Page 198 of The Archer Brothers

Trey smiles. “Welcome to San Diego. How fast can you be ready?”

“Monday, if that works for everyone?” The other agents nod.

Trey leaves us to figure out the logistics of starting a new force. We’re going to start fresh when the week begins, see what we can uncover, and see who we can bring down. I spend the rest of my morning sitting at my desk, in my empty office, making calls to my Las Vegas SAC. He’s not pleased, but understands and expects that we’ll end up working on the same cases. He tells me that he’ll send copies over as soon as possible. I hang up and lean back in my chair. My view is of the dried grass behind the building. I think this is better than looking at the parking lot. I’d likely spend too much time wondering where people were going or what they were doing. I press Nate’s name on my phone and hold it to my ear.

“Hey, how’d your meeting go?” Nate says when he answers.

“Good,” I tell him. “Actually, it was amazing.”

He chuckles. “Oh yeah, did you get a raise?”

"Promotion.”

“Hot shit, congrats.”

“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “Thing is, it requires me to move.”

There’s silence, and then he asks. “Where?”

“San Diego.”

“Wait, what?”

Now I’m the one laughing. “SAC Trey offered me a job. I’m going to lead the sex crimes task force here. She gave me three agents and an analyst. And I have my own office.”

“Well damn, look at you. I’m happy for you.”

“And for yourself?”

“Duh,” he says. “No time difference, less traveling, and when you’re not out of town, you’ll be in our bed. Of course, I’m happy. Not only for me but for us.”

“What about you and the DC office?”

“Evan and I’ve been chatting. We’re thinking of moving the home base here. I’m not worried.”

“Want to drive to Vegas and help me clean out my rental?”

“Works for me. I’ll see you when you get home. Love you.”

“I love you,” I tell him and hang up.

* * *

On my way back to the apartment Nate and I share, I stop at the urgent care clinic. Something isn’t right, but I can’t put my finger on it. I check-in and prepare to wait for hours, only to have my name called immediately by the nurse. She takes my height and weight, hands me a cup, and tells me to pee in it. Fun times, all around. This kind of stuff reminds me why I don’t go to the doctor. I leave the sealed cup on the tray, wash my hands and open the door. The nurse tells me to follow her to a room, where she takes more vitals.

“Okay, the doctor will be in.”

I’m halfway through an article about police in schools when the doctor walks in with a big smile on her face. “Congratulations,” she says.

“For what?”

“You’re pregnant.” The end of her last word trails off, and her smile disappears. She sits down on her stool and looks at me. “I guess that’s not why you’re here.”

“No, it’s not. I haven’t felt right for the past couple of weeks, but I guess this explains it.”

“So, you weren’t trying?”

“Define trying?” Because if it’s having sex with the person you’re in love with every chance you get, then yes, Nate and I are trying all the time. But if it’s missing a pill here and there, then no, we’re not trying, despite me missing a pill here and there.

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