20th Victim (Women's Murder Club #20)(25)

YUKI WAS LYING on the bed, eyes closed against the light coming from the old-fashioned ceiling fixture.

Brady took off her shoes, rubbed her toes.

“Ohhhhhh,” Yuki said. “That’s too good.”

“Can you sit up?”

“Maybe. I think so,” she said. But she didn’t actually move. Brady said, “I’m going to try to get your jacket off, Yuki-san. If you can’t help, okay, but don’t fight me.”

Yuki laughed.

Pretty soon Brady was laughing, too. This woman’s appealing laughter could send a statue into giggles. He got her jacket off, and her blouse while he was at it, rolled her over, and unzipped her skirt.

She said, “I’m loving this, Brady. You must’ve done this before.”

“You are a silly woman, you know that, don’t you?”

“I had a tellible … terrible day.”

“I want to hear about it,” he said. He unhooked her bra, brought her a WALK FOR A CURE T-shirt, and asked, “Can you handle it from here?”

“Where you going?”

“I’m going to hit the rain box. Be right back.”

When Yuki opened her eyes again, Brady was in bed with her, his hair was damp, and the light was out. She rolled toward him and he put his arms around her. His big arms. Loved them.

“I’m right here, darlin’. Tell me what happened.”

“You know what? I’ll tell you tomorrow. I don’t want to think about it now.”

She put her arms around Brady’s neck, and he hoisted her so that they were in their best position, her left leg hooked over his hip, their arms around each other, resting her head under his chin. This was as close as two people could get.

He said softly, “So you’re saying you want me to take advantage of you.”

“I think. I know you want to.”

He kissed her. She moaned and squirmed and told him she loved him. He said, “I love me, too.”

She laughed.

He said, “I love you so much it scares me.”

“I’m harmless.”

They rocked together slowly in the big bed. He flipped her so that she was on top, put his hands on her hips, and moved her until they caught fire. Then they held each other until sleep tugged at them, and Yuki slid off her dear husband onto the rumpled heap of bedding.

They nuzzled and kissed and grinned at each other, then fell asleep holding hands. When Yuki woke up, she separated herself from Brady’s embrace, bunched her pillow, and turned her back to him.

While asleep, he wrapped his arms around her and held her against him. Yuki was coming down from the booze, but she was still high on Brady. They needed more times like this. A song was going through her mind.

She sang the last line in a whisper. “‘Baby, baby. Baby, you’re the best.’”





CHAPTER 39





THE TWO OLD friends sat in front of the fireplace, each with a glass of an excellent house Cabernet.

Dave said, “I’m grateful, Joe. If you hadn’t agreed to help me, I really don’t know what the hell I would have done.”

Joe leaned toward Dave and said, “Let’s talk.”

“What have we been doing?”

Joe just looked at him. Like a therapist would do.

Dave got it. He said, “Okay. Just don’t tell me you think that I’m crazy.”

He pushed himself closer to the fireplace, extracted a poker from a tool caddy, and stirred the smoldering coals.

Joe thought, More avoidance.

Dave had asked for his help, but he wasn’t ready to get into the hard stuff. Over dinner he had talked about a woman he’d met online, said he hadn’t told her about his injuries. He talked about how even though Ray had been moody, they’d watched sports together on TV; now he watched by himself, or with Jeff the Chef if the game was on early enough.

While Dave threw logs on the fire, Joe sat silently, balancing his good feelings for Dave against his unwanted suspicions.

Dave returned to the table and said, “You were saying?”

Joe said, “I was saying, it’s time to really talk about all of it, Dave. You. Ray. Dr. Murray, and me. I want to talk to you about my limitations.”

“You? I wish I had your limitations,” Dave said. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.”

Joe said, “It’s fine. I know what you meant.”

He sipped his wine and watched his friend’s face cloud over with sadness.

Dave said, “Damn Murray to hell for what he did …”

Was blaming Murray a reaction to grief? Or was Dave right?

Joe said, “I don’t have a badge, Dave. I’m a freelance consultant. I’ll try to talk to Murray, but if he refuses, I can’t force him to talk. That said, I should be able to poke around enough to see if there’s reason to bring in law enforcement.”

“I can pay you to be my consultant.”

“Shut up, Dave. On second thought, pay me a dollar. Then we’re official.”

Dave thanked him, dug a single out of his shirt pocket, and slid it over to Joe. Joe made a note on the back of his checkbook, “Hired as consultant to D. Channing,” then added the date and his signature. He passed the ad hoc document over to Dave, and Dave signed it, too.