I have a daughter.

I force the thought out of my head again. I don’t want to focus on what I can’t control. I want to focus on this mess the Boston PD left behind in my truck.

They impounded it overnight to search it top-to-bottom for evidence, trashing it completely in the process. They left the freezer open, so all of that is melted, along with the meat I had packed in there. The fridge was unplugged but I can salvage some of that. Cabinets opened, everything pulled out and left either on the floor or on the counter. Mostly the floor.

Thanks a lot, dicks.

I drove it out to my regular spot in the park so I could clean it up, hopefully in time to get some evening business. A few have wandered over to order something but the closed sign, along with the crime scene tape I left hanging from the windows, have made them all back off slowly.

I have a daughter.

No, you have a mob problem. Yeah, remember Morgan McGregor? Let’s think about her instead. Let’s think about how she’s going to kill you unless you find out who killed her brother. Yeah, that’s good. That’s exciting enough to keep you from focusing on your daughter.

Or even her mother.

Guilt churns my guts as I kneel to clean out the fridge. I never thought twice about that scam after I did it. I figured some wealthy couple from wherever would commute down, get my not-so-Ivy League sperm, and go back home. Not a local cop. Not someone I would run into in my daily life. Having a biological kid I’d never know existed didn’t bother me because I’d never know it existed.

I have a daughter. I don’t even know her name.

A knock taps the window and I jerk up, slamming my head into the freezer door.

“Fuck.” I wince and rub the back of my head. “We’re closed!”

I reach for a dish towel to wipe up some spilled water from the freezer above. Another knock happens, this one on the back door of the truck.

“I said, we’re closed!” I shout, this time louder.

They knock again and I grit my teeth. I get up and spin around, marching toward the back door to throw it open.

“Goddammit, I said we’re—”

Anna stands outside in that black suit and tight ponytail. She lowers her hand and clenches the file she always seems to carry around with her at her side.

“Detective,” I say. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she says. “Can we talk?”

I raise a brow. “Is this official police business?”

“Not exactly.”

She bites her inner cheek and shifts nervously as she looks around the park.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, everything is fine. I just…” She brushes an invisible hair strand back behind her ear. “I came up with a few more questions and I wondered if the offer to answer them was still on the table.”

“Questions… about me?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to if you don’t want. I just figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask, so…”

“No, no.” I nod. “I’d be happy to answer them for you.” I take a step back. “Come on in.”

Anna steps up into the truck and looks around. “Well, they really… They’re thorough,” she says.

I turn up my hands. “It would appear the Boston PD doesn’t hold back when they suspect you of killing one of their own.”

She gives a knowing nod. “Do you blame them?”

“Guess not. Any word on who’s framing me?”

“Not yet,” she answers. “Few ideas, but…”

We look at each other for a long, drawn-out moment. She looks away first, once again scanning the roughed-up truck.

She points behind me. “So, is that the famous Hot Sauce hot sauce?” she asks.

I twist around and nod at the container on the counter. “It is, yeah.”

“Could barely recognize it without a dead body beneath it,” she jokes.

I laugh. “You ever try it?”

She shakes her head at it. “No,” she says. “I’m not really into spicy foods.”

“You should,” I say. “It’s great. Here.” I pop the lid off and grab a plastic spoon from the box by the window.

Anna holds up a hand. “No, no,” she says with a laugh. “I don’t think I’ll like it.”

I dunk the spoon, coating the surface. “Just a lick, detective. Trust me.”

“Really, I—”

“I insist,” I say, holding it out with my other hand hovering beneath it in case it drips.

“Fine,” she says with a sigh. “I’ll give it a try…”

I hand her the spoon and she slowly brings it to her mouth. She takes a quick inhale first and recoils.

“Whoa, that is strong,” she says, coughing.

I grin. “Oh, it’ll clear your airway.”

Her lips twitch lightly as she builds up some courage. Finally, her mouth opens and her tongue sticks out. She taps it against the spoon, touching only the tip to the bright red sauce.

“Mmm—” Her face shrivels up.

“Good Mmm?” I ask. “Or bad Mmm?”

Anna swallows, her cheeks flushing red. “Not bad Mmm,” she says.

I nod. “I’ll take it.”

She laughs and licks her lips. “The aftertaste is really sweet.”

“A good hot sauce kicks the tongue but soothes the throat,” I say.

“That certainly does.” She holds out the spoon. “Thank you.”

I drop the spoon into the trash and reach for a to-go cup on the shelf beneath the window. I fill it with a few large scoops of hot sauce and press a lid on it.

“No,” Anna says, shaking her head.

“Take it,” I say. “Try it on something at home. I guarantee you’ll start to really like.”

She doesn’t argue this time. Anna takes the cup and smiles. “I will. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I gesture to her file. “So, you had questions?”

“Yes! Right. I, uh…”

Anna sets the cup down on the counter beside her and withdraws a sheet of paper from her folder. I glance at it, seeing a long list of handwritten questions along every single line. I fight the smile forming on my lips as she nervously clicks her pen.

“Okay, so…” Her eyes scan the paper. “Ready?”

I lean against the counter. “Fire away.”

She nods. “Your teeth.”

“My teeth?” I repeat.

“Are they naturally straight like that? Or did you have work done?”

I press my lips together, feeling a tad self-conscious. “I had a little work done,” I answer. “Not a whole lot. Just a few wonky gaps in the upper row.”

