James Patterson - I, Alex Cross

Mahoney did a slow double take between the lawyer's little bug eyes and the motion to quash. Whatever he saw seemed to have the intended effect. He dropped the pages to the floor and walked away as they fluttered. Then I heard him shouting orders and shutting everyone down, the entire raid.

I picked up the motion and started scanning. "Who the hell's your judge at one in the morning?" I asked the lawyer.

He actually reached up and flipped the page for me, pointed. "The Honorable Laurence Gibson."

" Of course, I thought. Senators, congressmen, billionaires for clients – why not a judge?

I GOT HOME early Sunday morning, somewhere between the newspaper delivery trucks and the overzealous joggers heading to the park.

Whoa! What was this?

I found Nana in the sunporch, fast asleep in one of the wicker chairs. Other than her ancient pink terry slippers, she was already dressed for church in a gray flannel skirt and white sweater set. This would be Nana's first service since the hospital visit, and the whole family was going.

I put a hand on her shoulder, and she woke with a shrug. All it took was one quick look at my face. "Bad night?" she asked.

I flopped down on the love seat across from her. "Am I that obvious all the time?"

"Only to the initiated. All right, tell me what happened. Talk to me."

If this were any other case, I would have pleaded exhaustion, but Nana deserved to know about it. Still, I kept the details down to a PG rating; there was no need to overemphasize the dark side of Caroline's life. Nana knew, I was sure. She always seemed to, somehow.

By the time I got to the part about the geeky lawyer with the "motion to quash," I started getting worked up all over again. I'd just wasted a whole night, and I'd run out on Ali and Jannie to do it.

"I think Jannie has that pouting, cold-shoulder thing down pat, though," I said. "How were they after I left?"

"Oh, you know. They'll survive," she said, but then added, "Assuming that's all you need them to do."

"It was like a pat on the head and a smack on the cheek at the same time. Pure Nana Mama.

"So that was your twin sister waving me out the door last night? Telling me it was all good. See, I could have sworn it was you."

"Now, don't get defensive on me, Alex." She sat up a little straighter and cricked her neck, massaging it on one side. "I'm just saying, the children don't always care why you're gone, Alex. They just know that you are. Especially little Damon."

"You mean Ali."

"That's what I said, isn't it? The boy's only six, after all."

I leaned in for a better look at her. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

She made her pssh sound. "Old people don't need sleep. It's one of the secret advantages. Reason I can still whip you in a debate. Now, help me up and I'll start some coffee. You look like you could use it."

I had a hand on her elbow and she was halfway up, when she stopped suddenly and sagged a little.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing. I just, um…"

At first she looked confused. Then all at once, her face creased with pain and she doubled over in my arms. Before I could even get her back down again, she'd passed out.

Oh God, no.

Her small body was like nothing to hold in my arms. I laid her gently on the love seat and felt for a pulse at her neck. There was none.

"Nana? Can you hear me? Nana?"

My heart was flying now. The doctors at St. Anthony's had told me the signs to look for – no movement, no breath, and she just lay there, horribly still.

Nana was in cardiac arrest.

IT WAS ANOTHER nightmare – the EMTs in the house, the blur of the ambulance ride, questions at the emergency room. Then the terrible waiting.

I stayed with Nana all day and all night at St. Anthony's. She'd survived the heart attack, which was about as much as anyone would say for now.

They had her on a ventilator to help her breathe, with a tube taped over her mouth. There was a clip on her finger to measure her oxygen level, and an IV to keep the medications coming. More wires ran from Nana's chest to a heart monitor by the bed, its pulsing lines like some kind of electronic vigil. I hated that screen and relied on it at the same time.

Friends and relatives came and went all day and into the evening. Aunt Tia was there with some of my cousins, and then Sampson and Billie. Bree brought the kids, but they weren't allowed in, which was just as well. They'd seen more than enough at home when the ambulance had come and taken Nana away again.

And then there were the "necessary" conversations. Different staff members wanted to talk to me about the DNR order in her file, about options regarding hospice, about religious affiliation, all just in case . Just in case what – Nana never woke up?

No one tried to chase me out after visiting hours, as if they could, but I appreciated the consideration. I sat with my forearms on the edge of the bed, sometimes to rest my head, other times to pray for Nana.

Then, sometime in the middle of the night, she finally stirred. Her hand moved under the blanket, and it was like all those prayers of ours were answered in that one small motion.

And then another tiny motion – and her eyes slowly opened.

The nurses had said that I should stay calm and speak quietly if that happened. For the record, it was no easy feat.

I reached up and put a hand on her cheek until she seemed to know I was there.

"Nana, don't try to say anything right now. Don't try to argue either. There's a tube in your throat to help you breathe."

Her eyes started moving around, taking it all in, staring at my face.

"You collapsed at home. Remember?"

She nodded, but just barely. I think she smiled too, which felt huge.

"I'm going to ring for the nurse and see how soon we can get you off this machine," I said. "Okay?" I reached for the call button, but when I looked back, her eyes had closed again. I had to check the monitor just to reassure myself she was only sleeping.

All the yellow, blue, and green lines were doing their thing, just fine.

"Okay, tomorrow morning, then," I said, not because she could hear me but because I needed to say something.

I only hoped there would be a tomorrow morning.

NANA WAS WIDE awake and off the ventilator by noon the following day. Her heart was enlarged and she was too weak to leave intensive care, but there was good reason to believe she'd be coming home again. I celebrated by sneaking the kids into the room for the quickest, quietest Cross family party ever.

The other hopeful news was on the work front. An FBI lawyer named Lynda Cole had established probable cause and gotten the Bureau back onto the property out in Virginia. By the time I reached Ned Mahoney on his cell, the FBI had a full Evidence Response Team on site.

Bree spelled me at the hospital – Aunt Tia would spell Bree later – and I drove out to Virginia in the afternoon to have another look around Blacksmith Farms.

Ned met me out front so he could walk me through with his creds. The primary area of interest was a small apartment out back. The access was an interior staircase from a three-bay parking garage underneath.

Inside, the place looked like a suite at the Hay-Adams. The furniture was all soft linens and upholstery, mostly in lighter tones. There was a decorative dropped ceiling over the dining area, and a highly polished walnut-manteld fireplace.

If you subtracted the techs in their tan cargos and blue ERT polo shirts, the place was pristine.

"It's the bedroom that's the puzzle," Ned said. I followed him in through a set of curtained French doors. "No carpet, no knickknacks, no bedding, nothing," he said, stating the obvious. Other than a bare bed, dresser, and two nightstands, it looked like someone had recently moved out.