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.