He, too, was wrapping things up at work. It was all arranged now. We'd gotten the paperwork from the relocation company on Friday. Both closings were set. Paul's new Connecticut job and our new Connecticut lives would start in six weeks.

If we could get through the next eight hours.

Not exactly a sure thing, considering our recent history. I crossed my fingers as I raised my travel mug to his.

"The family that quits the rat race together…," I said.

"Stays together," Paul said as the clink of stainless steel echoed off the walls of the garage.

I CAUGHT LIEUTENANT KEANE in his office when I came into the squad room. He only looked up from his Post sudoku puzzle after I closed his door.

Then his sharp blue eyes scanned my face. Suddenly, he slapped his paper and pen onto his desk.

"Please," he said. "Not you, too. Don't tell me you're leaving. You can't. How does that make sense, Lauren? We lose one cop, and now two more are gone?"

"It's not like that, LT. You're reading this wrong."

"Please. Do I look stupid? If it's IAB you're worried about, I have hooks and -"

"I'm pregnant, Pete," I said.

Keane stared at me as if I'd shot a round into the ceiling. He rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips. Finally, reluctantly, he smiled. Then he stood and walked around his desk and gave me a fatherly hug. The first, I believe, he'd ever given me. Probably the last, too.

"Well, young lady, even though I don't remember giving you permission to get pregnant, congratulations to you and Paul. I'm happy for you both."

"I appreciate it, boss man."

"You had some trouble, too, if I remember. Ann and I did, too – before the twins. That's just terrific for you guys. You have to be ecstatic. I'm sickened by the fact you're completely screwing me by leaving, but I'll get used to it, I suppose. I'm sure as hell going to miss you. I guess going out and tying one on is out of the question. How can we celebrate? How about some breakfast?"

My boss ordered in from the precinct's local bodega, and we sat for half the morning, telling old stories as we ate scrambled egg quesadillas and drank coffee.

"Hey, if I'd known it was going to be this much fun," I said, wiping hot sauce off my cheek, "I would have retired years ago."

Keane's desk phone rang as we were finishing our coffee.

"Yeah?" he called into it.

"That's weird. That's very strange. Okay, send her up, I guess."

"Send up who?" I asked, an edge creeping into my voice.

"The witness in Scott's case. What's her name? The old schoolmarm?"

My heart and stomach did a simultaneous stutter step.

Amelia Phelps!

What now?

"What does she want?" I asked.

Keane pointed his sharp chin out at the rail of the squad room stairs, where Amelia Phelps was standing.

"You can start your two weeks' notice by finding out. Go talk to her."

I got right up and walked out to see what was up.

"Yes, Mrs. – I mean, Ms. Phelps," I said, leading her to my desk. "What can I do for you today?"

"I was expecting to get a call to come in and look at a lineup," she said, removing her white gloves as she sat. "But no one ever got in touch, so I thought I'd stop by and ask if I can be of any assistance."

I let out a long breath of relief. Mike must have forgotten to let her know we wouldn't need her after all.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Phelps, I should have called you. It turns out we apprehended the suspect, so we no longer need your help. It was so good of you to come in, though. Can I give you a ride somewhere? Back to your house maybe? It wouldn't be any trouble."

I usually wasn't in the business of chauffeuring witnesses, but Ms. Phelps was elderly. And besides, she was the last conceivable wrinkle in the whole ordeal. The sooner I got her out of there, the better.

"Oh, okay," she said. "That would be very nice, Detective. I've never actually ridden in a police car before. Thank you."

"Believe me," I said, steering her toward the exit. "It's no problem at all."

THE REST OF THE DAY I spent on the phone with personnel. On hold with personnel was more like it as I attempted to hash out the bureaucratic details of my resignation.

Periodically, my fellow squaddies came by to register their surprise and well wishes. They even insisted I head out with them around four to The Sportsmen, the precinct's local gin mill, for a farewell drink.

Though my bladder came dangerously close to the bursting point at the bar – with Diet Cokes, of course – I was deeply touched by my co-workers' concern and respect.

They even gave me one of those corny, oversize greeting cards with what had to be the entire precinct's signatures.

See ya, it said on the front.

And on the inside, Wouldn't wanna be ya.

Who knew Hallmark had an NYC Cop Attitude section?

"Oh, guys," I said with a sniffle. "I'm going to miss you, too. And I wouldn't want to be ya either."

It was around seven when I finally begged out of there and headed for home.

That's funny, I thought, as I pulled into my driveway. I didn't see Paul's car. He usually called to let me know when he had to work late.

I was opening the call file on my cell to ring him, when I noticed something kind of strange in the den window over the garage.

There was a dark gap in the slats of the blinds. As I scrolled down for Paul's cell number, I tried to remember the last time I'd opened them.

I looked back up, slowly, very deliberately, then shut my cell phone with a click.

The gap in the blinds had closed.

Wait a second, I thought. Hold on.

My mind raced as I thought of the possibilities. Could this be more friends of the Ordonezes? Maybe there was another brother I didn't know about?

Or maybe you're just tired and paranoid, I thought. Maybe one too many Diet Cokes at The Sportsmen.

I pulled out my Glock and put it in the belt of my skirt at the back.

Most definitely a little skittish, I thought. But better paranoid than sorry.

I TOOK OUT MY KEYS as I came up the stairs, acting as naturally as I could. When I was out of sight of the den window, I drew my gun and ran around to the back of my house.

I glanced at the windows. Everything seemed intact. No sign of a break-in. No trouble so far.

There was a small gap in the curtains at the back door. I peered through it, watching the front-to-back hallway for a while. No movement. Nothing.

After a few minutes, I began to feel silly. There was nobody there but me.

Then, at the end of the hall near the door, something suddenly crossed through the dark hall. A large shadow moving quickly. I was sure of it.

Shit! I thought as my pulse pounded. Christ! I could feel my heartbeat in the fillings of my teeth.

That's when I thought of Paul. Maybe he actually was home. And there was somebody in there with him. Running around in the dark. Who? For what possible reason?

I had to go inside, I decided with a deep breath.

I slipped off my shoes and, with painstaking quiet, unlocked the back door and turned the knob, as slowly as I could.

"Shh," I heard somebody say. Not me.

I was lifting my Glock toward the sound, ready to squeeze off a shot, when the lights went on.

"SURPRISE!" said a couple of dozen voices in unison.

I'll say! Jesus God, it was my friends and family. The female ones, at least. By some miracle, I didn't fire a round. Thank goodness for safe-action pistols.

I gaped at the Mylar balloons, the green-and-yellow-wrapped presents, the three-wheel yuppie jogging stroller parked in the corner.