Kill Alex Cross

I held the door for her and we walked to the far end of the house before either of us spoke. Then she jumped in first.

“The girl’s got nowhere to go,” she said. “She just needs a place to sleep where she doesn’t have to keep one eye open all the time.”

I ran my hand over my head, trying to gather some patience at the end of this very long day. “That’s what Child and Family Services is for,” I said.

“Why? So they can put her in the warehouse?” Nana said, and pointed up at me. “That’s right, I know what they call it down at the police department, so don’t even try that on me, mister.”

I couldn’t argue that point. The temporary holding facility where Ava would probably land was, in fact, pretty bleak, and it was called “the warehouse.”

“The poor thing’s been on the street for a month,” Nana added.

“So she says.”

“Look at her! She’s no bigger than my little finger. I don’t need a polygraph to tell me no one’s been looking after that child. Do you?”

Bree had wandered out behind us. She’d been playing Switzerland so far, but she spoke up now.

“For what it’s worth, Alex, her story checks out. The mother’s name she gave us is Olivia Williams. There was an Olivia Williams who died of a heroin overdose, DOA, at Washington Hospital on August tenth. Also, Kramer Middle School had an Ava Williams enrolled last year, but she hasn’t shown up for seventh grade.”

Nana gave me a told-you-so kind of glare. I could feel myself losing ground already.

“What about the father?” I said. “Other family? You check any of that?”

“Nothing on the school records. I think she really is alone,” Bree said.

“Damon’s room is just sitting empty up there. Besides, I already put clean sheets on the bed,” Nana said. Like that settled everything. The fact that I owned this house didn’t seem to count for much right now. Not enough, anyway.

“All right,” I said. “One night. But first thing tomorrow, Bree’s taking her over to CFS.”

“We’ll see,” Nana said.

“And I’m putting a lock on Damon’s door.”

“You most certainly are not!” she told me. “You can sleep out in the hall if you like. Now if you’ll excuse me, we’ve got a guest in the kitchen.”

I looked at Bree again, but her expression said it all: If you can’t budge Nana, how do you expect me to?

“One night,” I said again.

“We’ll see,” Nana said.

BREE TOOK A little nap after dinner before she went to her shift at work. I snuggled with her until she was asleep, then I went up in the attic to work some myself.

I must have fallen asleep at my desk and when I woke up Bree was gone and everyone else was sleeping. I checked on Ava and she was out for the count. Then I went to bed — alone.

I hated leaving everything so undone the next morning, but it wasn’t exactly a call-in-sick kind of day. I got up at four thirty and made it out to Langley by six.

The morning was a beauty, a burst of burnt orange on the horizon, but I wasn’t going to see much more of it, was I?

The truth was, I didn’t want to be anchored at LX1. Cops are creatures of the field. It’s where we do our best work. I wanted to be out there chasing leads and working the case at street level. That’s where I might actually do some good.

Then about halfway through the day, I got my wish. Kind of.

It was just after one o’clock. Peter Lindley came out of his makeshift office at the command center and waved to get my attention. Half a dozen agents and supervisors were coming out behind him, and he motioned me over. I was next.

Mahoney caught my eye as I crossed the floor. I shrugged back. I had no idea what this was about. He gave me the old pinkie and thumb to his ear — call me later — and I nodded that I would. Ned will never admit it, but he hates to be left out of anything. He’s also a lot more ambitious than people might think.

“Come in,” Lindley told me. “And close the door behind you, please.”

The space was normally a conference room, but most of the chairs had been taken out. Lindley’s desk was just an eight-foot folding table in the middle of the room. He had a triple monitor set up, just like everyone else, and half a dozen phones. One of those was in his hand right now. He was also holding a small yellow Post-it note.

“As soon as I have you, I’m supposed to call Nina Friedman at the White House,” he said, wagging the Post-it. “Do you know who that is?”

“No idea,” I said. “Should I?”

“Regina Coyle’s deputy chief of staff,” Lindley said. “What’s going on, Alex? Why is the First Lady’s office looking for you? Is there something I need to know about?”