Unlucky 13 - James Patterson Page 0,5

had said.

Claire recovered first.

“Did I hear you right, Yuki?” she said. “You’re not fooling with us, are you?”

“I’m at the bridal shop. Right this minute.”

I had just gotten used to Yuki dating my boss—now she was marrying him? Well, never mind the kink their relationship had put in the chain of command. Yuki was getting married.

“Oh. My. God,” I said, “Did you expect this? Or were you surprised by what could be the best news of the year?”

“Sur-prised!” she shrieked. “Brady’s divorce came through. So he just hangs up with his lawyer, rolls over in bed, and he says to me, ‘Nothing to stop us now.’”

Yuki treated us to another round of happy-over-the-moon laughter, then took a breath and chirped, “We’re saying the I do’s on Saturday.”

I said into the speaker phone, “Saturday? What Saturday? This Saturday?”

“Yes. So listen, I hired this great wedding planner, and all you girls have to do is put on the dresses and show up. Details to follow.”

“We’re wearing bridesmaids’ dresses?” I asked, totally horrified.

“Of course. Pink ones. Off the shoulder. Big skirt.”

Well, Cindy and Claire would look good in pink. I would look like a half-baked ham.

“Don’t worry, Linds,” Yuki said. “You can use it after the wedding. It’s a nice little cocktail dress.”

“And I was just sitting here wishing I had an off-the-shoulder pink cocktail dress,” I said, laughing in order to keep the terror out of my voice. “Can I get a tiara to go with that?”

Yuki laughed and said, “I’m kidding about the dresses, girls. I’m not having any maids of honor, none of that. Having a judge. Having vows. Having food. Having dancing. Sound okay?”

“Brilliant,” Claire said. “We’re throwing your engagement party. For four. Tonight.”

Right after we said good-bye to Yuki, I left Claire’s office, jogged through the breezeway, and entered the back door to the lobby of the Hall of Justice, with its super-size ceilings and garnet-colored marble walls. I took the stairs to Homicide and after passing through the squad’s outer office went through the little swinging gate and into the bullpen.

I said, “Yo,” to our PA, Brenda, and then made my way around the desks in the bullpen. I found Brady in his hundred-square-foot glass cubicle at the far end.

He looked just like always—delts and biceps pulling the fabric of his blue shirt, white-blond hair pulled back and banded in a short pony, head bent over his computer.

I’d had a few issues with Brady since he’d taken over my old job as squad boss. From the first, I bucked at Brady’s impersonal management style. But lately, I hate to admit, I’ve become a fan. He’s impartial. He’s decisive. And he has a track record as a really good cop.

I knocked on Brady’s glass door. He said, “Come in, Boxer.”

I did and kept coming, all four steps to his desk. Then I grabbed his shoulders and kissed him.

“Congrats, boss.”

The look on Brady’s face was priceless.

“Thanks.”

I was grinning my face off as I crossed the squad room to my desk and Conklin’s. My partner looked up from his computer and said to me, “I saw you kissing up to the boss.”

“He and Yuki are getting married. Swear to God. And we’ve got a hot lead. So, let’s get to work.”

CHAPTER 5

I SWUNG DOWN into my desk chair and said to my partner, “The explosive material in the belly bomb is a magnesium compound and the victims ingested it.”

“They ate it? And it exploded? That’s not possible.”

“I’m quoting Claire, who got that from the FBI lab. They found a trace of the compound in the stomach contents. Seems that stomach acid activates the explosion.”

“Damn,” Conklin said, rocking back in his chair. “Do the Feds have any theories as to who put this stuff into the food?”

“Not yet. I’m way open to anything you come up with.”

I pulled up the scene pictures again, this time focusing on the hamburger bag and waxed-paper wrappers among the pile of litter on the floor. The hamburger bag had come from Chuck’s Prime, a chain of fast-food restaurants that had made a name for themselves for hamburgers of superior grass-fed, made-in-America beef.

I turned my computer so Conklin could see the photo and said, “Look here. I think Trimble and Katz had a couple of Chuckburgers—and sometime not long after that, they blew up.”

Conklin said, “There’s a Chuck’s in Hayes Valley, about fifteen minutes south of the bridge.”

We signed out a squad car and Conklin drove. I listened to the car radio with half an ear