Free Unlucky 13 by James Patterson and Maxine Paetro Page B

see, a river of ice ran through it.
    “‘I knelt down and drank from a glassy well of blue water that had just melted for the first time in millions of years.
    “‘It was dazzling. Just incredible.
    “‘And get this.
    “‘I was climbing down offthe glacier and had just about reached the boat. Brady reached out to me and I slipped, guys. My feet went outward and I skidded asswise and dropped my booty right into the water.
    “‘Brady saved me, pulled me out of the drink, gave me a hard time, and promised he had a nude cure for hypothermia. Geez, I almost laughed my chilly butt off.
    “‘I’m writing to you fromour outstanding cabin on the
FinStar
and now Brady is calling me to go to the spa. Think of me having the best time of my entire life.
    “‘What Claire said; best friends, best times, best sex—or something like that!
    “‘Sending you all my love.
    “‘Yuki C. BRADY’”
    I finished reading and turned to Conklin. “Isn’t she hilarious?”
    He shouted at a car in front of us that was switching lanes withoutsignaling. “Hey, buddy, make up your mind, will you?”
    Then, to me: “So, what now, Sherlock?”
    “Really. I wouldn’t mind taking a slow boat to Alaska.”
    “Who wouldn’t? So we should talk to that Timko woman. The boss of the product-development office?”
    “Tomorrow. First thing. Just drop in on her. You know, Richie, I never got to have a honeymoon,” I said as the sun slipped down behind the cityof San Francisco.
    Richie was back to verbally negotiating rush-hour traffic.
    I thought about my friend and realized that I’d never said these two words before. But, I said them now.
    “Lucky Yuki.”

CHAPTER 27
    WE WERE THIS close to Conklin’s apartment when a radio call came in that had our name on it. There had been a shooting that had likely stemmed from a domestic dispute. A crying child had called 911. The address was about four miles away.
    I grabbed the mic and said that we were on our way, then asked Richie to stop the car.
    He pulled into a handy driveway, and we got out, took ourvests from the trunk, and put them on. We headed out and I snapped on every flasher we had, the grille lights, the visor lights, and the one on the roof of the car.
    Richie stepped on the gas and eight short minutes later, we braked in front of a tan wood-frame semi-detached condo, one of dozens just like it on Jerrold Avenue.
    The front door was open. We entered with our guns drawn, Richie callingout, “This is the SFPD.”
    We came to a full stop in the living room, where a woman sitting in a crouch position with her back to a wall was holding a shotgun pointed at us. Blood and tissue fragments were sprayed on the wall, and there was a body—it looked like a man’s—ten feet to the north of the woman.
    His heart was pumping blood onto the wooden floor.
    Conklin said, “Ma’am, we need you tolower your weapon.”
    The woman was white, about thirty, and wearing a torn T-shirt and jeans. There was blood spatter on her face, telling me that she had been very close to the victim when the gun fired. It looked to me like half his face had been shot away, but I thought he was still breathing.
    I heard children crying somewhere down the hall.
    This was a volatile situation, and I flashed onwhat could happen if we didn’t shut it down fast. I imagined the woman unloading that shotgun on us. Reloading. Taking out the kids. Reloading. Turning the gun on herself.
    She wasn’t responding to Conklin, so I shouted,
“Lady. Drop the damned gun.”
    “I can’t,” she said in a small, almost little-girl voice. She looked at us with crazy eyes, shaking her head and trembling at the same time. “He’llkill me.”
    “We’re here now,” Conklin said, coming forward. “He’s not going to hurt you. We’re here now, ma’am. We’re here for you. So put the gun down, okay? You have to do it so we can go to your children, make sure they’re okay.”
    “My kids? You know my kids?”
    Her eyes