Unlucky 13 by James Patterson and Maxine Paetro Read Free Book Online

cracking my deep sleep wide open.
    I was pretty sure it was Saturday. I looked at the clock. 10:30 a.m. I had slept at least six hours straight and—hey, the baby wasn’t crying. Cause for celebration!
    The phone was still ringing.
    Joe groaned beside me. He said, “I’ll get her. My turn.”
    I said to Joe, “It’s Brady,” and I reached for the phone.

    I asked myself, why was Brady was calling me? He and Yuki were getting married today. I clicked to answer the call, hoping he just needed me to pick up something for the wedding and Yuki hadn’t gotten cold feet or there’d been a quadruple homicide and he was handing off the case to me.
    I said my name into the phone.
    “Boxer, someone just called in something that sounds like a belly bomb. Youwant it? Or you want me to give it to Paul Chi? It’s your call.”
    I said, “You know me too well.”
    I took the address and said I’d be on scene in twenty minutes. I didn’t see how I could do that, but belly bombs were mine. I called Conklin, who said his car was in the shop. And he was at Tina’s house.
    “Get dressed,” I said. “I mean now.”
    I had fallen into bed last night thinking that Joe andI were going to make love in the morning. Pretty sure that he’d been having similar thoughts.
    I got out of bed and opened the closet. Pulled out a pair of jeans and a man-tailored white cotton, no-iron shirt. My usual.
    “No fair,” Joe said.
    “I’ll make it up to you, Joe. I swear I will.”
    “I think I’ve heard that before. A few thousand times.”
    I laughed. I got dressed, strapped on my shoulderholster, and put on a jacket. My blue one. One of my three almost identical blue blazers.
    Then, I took the dress I was going to wear to the wedding out of the closet—a gorgeous deep blue, almost-black dress with a swishy taffeta skirt, a cinched-in waist, and a pleated matte jersey bodice. My sapphire pendant on a chain would look good with this. Oh, my.
    I hung my dress on the back of the door,then rooted around the closet shelf and found the box with my barely-ever-worn black Stuart Weitzman shoes. I put the box onthe floor under the dress. I just couldn’t wait to put on some glam.
    I said to my husband, “I’ll check out the scene, and with luck, I’ll be back in a few hours.”
    “Right,” said Joe. “I’m not feeling lucky.”
    “Will you make sure Maria Teresa is on to babysit for Julie?”
    “You bet.”
    “Are you mad?” I asked.
    “Hell, no,” Joe said. “What makes you happy, makes me, uh, happy enough.”
    I told Joe that I loved him “this much” and spread my arms.
    He laughed, and I kissed him, then looked in on the baby and blew her a kiss so that I didn’t wake her. Martha followed me out to the door and yipped. She also gave me the big, pleading eyes.
    I nipped back into the kitchenand filled her bowl.
    “Okay, Boo?”
    Christ.
    I was still at home and the crime scene was waiting.

CHAPTER 15
    CONKLIN GOT INTO my car, combed back his brown forelock with his fingers, and said, “Brady said it’s a belly bomb?”
    “That’s what it sounds like.”
    We drove to Scott Street near O’Farrell and parked in front of a brown-shingled, two-story house, one of a dozen just like it that squatted under a tangle of overhead lines on a tree-lined street in the Western Addition.
    Officer ShellyAdler, one of the cops at the door, ran the scene for us, saying that the victim was a white female, dead on the kitchen floor in a world of blood. There were no signs of a break-in or any kind of altercation between the single mom and the son who lived with her.
    “As for belly bombs, Sergeant,” Adler said, “I’ve got no idea. She’s still warm, so she hasn’t been dead long. Hername is BelindaBeadle. Her son, Wesley, is upstairs in his room with my partner. The kid is sixteen.”
    Conklin and I signed the log and had just walked through the door, when a brown-haired teenage boy burst down the stairs and came toward us. Adler’s