11th Hour (Women's Murder Club 11)

Chapter 102

I WASN’T THINKING about Randall.

I sat close to Yuki, thought about Brady, and revisited some pretty deep memories of the months I’d known him.

The first time I saw Brady was his first day with Homicide. I’d noticed the hard-eyed, suntanned looker who was sitting in a folding chair at the back of the squad room.

I got up and gave an update on a case I was working. It was a bad one: a madman had just shot a mother and her little kid and had left a cryptic message behind.

I was almost nowhere on the case, but I presented what I had with confidence.

When the meeting was over, Brady introduced himself, said he was transferring to our squad from Miami PD. Then he told me that what impressed him about my presentation was that I was sucking swamp water.

His blunt assessment didn’t endear him to me, but days later, there was a standoff in front of the madman’s house. A bomb went off, a diversion, and the madman made it to his car. Brady stepped in front of the car and emptied his gun into the windshield in an attempt to bring the bad guy down.

I had been impressed with his bravery.

But I still didn’t like him.

When Brady started dating Yuki, I was shocked and I was worried. Yuki’s a fighter, don’t get me wrong, but she’s got terrible judgment when it comes to men, and I couldn’t see her with a badass cop like Brady.

I thought he would hurt her; I really did.

Then I saw them together.

I pictured them now at a lawn party, first tossing footballs, then Brady carrying Yuki around slung over his shoulder. He was sweet with her. And she made him laugh. They brought out the best in each other and that counted in his favor.

I hadn’t forgotten that he was only legally separated from his wife, who still lived in the Sunshine State. I hadn’t forgotten that he was my superior officer or that I didn’t like his rough management style.

And I certainly hadn’t forgotten that he’d accused Warren Jacobi of being Revenge. He was going to have to take that back for sure. I hoped to hell he lived to do it.

I looked up when Dr. Boyd Miller came into the hallway outside the waiting room. He was thirty, bald, thin-lipped. He did not look warm and fuzzy. He did not look like he was bringing good news.

“Is Mrs. Brady here?” he asked.

“I’m his girlfriend,” Yuki said. “He’s with me.”

“He’s my commanding officer,” I said. “I was on the scene when he was shot. What’s his condition?”

I expected that Miller was going to say that he could speak only to Brady’s immediate family. I didn’t think either Yuki or I could handle that.

“We successfully repaired the damage to his femoral artery,” he said. “His lung is going to be fine. He has two broken ribs and there’s not much we can do about that. He’s on his way to the ICU now. I’m optimistic,” Dr. Miller said. “But officially his condition is guarded.”

“Can I see him?” Yuki asked. “I have to see him.”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know when it’s okay.”

It was just about five in the morning when Yuki was told she could look at Brady through the glass.

When she came back to the waiting room, her expression was soft. She sat down next to me, squeezed my hand.

“He’s going to be all right,” Yuki said. “My mom told me that he’s going to be fine. And she likes him now. She said, ‘Brady very good man.’”

I nodded, said, “That’s great.”

I had to accept that Yuki thought that her dead mother spoke to her. Maybe she did.

“I think your mom is usually right,” I said.