The 6th Target (Women's Murder Club 6)

“We both know that’s Paola Ricci,” Conklin said, staring down at the body.

I nodded. Except that yesterday we’d blown it, broken the Tylers’ hearts by jumping to conclusions.

“Right,” I said. “But I’ll believe it when we get a pos-itive ID.”

Chapter 48

CLAIRE WAS SITTING UP IN BED when I walked through the door of her hospital room. She stretched out her arms, and I hugged her until she said, “Take it easy, sugar. I’ve got a hole in my chest, remember?”

I pulled back, kissed her on both cheeks, and sat down beside her.

“What’s the latest from your doctor?”

“He said I’m a big, strong girl . . .” And then Claire started coughing. She held up the hand that wasn’t covering her mouth, managing to finally say, “It hurts only when I cough.”

“You’re a big, strong girl and . . . what?” I pressed her.

“And I’m going to be fine. Getting out of this joint Wednesday. Then some time at home in bed. After that I should be good to go.”

“Thank God.”

“I’ve been thanking God since that asshole shot me, whenever that was. You lose track of time when you don’t have an office job.”

“It happened two weeks ago, Butterfly. Two weeks and two days.”

Claire pushed a box of chocolates toward me, and I took the first one my hand fell on.

“You been sleeping in the trunk of your car?” she asked me. “Or did you trade Joe in for an eighteen-year-old boyfriend?”

I poured water for both of us, put a straw in Claire’s glass, handed it to her, said, “I didn’t trade him in. I just kinda let him go.”

Claire’s eyebrows shot up. “No, you didn’t.”

I explained what happened, aching as I talked. Claire watched me warily but kindly. She asked a few questions but mostly let me spill.

I sipped some water. Then I cleared my throat and told Claire about my new rank with the SFPD.

Shock registered in her eyes. Again. “You got yourself bumped down to the street and you told Joe to hit the bricks — at the same time? I’m worried about you, Lindsay. Are you sleeping? Taking vitamins? Eating right?”

No. No. No.

I threw myself back into the armchair as a nurse came in, bearing a tray with Claire’s medication and dinner.

“Here you go, Dr. Washburn. Down the hatch.”

Claire slugged down the pills, pushed her tray away once the nurse had gone. “Slop du jour,” she said.

Had I eaten today? I didn’t think so. I appropriated Claire’s meal, mashing the overcooked peas and meatloaf together on the fork, getting to the ice-cream course before telling her that we had identified Paola Ricci’s body.

“The kidnappers shot the nanny within a minute of taking her and the child. Couldn’t get rid of her fast enough. But that’s all I’ve got, Butterfly. We don’t know who did it, why, or where they’ve taken Madison.”

“Why haven’t those shits called the parents?”

“That’s the million-dollar question. Way too long without a ransom request. I don’t think they want the Tylers’ money.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.” I dropped the plastic spoon onto the tray and leaned back in the chair again, staring out at nothing.