Unlucky 13 (Women's Murder Club 13)

CINDY BACKTRACKED ON Arguello, still looking for Morales, knowing that for tonight at least, there was no fucking way.

She slowed as she neared Infantry Terrace. She turned into the entrance between tall stone gates, backed around so that she was facing traffic, and braked her car.

Her hands were shaking, but don’t tell that to her boss.

Shit. She hadn’t eaten anything in eleven hours.

Cindy shut off the engine and the headlights. She felt around on the floor, picked up her handbag and located her phone under the seat. She checked her missed calls and was relieved that her last call hadn’t been from Morales.

Seriously, she wanted to talk to that bitch, but she wanted to talk to her from a position of strength. And she wasn’t there yet.

Her last caller had been Lindsay, returning her calls.

“Sorry, Cindy. I couldn’t call until now. Call me back.”

Cindy stabbed redial and listened to the ringtone.

Lindsay’s voice came through her earpiece and Cindy said, “Linds—” before realizing that once again she’d gotten Lindsay’s voice mail.

She pounded the wheel with her palm, and at the beep, she said, “Linds. This is urgent. Mackie is in town. She coasted past your apartment about an hour ago. She could be looking for you. Understand. She could be looking—”

The beep cut her off.

She pressed redial, and after Lindsay’s tiresome outgoing message finished, Cindy said, “Linds. She wrote to me, so believe me, I’m not hallucinating. I ID’d her. I followed her and then I lost her somewhere in the Presidio. She’s driving a stolen green Subaru Outback, so watch—”

She had about one bar left of battery life on her phone and figured she’d better save it. In case Mackie was waiting in front of her apartment house for her. She opened her purse and took out her gun. She considered it. It was one thing to shoot at targets, but could she actually shoot a person?

She put it back in her bag, picked up her phone again, and hit speed dial number 5.

The phone rang three times and then Claire’s voice came through: “You’ve reached Dr. Claire Washburn. My office hours are from eight a.m.—”

Cindy clicked off, dropped her phone into her bag, and started up her car. Totally disgusted, she headed toward her dark and empty home.

CHAPTER 76

YUKI FOLDED HERSELF under Brady’s arm, her nightgown cold and wet with sweat in the aftermath of the killing moments ago.

The woman’s name had been Kara. She had thick red hair and taught special education in Ann Arbor. She was young, in her twenties. Kara’s parents had given her this cruise as a gift. Kara had been standing right next to her only a few days ago when the whales had dazzled and amazed the passengers by swimming so close to the ship.

That girl. The one who had jumped up and down on her toes, and hugged Yuki squealing, “This is one of the best things, isn’t it?” She had been sitting in the thick of the crowd when she was plucked like a kitten by the scruff her robe and dragged through the scattering passengers across the width of the Pool Deck to the rail.

Yuki heard her plead, “No, no, nooooo. Not meee. I didn’t do anything. I was good. Please, don’t. Let me talk.”

The terrorist said, “Nice knowing ya. Good-bye.”

And that’s when Yuki had screamed wordlessly, high and long, her voice sharp with terror, cut off by the crack of gunfire.

Instantly, she dropped flat to the deck, horrified at what she had done. She had been forgotten by those killers, and now she had called attention to herself—and to Brady—and for what? She was beyond stupid. She was crazy, delirious, insane.

Over by the railing, another pirate joined the first and they picked up Kara by her arms and legs.

“And a one, and a two, and a three.”

They swung her overboard and walked away before her body hit the cold water.

How could they have done this?

These were Americans.