Love You More: A Novel

“Gonna tell Annabelle you’re working late?”


He gestured outside the sub shop window, where the first flakes had started to fall. “Am I wrong?”

“She okay with your schedule?” D.D. asked.

He shrugged. “What can she do? The job’s the job.”

“What about Carina? Soon she’ll figure out Daddy disappears and doesn’t always return home to play. Then there’s the missed recitals, school plays, soccer games. I scored one for the team, Dad! Except you weren’t there.”

Bobby regarded her curiously. “The job’s the job,” he repeated. “Yeah, there are times it sucks, but then, most jobs do.”

D.D. scowled. She looked down, poked at her soup. The saltines had absorbed the broth, creating a lumpy mess. She didn’t feel like eating anymore. She was tired. Discouraged. She was thinking of a little girl they probably wouldn’t find alive. She was thinking of elderly Mrs. Ennis’s comments on how hard it was for Trooper Leoni to juggle her job, a house, and a kid.

Maybe female law enforcement officers weren’t meant to lead lives of domestic bliss. Maybe if Trooper Leoni hadn’t tried for the whole husband and white picket fence, D.D. wouldn’t have been called out this morning and a cute, innocent child wouldn’t now be missing.

Good Lord, what was D.D. supposed to tell Alex? How was she, a career detective and self-admitted workaholic, supposed to feel about this?

She poked at her soup one last time, then pushed it away. Bobby was still standing there, apparently waiting for her to say something.

“You ever picture me as a mom?” she asked him.

“No.”

“You didn’t even have to think about that.”

“Don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never pictured myself as a mom. Moms … sing lullabies and carry around Cheerios and make funny faces just to get their babies to smile. I only know how to make my squad smile and that involves fresh coffee and maple-frosted donuts.”

“Carina likes peekaboo,” Bobby said.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I put my hand over my eyes, then jerk it away and cry, ‘Peekaboo!’ She can do that for hours. Turns out I can do that for hours, too. Who knew?”

D.D. covered her eyes with her palm, then whipped her hand away. Bobby disappeared. Bobby reappeared. Other than that, it didn’t do much for her.

“I’m not your baby,” Bobby said by way of explanation. “We’re genetically programmed to want to make our children happy. Carina beams, and … I can’t even describe it. But my whole day has been worth it, and whatever silly thing makes her look like that, I’m gonna do it again. What can I tell you? It’s crazier than love. Deeper than love. It’s … being a parent.”

“I think Brian Darby murdered his stepdaughter. I think he killed Sophie, then Tessa Leoni returned home and shot him.”

“I know.”

“If we’re genetically programmed to want to make our offspring happy, how come so many parents hurt their own kids?”

“People suck,” Bobby said.

“And that thought gets you out of bed each morning?”

“I don’t have to hang out with people. I have Annabelle, Carina, my family, and my friends. That’s enough.”

“Gonna have a second Carina?”

“Hope so.”

“Why, you’re an optimist, Bobby Dodge.”

“In my own way. I take it you and Alex are getting serious?”

“Guess that’s the question.”

“Does he make you happy?”

“I’m not someone who gets happy.”

“Then does he make you content?”

She thought of her morning, wearing Alex’s shirt, sitting at Alex’s table. “I could spend more time with him.”

“It’s a start. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna call my wife and probably make some goo-goo noises for my daughter.”

Bobby stepped away from the table. “Can I listen in?” D.D. called after him.

“Absolutely not,” he called back.

Which was just as well, because her stomach was cramping uneasily again and she was thinking of a little bundle in blue or maybe a little bundle in pink and wondering what a little Alex or little D.D. might look like, and if she could love a child as much as Bobby obviously loved Carina, and if that love alone could be enough.

Because domestic bliss rarely worked out for female cops. Just ask Tessa Leoni.