Lena couldn’t stand people who raised their voices at the end of every sentence. “Are you calling about the bill? We haven’t gotten it yet.”

“Oh, no, of course not.” She sounded offended. “I just wanted to check on you? Your husband said you were back at work?”

Lena rubbed her eyes with her fingers. Jared had slept on the couch last night. He was gone this morning when Lena woke up. She’d checked the duty roster when she got in. He’d changed shifts so he didn’t have to see her.

“Ma’am?”

Lena dropped her hand. “Is there something you wanted?”

“Dr. Benedict asked me to check on you, see if the cramping’s subsided?”

Lena put her hand to her stomach. “It’s better,” she said, not knowing whether or not this was the truth. Every time she thought about it, she could feel it happening all over again. The excruciating pain that woke her from a deep sleep. The panic as she tried to dress herself. The fear as they raced to the hospital. The agony as they heard the doctor’s words. The screaming argument she’d gotten into with Jared when they got home.

He wouldn’t let Lena throw away the bloody sheets. He said she was trying to pretend it hadn’t happened. That she was unfeeling. Incapable of grieving. That throwing away the sheets was her way of getting rid of the evidence.

As if Lena needed a visual reminder to understand what she had lost.

They had lost.

“Ma’am?”

Lena shook her head, trying to get rid of the thoughts. “Yes?”

“I asked, no excessive bleeding?”

Lena didn’t know what “excessive” meant. She had no point of reference.

“Mrs. Long?” The woman’s voice filled with a warmth that was ten times worse than her stupid interrogatory tone. “I can have Dr. Benedict write you a note for work. You shouldn’t be back so soon. Most women take a few weeks, sometimes a month or even two if they can get off that long.”

“Well, I can’t do that,” Lena said. Yesterday was bad enough. They’d gotten home from the hospital around ten in the morning. Lena had slept away the afternoon, then stayed up arguing with Jared well into the night. The thought of being trapped at home again with nothing to do but wait for Jared to walk through the door was unbearable. Besides, no one at work even knew she was pregnant.

Had been pregnant.

Lena told the woman, “I have work to do.”

“I’m sure you do, Mrs. Long, but people will understand. What you lost—”

“I’m fine,” Lena interrupted. She wanted to correct her, to tell the woman that her last name was Adams, that Jared had told her to keep it because Lena Long sounded like something you’d buy off an infomercial.

Instead, Lena said, “I don’t need a note. Thank you.”

“Oh, darlin’, please don’t hang up.” She was obviously concerned. “You should go home. Be with your husband. Trust me, he might not be showing it, but he’s hurting just as much as you.”

Lena pressed her fingers into her eyes again. Jared was showing it. Lena was the problem. According to her husband, she was some kind of machine. She wasn’t the woman he’d married. He wasn’t sure she was the woman he wanted to stay married to.

Lena looked at the clock. She had a briefing in five minutes. Her team was waiting for her. She should end the call. She should shut up. But the words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I wondered—”

Instead of pushing Lena, or making an inane statement with her voice raised at the end, the woman was silent. The trick was a good one. Lena used it in interrogations. People naturally wanted to fill silences, especially when they felt guilty about something.

Lena said, “I had an abortion.”

Still the woman was silent.

“Six years ago.” Lena put her hand to her face. Her skin felt hot to the touch. “I wondered—”

“No. That has nothing to do with what happened the other night.” The answer had a certain finality to it. “If that were the case, I wouldn’t have my two little ones.”

Lena felt some of the tension leave her chest. She opened her mouth for air. For just a moment, she could breathe again.

The woman said, “Give yourself time to grieve. You and your husband can try again. Trust me, what you’re going through now—it gets easier. It doesn’t ever go away, but it gets different.”

Lena pulled a box of tissues out of her desk. She had to get her shit together. She was at work. She had to stop dwelling on this. There was no way she could lead her team if they saw her sobbing at her desk. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose.

“Okay,” Lena told the woman. “Thank you. I need to get back to work.”

“Mrs. Long. Lena. You really should go home. Don’t do this to yourself. Nobody gets a medal for being tough.”

“Okay.” Lena made her voice stronger. “Thank you for calling. I have to go.”

“But—”

Lena hung up the phone. She blew her nose again. She wiped her eyes until they felt raw. Maybe it was different at a doctor’s office, but at the police station, they gave out medals all the time for being tough.

Lena turned to her computer. She clicked on the ultrasound file and dragged it into the trashcan. She clicked on the Finder menu, then scrolled down to Empty Trash. Her finger stayed pressed down on the mouse. Her heart thumped in her chest.

“Lee?” Paul Vickery banged on the door as he walked into her office. He stopped. “What’s wrong? Somebody yank your nose hair?”

“I’ve gotta stupid cold.” Lena scrolled back up the menu, went to Edit, then selected Undo Move to Trash. She didn’t look up at Paul until she saw the file safely back on her desktop. “What is it?”

“You make a decision yet, boss?”

The decision. They’d planned the raid for next week, but their snitch had told them a big shipment was coming in tonight. Even before she lost the baby, Lena wasn’t comfortable moving up the schedule. She wanted more time to prepare. Apparently, no one else felt this way. She was feeling pressure from all sides to go in. More money, more guns, more dope, more jail time.

She told Paul, “Yeah, everybody else knows but you.”

“Just checking, Kemosabe. No need to get your panties in a wad.”

She heard a familiar chug from her computer. Paul wasn’t the only one who was getting antsy. Denise Branson had sent another email. Lena scanned the first line, which dove straight into the fact that after last night’s overtime, Lena’s investigation had crossed the one-million-dollar mark.

“Damn, girl.” Paul read over her shoulder. “You pissed her off something righteous. What’re you gonna do?”

“She’ll be fine once she gets her picture in the paper.”

“Vanhorn and Gresham,” Paul read from the email. “Sid Waller’s lawyer’s from that firm, right?”

Lena clicked the email closed as she stood up. “We’re gonna draw straws to see who goes down into the basement first. I’m gonna hold them. One person gets to pick from each team.”

Paul grinned like a possum. “Good thing I’m feeling lucky, partner.”