Unlucky 13(42)

Conklin said, “People get fired when companies are bought out, right? Someone at Chuck’s might want the deal to fall through.”

I said, “Too many twisting roads. Too little time. I don’t know about you, Richie, but I hear the ticking of the next belly bomb about to explode.”





CHAPTER 53


CINDY WAS HUNCHED over her laptop at the Chron, crunching toward her four o’clock deadline, which was ten minutes from now, a piece about a hit-and-run that had turned into a nightmare on Fillmore Street.

Cindy checked the spelling of the victims’ names, did a last polish, then forwarded the piece to her editor.

Before jumping back into her Morales obsession, Cindy checked her e-mail and was cleaning out her spam filter when a subject heading made her heart lurch to a stop.

I MADE YOU CINDY.

Cindy stared at the heading. The meaning was ambiguous, but the words radiated malevolence. She didn’t recognize the sender’s screen name, but her own e-mail address was posted at the end of her column every day and anyone in the whole wide world could write to her here. She had been about to delete it without opening, but those four words stopped her.

I MADE YOU CINDY.

You made me what?

Cindy sucked in a breath and tapped on the envelope icon. The capitalized text was aimed at her like a shotgun muzzle.

I SAW YOU WATCHING FOR ME, CINDY.

MAYBE YOU’RE STILL PISSED OFF BECAUSE RICH FELL FOR ME. HE IS SO HOT, ISN’T HE? I COULD TEACH YOU HOW TO CATCH AND LAND A MAN. BUT, AND DON’T TAKE THIS THE WRONG WAY, IT WOULD BE A WASTE OF TIME. YOU DON’T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES. SO HERE’S MY ADVICE. GO FUCK YOURSELF. AND STAY OUT OF MY WAY. MM

Cindy felt numb, absolutely frozen stiff, but her mind was flashing like a Fourth of July sparkler.

MM was Mackie Morales.

Mackie had made her. In cop jargon, it meant that she’d been seen and identified. Cindy flashed on the other night. While she was parked outside Mackie’s mother’s house, a dark sedan had driven toward her. It had slowed, hesitated, then sped up and kept going.

That had been Mackie.

And not only had Mackie identified her staked out on the street, she’d also made her as a broken woman, a woman she had trumped.

Cindy’s nose smarted and tears welled up. She grabbed a tissue and pressed it to her eyes, willing herself not to cry.

But she cried anyway.

When she got hold of herself, Cindy left her office and made it to the ladies’ room without anyone seeing her. She washed her face and put on fresh makeup. Then she went back to her desk with a newborn and promising idea.

She hit the reply key and typed a return e-mail to Morales.

Subject heading: “Mackie’s back in town.”

Hi, Mackie,

I wasn’t sure where you were, so thanks for letting me know. Let’s meet. No tricks. I have a big idea to discuss with you.

Cindy

Before she could change her mind, Cindy hit the send key.

There. Done. She hoped she would hear back from Mackie very soon. If Mackie would meet with her, she might get her interview, and Mackie might get the kind of notoriety she might actually crave.

Her computer pinged.

There was mail in her inbox marked undeliverable. It was the message that she had just sent to Morales. Morales must have written to her from public internet access or a boost phone, so Cindy’s sketchy connection to her no longer existed.

Cindy exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

Morales had made her, cut her, dropped her, and every bit of that hurt like a hot poker had been thrust through her heart.

What are you going to do now, Cindy?

What are you going to do?





CHAPTER 54


YUKI HAD BEEN huddling against a bulkhead on the Pool Deck for a long time, terrified for Brady, having no sense of what these terrorists wanted in exchange for releasing the passengers of the FinStar.

And if they didn’t get what they wanted, what then?

Start shooting?

Blow up the ship?

She was very aware that she was wearing a see-through nightgown under the short ship-provided terry-cloth robe. She tucked the hem of the robe under and around her, then interlaced her fingers in front of her life preserver as if it could actually save her life.

These were the questions going around and around in her head on an endless loop: Where was Brady? Had they done something to him?

About six hours before, Yuki had been savagely woken by an unimaginably loud air-cracking boom. Her bed had pitched sideways, throwing her to the floor.

She had grabbed the floor as the ship rolled in the other direction, and she had fallen head-first hard against the bed frame. She’d screamed, “Brady! What’s happening?”

Glass crashed and doors swung open and slammed closed while the echo of the concussion rumbled long and low below her and the ship rolled again. Light flashed where light should not be—outside the windows, below their balcony.