CHAPTER 89 Cross
Cross
ALEX CROSS SHOWERS AS soon as he gets back to his hotel room. He wants to get the smell of Colton Brophy’s house out of his nostrils.
He emerges from the steamy bathroom with a towel around his waist and slips on a clean pair of boxers. Even though it’s barely dark, he slides under the bedsheets, discouraged and exhausted. A few seconds later, he drifts off into a light sleep, the kind where old memories bubble to the surface:
“Daddy! Watch me!”
Alex holds his arms out as Damon, age seven, heads toward him on the sidewalk outside their house.
The training wheels are off the red Schwinn bike, and Damon is wobbling along precariously.
He looks like he could topple over any second.
Alex is ready to intercept him, grab the handlebars, and give him another push. Then he decides to change tactics.
“Pedal harder!” Alex yells. “The faster you go, the more control you have!”
Damon leans his head forward, his white bike helmet gleaming in the sunlight.
His skinny legs start to pump. The front wheel straightens out. A smile takes over his face. He’s speeding toward Alex, ringing the bell as he comes.
“Don’t stop me!” he calls out. “I can do it!”
Alex lowers his arms and steps aside as Damon whizzes past him toward a small hill, shouting “Yippee!” at the top of his lungs.
As his son’s helmet disappears below the rise, Alex runs to the crest and calls after him. “Damon! Come back! That’s far enough!”
But Damon is already turning the corner behind a thick hedge.
In a blink, he’s out of sight.
“Damon!”
Alex wakes to the sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand. He picks it up, still groggy. “Hello? Alex Cross.”
“Did I wake you?”
Alex rolls onto his side and holds the phone to his ear. “Bree! How are you, sugar?”
“Tired. Very tired. Did you hear about John?”
Alex sits up against the headboard, his heart racing. He flashes back to when his best friend got shot a while ago. “No. What happened?”
“Don’t worry, John’s okay. But there was a car bomb. I mean an IED. One of his colleagues was killed. A young woman.”
“Who?”
“Her name was Anna Rizzo. She was an ATF investigator.”
“Where did it happen?”
“At John’s home. In his driveway. Willow was upstairs.”
“Willow! Is she—”
“She’s okay, Alex. She’s with us again. I don’t know how much she knows, or what she saw. She asked if she could sleep with Jannie in her bed tonight. We’re going to let her decompress for a few days.”
“And Sampson?”
“You know John. He just plows on. He’s stubborn that way. Like somebody else I know.”
“Bree, listen, I found out some more information about what happened to Damon.”
“What is it? What happened?”
“A couple of local rednecks in a truck knocked him off his bike near the nature reserve, then threw his bike down the trail where we found it. Stole his phone and laptop too.”
“Did they hurt him?”
“I don’t think so. I think he might have just run away. He might still be hiding.”
“These men, these rednecks—you don’t think they did anything to him?”
“No. I’m pretty sure I scared the truth out of one of them. They’re thugs and racists, but I don’t think they’re killers or kidnappers. I’m a fairly good judge of character—especially rotten ones.”
“Speaking of rotten characters, I did some checking into Damon’s search history and I found some scary stuff. He’s been monitoring some alt-right forums, and I’m worried that they might have traced him,” says Bree.
“You think they’re that smart?” asks Alex.
“I think they’re that hateful. You need to call Melissa and organize another search.”
“I will. But it’s hard to motivate people when there’s nothing new. I followed up on another lead near the preserve today. Didn’t get anywhere.”
“Alex, tell me you’re not running around in the woods all by yourself!”
“Okay. I won’t tell you.”
“Alex Cross, listen to me. You can’t do it alone. I wish I could be there with you, but I can’t. Make sure you ask others to help!”
“Okay, I promise I will.”
“I love you, Alex.”
“Love you more.”
Alex puts down his phone and lays his head on the pillow. Just a little more rest.
Then he’ll go out again. After dark.
There’s more to Colton Brophy than meets the eye.
Alex is sure of it.