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“Oh, that would be great. Thanks.”

The long-haired girl took a bottle of water from her backpack. Mackie saw the finger marks on her wrists just before the girl pulled her jacket sleeves down to hide the bruises.

“I’m Leila,” she said.

“I’m Hannah,” said Mackie, picking a name out of the air. “Leila, sorry to be nosy, but why are you hitching this late at night?”

“Oh, boyfriend trouble. I was visiting my, well, I guess he’s my ex now, at the University of Wyoming.”

Leila used her thumb to point behind her to Laramie.

“We had a fight. About another girl he’s been seeing, of course. Now I have to get back home on my own, but I sure don’t ever have to see that shit again.”

“And you’re not afraid to hitchhike?”

“Not at all. I would only get into a car with a woman. Do you live in Portland?”

“My mom. I’m going to spend a little time with her. She’s a million laughs and she cooks, too.”

“Cool. Hannah, I didn’t get any sleep last night. Would you mind if I nap for a few minutes?”

Mackie dialed around and found a light-music station. By the time Leila was asleep, Mackie was thinking about Lindsay Boxer. It was good to be going back to San Francisco. Richie and Lindsay wouldn’t even be thinking about her.

Surprise. We’re ba-a-ack.

Beside her, Leila stirred.

Between now and San Francisco, she had to deal with the girl.

Chapter 34

Yuki stood with Brady and gangs of lighthearted after-dinner guests who were filling the FinStar’s world-class Ocean Bar to the walls. Inside, the bar was all gold trim and rusty autumn colors. Beyond the curving floor-to-ceiling windows, the night was ink-black, lit only by the foam breaking, leaping around the bow as the glorious ship steamed toward Sitka.

Yuki wore a sexy black dress, her new pale coral necklace, and strappy heels. She nursed her first margarita, hoping to see the aurora borealis, an amazing natural light show that often appeared at night in this part of the world.

Brady looked savagely handsome. He, too, was wearing black: turtleneck, blazer, and trousers. His dark clothes contrasted wonderfully with his flashing blond hair. He held out his hand.

“Come with me, sweetie. Let’s go to the Veranda Deck.”

Back home, Yuki was up at six, organized and overworked, always moving, doing whatever she could to prosecute criminals and put them away.

She felt different with Brady. With him it was okay to show her softer, more vulnerable side, to let him take the lead and take care of her. It was the first time she’d ever trusted a man this way, both emotionally and practically. She trusted him that much. But she didn’t like heights.

Yuki put down her glass and, taking her husband’s hand, said, “Lead the way.”

Together she and Brady climbed the three winding flights of tawny carpeted staircase that coiled below the huge illuminated art work of stars suspended above the staircase. Arriving at the Veranda Lounge, Brady put his hand to the small of her back and steered her through the crowd to the glass right at the front of the ship.

Just then, the room filled with awed murmurs.

There, off the starboard side, Yuki saw a pale aqua feathering in the sky. The color gathered depth and motion, forming a swath of light that ran from east to west, curling back on itself in a loose swirl.

Brady stood behind her and wrapped her in his arms as they watched the effect of atomic particles colliding, discharging energy some sixty miles overhead, creating an ethereal watercolor that bled through the velvet night.

“I must get pictures,” Yuki said.

“That can be arranged,” said her husband.

He took her hand, led her to the door, and made sure she safely cleared the high threshold.

The cold wind on the deck brought tears to Yuki’s eyes, but she shot a dozen pictures, each with her blowing hair across the lens. Then she saw Lyle, their cabin steward, who volunteered to point and shoot.

“How long will this last?” she asked him.

“Maybe hours, or—the way I heard it—it could disappear if you sneeze.”

“Quick,” she said, shoving her camera into his hand.

She and Brady stood with arms around each other, their backs to the blackness below and above, lit now with the magical northern lights.

Yuki thanked Lyle and took back her camera. She turned to Brady, stood on her toes, and pressed her body against him. He pulled her in even closer.

She shouted above the wind, “You should take me to bed.”

“How did we ever get so lucky?” said Brady.

Chapter 35

My day started in Jacobi’s big office with its view of the bail-bond storefronts and All Day Parking on Bryant.

Jacobi had new information from our contact at the FBI. He said, “The evidence from our bridge victims and the one in the LA parking lot matches. Same type of injuries, and they found a granule of RDX.”

“Nice of the FBI to keep us posted. But I’m still working a double homicide by hamburger bomb.”

“You know what, Boxer? Leave it with the Feds. It’s their case. They’ve got the mega-lab and the manpower. We’ve got plenty to do in our own backyard.”

“Is that an order?”

“Yeah, right. Would that work?”

No. It wouldn’t.

“I’m working the case, Jacobi.”

I called Donna Timko, head of Chuck’s Prime product development, but after learning that she was out of town for the day, Conklin and I got Holly Restrepo out of holding.

We gave the woman an intensive six-hour, three-way chat, and she entirely, adamantly stuck to her story. Namely, her bastard husband had been threatening her. She didn’t remember anything until we arrived and she was holding the shotgun and Rudolfo was bleeding out on the floor.

My sweetheart of a partner said, “Holly, time is flying. If you tell us you shot Rudolfo in self-defense, you might be able to work out a deal. If he dies, you’re looking at capital murder. You’ll never touch your children again.”

Holly Restrepo rolled her crazy-twitchy eyes and said, “Do I seem like I’m in my right mind?”

Yes, she did.

She was practicing her insanity defense on us.

It was that kind of day. Frustrating and haunted by belly bombs yet to explode. I was ready for it to be over.

I’d been home for about ten minutes and had just hung up my jacket and unpacked my gun when Cindy’s ID came up on my home phone.

“Linds, may I come over?”

“Of course. Joe’s making veggie lasagna. Get your skinny butt over here.”

A half hour later, Cindy bounced in, looking cute in jeans and a pink cardigan, with a rhinestone barrette in her hair. She also looked wired.

“I need some baby love,” she said.

“Sit yourself down.”

Cindy reached out her arms, and Joe handed Julie over. For a woman who didn’t want kids—not now!—she took to holding our little one like she held babies every day.

She made intense small talk with Julie, nothing deep or personal apart from asking her if she preferred Leno or Letterman, causing Julie to burble, which made me laugh out loud. I had to tear Julie away from Cindy so I could put her down before dinner.

Cindy picked at her lasagna, and she asked Joe the kinds of questions that come easily to a reporter. She even asked follow-up questions. I continued to feel that something was bothering her, though—and she didn’t care to discuss it in front of Joe.

Whatever was stuck in her shoe, she softened it with a couple of glasses of wine, then turned down coffee and dessert in favor of a third glass, effectively killing the bottle. About then, Joe said he had some calls to make. He kissed the top of Cindy’s curly-haired head and left the room.

I said to Cindy in my best film noir cop growl, “Okay, sister. Start talking.”

Chapter 36