Unlucky 13 (Women's Murder Club 13)

But the real plan, the one that included making an actual home for Randy and Ben in a new place, with new names—that plan had been destroyed when Randy died.

She had Sergeant Lindsay Boxer to thank for that.

She would thank her i

n person, though.

She could hardly wait.

CHAPTER 22

AT THREE IN the afternoon, the bustling Seattle waterfront was swarming with passenger arrivals, food and luggage transport, and other commercial vehicles bringing fuel and cargo into the Port of Seattle. A cruise ship was moored along the waterfront at Pier 66.

Yuki and Brady were in the backseat of their hired car, holding hands as the car nosed through traffic into a sliver of a parking spot outside the pier. The driver got out and opened the car door for Yuki. Brady exited on the other side and signed for the ride.

Their luggage had been sent on ahead, and Yuki took in the salty marine air and thought about the future. She was married! She was Jackson Brady’s wife. She loved her husband, loved him so much. And there was no other way to say it: her job wasn’t the center of her life anymore.

“There she is,” Brady called to her.

“She” was the FinStar, the flagship of the Finlandia Line, dead ahead, moored on the far side of the terminal. This grand ship would be taking her and Brady and about six hundred other people on a ten-day luxury tour of Alaska.

Even from here, the FinStar looked entirely awesome.

The car pulled away, and Yuki’s husband called out, “You okay?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his face full of concern.

“I’m not okay. I passed ‘okay’ about six months ago. I’m over the moon, Brady. I’m over Pluto.”

He grinned at her, put his arm around her waist, and walked her toward the terminal doors.

“I hope we can handle this, sweetie. Ten days with nothing to do but enjoy ourselves. It’s been about twenty years since I had ten days off.”

“I plan to spend a lot of time in bed,” Yuki said.

“Oh, no, not that,” he said.

They grinned at each other and kissed. And then, over the next two hours, they checked into their awesome, shipshape honeymoon hotel. They visited their cabin, bounced and wrestled on the bed, and at 5:00 p.m. they were on deck.

From this windswept point of view, they could see all of the Seattle shoreline to the north and south, Elliott Bay and Puget Sound extending out to the west. Seabirds dove into the waves and then Yuki covered her ears as four long horn pulls signaled that their ship was ready to depart. Harbor Police and Coast Guard boats scurried to escort the cruise ship out of the port.

All along the dockside railing, passengers waved good-bye, took pictures, and shared the moment with other guests around them as the ship pulled slowly away from the moorings.

Yuki touched the little card in her pocket.

It had been on the tray with the bottle of champagne that had been waiting for them in the cabin. It said, Dear Mr. and Mrs. Brady. Thank you for spending your honeymoon with us. I look forward very much to meeting you over dinner this week.

And the captain had signed his name, George Berlinghoff.

“I’ve got something here,” Brady said. “It’s, uh, a wedding present.” He took a longish black box out of his Windbreaker pocket.

“I saw this,” Brady said, “and it looked like you, and I don’t know what the hell to do in a jewelry store, so I hope you like it.”

Yuki said, “I do.”

“Open the box, smarty.”