigod, honey, I think I owe your grandmother a great big apology.”

With the baby still tucked against her hip, C.J. picked up the telephone and dialed her parents’ phone number with the same hand. She’d discovered she had an aptitude for doing a great many things with just one hand if she needed to, the other being recruited for far more precious work. Necessity was truly the mother of invention.

She heard her mother’s voice on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

“I’m sorry.”

There was a slight pause on the other end. “Chris, is that you?” Concern filled her mother’s voice. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

“Yes, it’s me.” She hadn’t meant to scare her mother. “Nothing’s wrong, Mom. I just wanted to call you to say I’m sorry.”

A note of confusion entered Diane’s voice, even as the concern lingered.

“Why, what did you do? Chris, are you sure you’re all right?” Her voice began to escalate as countless scenarios occurred to her. “You’re not in any hostage situation are you? God, I wanted you to go into your father’s firm instead of this cloak-and-dagger business. Why wouldn’t you listen to me for just once in your life? You were always too independent—”

C.J. found her opening as her mother took a breath. “Mom, slow down. I’m not in any hostage situation. I’m standing right here in my kitchen with the baby on my hip and—”

“She’s not a rag doll, C.J.” her mother admonished. “Use both hands.”

C.J. rolled her eyes. “Mom, can I just get this out, please?” She said the words in a rush before the next interruption could occur. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through while I was growing up.”

“You’re forgiven.” Her mother’s concern took another direction. “You’re not ill or anything, are you, Chris? Should I come over?” Not waiting for a response, she obviously made up her mind. “Give me a minute, I’ll just turn off your father’s breakfast and—”

“Mom,” C.J. raised her voice. “Mom, stop letting your imagination run away with you. I’m fine, the baby’s fine, I just suddenly had momlike feelings, and I realized what you must have gone through all these years with all of us. With me,” she added after a beat. “And I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for the grief I gave you.”

“Well.” She heard her mother sighing a sigh she’d obviously kept in for years. “I’m glad I lived to see the day.” There was no pause whatsoever as she asked, “Now, does she have a middle name yet?”

Time to retreat, C.J. thought. “I’ve got to go, Mom, there’s a call coming in on the other line. Talk to you later, bye.”

She heard her mother sigh, murmur goodbye and then hang up.

“Okay, young lady, we were about to get you some breakfast before I had that unprecedented qualm of conscience.” She cocked her head, looking at her daughter again. “Are you a Joy Michelle? No, that’s not right, either.”

With a sigh she opened the microwave door and reached for the bottle. The phone rang. Now what?

“This’ll just take a minute,” she promised her daughter. Picking up the receiver, she wedged it against her head and shoulder as she returned to the microwave. “Hello?”

Warrick was on the other end. His voice was grim. “There’s been another murder, C.J.”

She didn’t have to ask if this concerned their killer. Her stomach instantly tightened.

Letting out a breath, she punched in one minute, three seconds and pushed the start button. “Where?”

“In Santa Barbara.”

She frowned. That didn’t sound right. “Santa Barbara? Is our boy spreading out?” God, she hoped not. C.J. shivered.

“That’s what I’m going up there to find out.”

Where was this coming from? “Not without me you’re not.”

“This is just a courtesy call, C.J. I figured you’d want to know. Stay home and take care of your baby.”

C.J. frowned. This was getting old. Ever since she’d returned to work, Warrick had been treating her differently. Not as an equal, but like someone who needed protecting. She didn’t know if it was because of the kiss that shimmered between them like a silent entity, or because of the baby, but either way, she didn’t like it and she wasn’t about to stand for it.

“Warrick, this is my case just as much as it is yours. Now just give me a few minutes to get some things together so I can take the baby over to my mother’s. I can be there in—” she realized she didn’t have enough information to make a time estimate “—where are you?”

“I’m still at the field office. But C.J., there’s no need—”

The microwave bell went off. She opened the door, then drew out the arm that was supporting her baby just far enough to test the temperature of the milk on her wrist. Perfect. Unlike this conversation.

“Yes, there is a need,” she insisted. “I have a need.” Moving the chair away from the table with her foot, she sat down, then shifted the baby onto her lap. Cradling her daughter to her, she began feeding the infant, all the while never losing an ounce of her indignation. “Damn it, Warrick, I’m still the same partner you always had.”

“No, you’re not.” His voice was low, steely. Unmovable. “You’re someone’s mother now.”

That didn’t warrant the preferential treatment. “And as someone’s mother, I want to catch this bastard before he robs some other mother of her child.” She smiled at her daughter, keeping her own voice calm so as not to frighten the baby. But it wasn’t easy when her temper was flaring this way. “Now stop treating me as if I was made of porcelain and give me the courtesy of waiting for me to get there.”

Soft tone or not, he knew C.J. well enough to know she was mad as the proverbial wet hen. “I’m not sure I want to do that now. You sound like you’re breathing fire.”

“You bet I’m breathing fire,” she said between clenched teeth, her smile never wavering. “I worked long and hard to get here and I’m not about to give it up because you suddenly feel the need to treat me with kid gloves. I wouldn’t treat you any differently if you had a baby.”

She heard him laugh. Even though she was angry, the sound rippled against her ear, undulating through her. Did postpartum syndrome include hallucinations?

“If I had a baby, the world would treat me differently.”

The baby was chugging away at the bottle, draining it like a trouper. At this rate, C.J. estimated, she would double her size in no time.

“Very funny. Now let me get off the phone and do what I have to do. And you’d better be waiting for me when I get there or I swear I will fillet your skin off your body when I get my hands on you.”

She heard him laugh again. “Love it when you talk dirty like that. Okay, I’ll wait. Just don’t take too long.”