“Upper row…” She scribbles it down. “What was your SAT score?”

“I never took it.”

“ACT?”

“Thirty-four. But I cheated, so that’s not helpful.”

She looks up. “How did you cheat on the ACT?”

I smile, hesitating. “I, uh… told the girl sitting beside me I’d take her to prom if she let me sneak a peek at her exam book.”

She laughs. “Did you?”

“I did. She was fun. Nerds often are, if you give them a chance.”

“Well, that was sweet of you.”

“Eh, that story doesn’t really end happily,” I say. “I got wasted and left with the prom queen. She never talked to me again.”

Anna frowns. I shrug.

“Okay, moving on,” she says. “Are your parents still alive?”

“Technically, yes.”

She glances up but doesn’t push it. “Grandparents?” she asks instead.

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“They disowned me,” I say. “So, I don’t really hear much.”

Her pen slows. “Really?”

“It’s a long story, full of woe and strife.” I wave a dismissive hand. “I have a brother that I still talk to now and then, but that’s it.”

Anna pauses, her face showing a bit of sympathy. “Any allergies?”

“Peanuts.”

She smiles. “Charlotte, too.”

“Charlotte?”

“Oh, right. Her name.” She blinks. “I never told you. Charlotte. Her name is Charlotte.”

“That’s pretty,” I say with a nod.

“Thanks.”

“Tell her sorry about the peanut allergy.”

“It’s okay.” She writes it down. “It kind of broke my brother’s heart, though. Really limited what kind of treats he could bake for her. He runs the Muffin Top bakery uptown.”

My jaw drops in excitement. “Your brother is the muffin guy?”

“Vincent.” She nods. “The one and only.”

“I love that place.”

“I’ll pass it along.”

“Wow…” I lean back. “I fathered the muffin guy’s niece. That’s cool.”

Anna laughs, her shoulders losing even more of their stiffness. “Okay, try and answer these next ones for back when you donated. Recent info isn’t really relevant.”

“Five years ago…” I nod, thinking back. I had just moved to Boston. I cringe. “Go ahead.”

She puts pen to paper. “Do you have, or have you ever had, an STD?” she asks.

My lips twitch. “No.”

She makes a quick checkmark. “Do you smoke?”

“Not since high school.”

Another one. “Drink?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Enough to keep me sane.”

She smirks at the joke. “Do you get drunk often?” she rephrases.

“No,” I say. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Any history with recreational drugs?”

“Are you on duty, Detective?” I ask.

She looks up and smiles. “No.”

“A joint here and there,” I answer. “No needles, no powders.”

“Pills?”

“Nope.”

She takes a few more notes. “Do you want to have more kids?”

I pause. “With you?”

“No,” she says, looking up quickly. “Just wondering if Charlotte will ever have a mysterious half-sibling out there somewhere.”

“Oh…” I shake my head. “No, probably not.”

“Okay.” Her eyes fall to the paper again. “Are you—”

“Do you want to have more kids?” I ask over her.

She turns her head back up. “With you?”

“No. In general.”

Anna leans back and thinks. “I don’t know. Maybe. Someday. Doing the single parent thing is… hard.” She exhales. “It’s wonderful, but hard. I don’t want to do it again without a partner.”

I nod. “Makes sense.”

“But, you know…” She looks at me and her voice lingers in the back of her throat, eventually failing completely.

I lean forward. “What?”

“If I change my mind and do want another baby,” she says slowly, “would you be willing to donate again?”

I swallow. “Uh…”

“Scrap that question.”

“No, it’s ok—”

She recoils. “I don’t know where that came from,” she says, briefly covering her face. “It’s not even on the paper. Please, just forget I even asked that. Never mind.”

“Yes,” I answer.

Anna holds her breath and takes a moment before looking up at me. “Yes?”

“Yes,” I say again. “If you decide you want another one down the line, then sure. Couples use the same donors all the time, don’t they? Might be nice for Charlotte to have a full-blooded sibling, right?”

She blows out slowly. “Right. Yeah.”

I bounce my shoulders once. “Then, okay. I’ll donate again. Just let me know.”

“I guess I’ll keep that in mind,” she says. “Thanks.”

I glance around at the walls of the truck. They suddenly feel like they’re closing in, just seconds away from crushing us both.

“Anyway…” Anna slides the paper back into her folder and closes it, barely looking at me. “I think that’s… all I needed.”

I push off the counter. “Well, if you think of anything else, feel free to come back. The door for questions is always open to you — and her, if she ever needs it.”

“I will.”

I grab the order pad behind me and write down my cell number on the top sheet. I tear it off. “In case you think of something outside of business hours.”

Anna takes it. “Thank you.” She looks around again. “Sorry about your truck.”

I laugh. “It’s okay. All in the name of justice, right?”

She smiles. “Bye, Milo.”

I salute. “Detective.” I spot the cup of hot sauce on the counter and grab it. “Wait, Detective.”

Anna pauses by the door and I hold it out to her. “Oh—” She rolls her eyes at herself. “Almost forgot. Thanks.”

I nod and watch her leave, once again unable to keep my eyes above her waistline as she steps down. I force them up as she turns around and nods at me before closing the door behind her.

I exhale. Hard.

I have a daughter.

“Charlotte,” I say to myself.