James Patterson - I, Alex Cross

With a quick shrug from Englefield, I let it go. So did she. Forty-five minutes later, Nana and I were on our way home.

In the car, Nana reminded me of an old chocolate Lab we'd had when I was a kid in North Carolina, just before my parents died. The window was down and she was letting the air blow over her while the world flew by outside. I half expected her to start quoting Dr. King. Free at last, free at last…

Or maybe some choice line of Morgan Freeman's from The Bucket List.

She turned to me and patted the upholstery with both hands. "How do they get these seats so comfortable? I could sleep much better here than in that hospital bed, I'll tell you that."

"So you won't mind that we turned your room into a den," I deadpanned.

She cackled and started to recline the seat. "Just watch me." But when she got too low, her laugh turned into a coughing jag. Her lungs were still tentative; it doubled her over with a hacking sound that went right to my gut.

I pulled over and got a hand behind her until I could raise the seat again.

She waved me off, still coughing but better. My own heart was working overtime. This recovery was going to be an interesting dance, I could tell.

The coughing episode seemed like a good segue, so once we were moving again, I said, "Listen. Bree and I have been thinking about getting someone at the house -"

Nana gave a wordless grunt.

"Just for when we're at work. Maybe half a day."

"I don't need some oversolicitous stranger hovering over me and fluffing my pillows. It's embarrassing. And costly. We need a new roof, Alex, not nursemaids."

"I hear you," I said. I'd been expecting that answer. "But I'm not going to feel comfortable leaving the house otherwise. We have enough money."

"Oh, I see." She folded her hands in her lap. "This is all about what you want. I understand perfectly now."

"Come on, let's not argue. You're going home," I said, but then I caught a little eye roll from her. She was just busting my chops because she could – for the sheer fun of it.

Which was not to say she'd agreed to anything about any "nursemaid."

"Well, at least the patient's in a good mood," I said.

"Yes, she is," Nana answered. We were coming onto Fifth Street, and she sat up a little higher in her seat. "And no one, not even the great Alex Cross, is going to get under her skin on a day as nice as this one."

"A few seconds later, she added, "No nursemaids!"

A HASTILY MADE banner hung over the front door: it said Welcome Home, Nana! in a half dozen colors.

The kids came streaking out as soon as they saw us. I ran interference and scooped Ali off the ground before he could tackle Nana on the walkway.

"Gently!" I called to Jannie, who had already put the brakes on some.

"We missed you so much!" she shrieked. "Oh, Nana, welcome home! Welcome, welcome!"

"Give me a real hug, Janelle. I'm not going to break." Nana turned on like a lightbulb and grinned.

Ali insisted on carrying Nana's suitcase, which he thunk-thunk-thunked up the steps behind us, while Nana took my arm on one side, Jannie's on the other.

When we came into the kitchen, Bree was on the phone. She flashed a big smile Nana's way and held up a just-one-second finger.

"Yes, sir. Yes. I will. Thank you so much!" said Bree into the receiver.

"Who was that?" I asked, but Bree was already rushing over to give Nana a hug of her own.

"Gently!" Ali said, which cracked Nana up.

"I'm not a basket of eggs," she said. "I'm a tough old bird."

We settled in at the kitchen table after Nana made it clear she'd go to bed when "real people" did, thank you very much.

Once we were sitting, Bree cleared her throat like she had an announcement to make. She looked at each of us, then started in. "I've been thinking that maybe this whole idea of hiring someone to be here with Nana might not go over so well. Is that correct?"

"Mm-hm." Nana gave me a look that said, See? I'm not so hard to figure out.

"So… I'm going to cut back at work and stay home with you for a while, Nana. That is, if you'll have me."

Nana beamed. "That's so thoughtful, Bree. And you put it so well. Now that is a health care plan I can live with."

I was a little stunned. "Cut back?" I asked.

"That's right. I'll stay available for whatever you need on Caroline's case, but everything else, I'm farming out. Oh – and Nana, here ." She got up and took a sheaf of papers off the counter. "I printed these recipes out from the net. See if any of them look good to you. Or not. Whatever. You want some tea?"

While Nana was reading, I followed Bree over to the stove. One look in her eyes and I realized that it would be wrong for me to ask if this was what she really wanted. Bree had always done what she wanted, and I mean that in a good way.

"Thank you," I said quietly. "You are the best." She smiled to let me know that thanks weren't necessary here, and also that she definitely was the best. "I love her too," she whispered.

"Eggplant?" Nana held up one of the pages she'd been reading. "You can't make decent eggplant without salt. It's just not possible."

"Well, keep looking," Bree said, going over to sit down next to Nana. "There's a ton more recipes. What about the crab cakes?"

"Crab cakes could work," Nana said.

I just hung back and watched the two of them for a while. It felt like a real circle-of-life moment. I noticed the way Bree leaned into Nana when they laughed, and the way Nana always seemed to keep a hand on Bree, as if they'd been buddies forever. God willing, I thought, they would be for a long time to come.

"Angel's food cake with chocolate icing?" Nana said, and beamed mischief. "Is that on your good-to-eat list, Bree? Should be."

WHEN I GOT a call from my FBI friend Ned Mahoney the next day, I never would have guessed it had to do with Caroline's murder case. All he told me over the phone was to meet him at the food court at Tysons Corner Center in McLean. Coming from anyone else, it would have seemed a strange request. Since it came from Ned, whom I trusted implicitly, I knew something was up.

Ned was a pretty big deal who had once headed the Hostage Rescue Team at the FBI training facility out in Quantico. Now he had an even bigger job, supervising field agents up and down the East Coast. We'd worked together when I was an agent at the Bureau, and again more recently, at a bizarre showdown with dirty cops from SWAT and some drug dealers in DC.

I sat down across from Ned at an orange plastic table with white plastic chairs, where he was gulping coffee.

"I'm pretty busy these days. The hell do you want?" I said, and grinned.

"Let's walk," he said, and we got right back up. "I'm busy too. Monnie Donnelley says hello, by the way."

"Hello back at Monnie. So, Ned, what's on your mind? Why the John le Carré cloak-and-dagger stuff?" I asked as we left the food court at a brisk pace.

"I know some interesting things about Caroline," he told me, point-blank. "Honestly, Alex, I wouldn't be talking to you if she wasn't your niece. This whole thing is getting hinkier and more dangerous every day."

I stopped walking across from a store with David Sedaris books stacked up high in the window. "What whole thing? Ned, start me at the beginning." Mahoney is one of the smartest cops I've ever known, but information moves through his brain too fast sometimes.

He began walking again, eyes scanning the mall. He was starting to make me nervous. "We've had a surveillance team on a certain location in Virginia. Private club. Very heavy hitters. Alex, I'm talking about people who can go over both our heads – in more ways than one."