James Patterson - Double Cross

I arrived out in the City of Fairfax at two in the morning. I found dozens of cars and vans and trucks, most with garish lights revolving on the tops of their roofs. The suburban neighborhood was up too-every house I passed, just about every window was glowing brilliantly, like fearful, vigilant eyes.

So sad-a neighborhood like this. Peaceful and pretty. People just trying to live their lives with some kind of harmony and dignity. Was that too much to ask ? Apparently it was.

I climbed out of the R350 at the end of a cul-de-sac, and I started to walk. Then I began to jog, probably because I needed to run. Maybe I even wanted to run away-in some saner part of my brain-but I was moving toward the Wolff house, just like I always did, drawn to danger, to chaos, to death and disaster.

Suddenly I stopped. A chill knifed through me. I hadn’t even gotten to the house, but I had the first awful image. It was right before my eyes .

He’d known I would come here and see it myself, hadn’t he?

A bright-red X was painted on top of the Wolffs’ car, a black S-Class Mercedes.

A second red X was painted across the front door, almost top to bottom.

Except I knew they weren’t X s. They were crosses! And they were meant just for me .

The press was shouting questions from behind the police lines and also taking countless photographs of the house and car. It was all a blur for me right then.

“It’s DCAK, isn’t it?” I heard. “What’s he doing out here in Virginia? Is he going wide?”

No, I thought, but I kept it to myself. Kyle Craig isn’t going wide. Actually, he’s homing in now. And he has his target all picked out.

No - his targets. Kyle always did think big.

KYLE HAD SPARED George Wolff and the three children, and I wondered why. Maybe because he was so focused now. He’d wanted Judge Nina Wolff… and only her. So what would he do next? And how long would I have to wait before he appeared on my doorstep? Or maybe inside the house?

My eight o’clock session that morning was with Sandy Quinlan. But she didn’t show up. Which only helped to make me more uncomfortable about everything that was going on. Now my practice was blowing up too, going to hell before my eyes.

I was also concerned. Sandy had never missed before, so I waited in the office until past nine. Then, Anthony Demao didn’t come to his session either. What was going on with those two? Were they together now? What else could go wrong today ?

I waited as long as I could, then called Bree to tell her I was on my way to pick her up. We were heading off later that afternoon to Montana via Denver to check out Tyler Bell’s cabin. It was something we felt we had to do. See his place firsthand, go through whatever he’d left there.

As I was leaving my building, I nearly bumped into Sandy Quinlan. She was standing outside the front door on the sidewalk. Sandy was dressed all in black, covered with sweat, and out of breath.

“ Sandy, what’s going on?” I asked, trying to keep my composure. “Where were you today?”

“Oh, Dr. Cross. I was afraid I’d miss you. I’m sorry I didn’t call.” She squinted up at me and motioned me over to the curb. “I had to come tell you… I’m leaving.”

“Leaving?” I asked.

“Going back to Michigan. I don’t belong here in Washington, and frankly I came for the wrong reason. I mean, even if I did meet someone, what’s the point if I hate the city, right?”

“ Sandy, can we schedule one more appointment before you go? First thing on Monday?” I asked. “I’m traveling, or I’d see you over the weekend.”

She smiled, looking as confident as I’d ever seen her. Then she shook her head. “I just came to say good-bye, Dr. Cross. My mind’s all made up. I know what I have to do.”

“Well, all right, then,” I told Sandy. I put out my hand, but she opened her arms and hugged me instead. Strange, forced, almost theatrical, it seemed to me.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she whispered against my shoulder. “I wish I’d met you somewhere else. Not as my therapist.”

Then Sandy went up on her tiptoes and gave me a kiss on the lips. Her eyes flew wide; I think mine did too, and she blushed. “I can’t believe I just did that,” she gushed like a teenage girl.

“Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything,” I said. I could have been angry, but what was the point? She was going back to Michigan, and maybe that was for the best.

After a short, awkward silence, Sandy pointed with her thumb over her shoulder. “Walk me to my car?”

“I’m parked the other way,” I told her.

Her head tilted coyly. “Walk you to your car, then?”

I laughed and took it as a compliment. “Good-bye, Sandy. And good luck in Michigan.”

She finger-waved, then gave me a little wink. “Good luck to you, Dr. Cross.”

AT THAT MOMENT, DCAK was playing another part, that of Detective James Corning, who put down his surveillance camera and stared out his car window, like, well, any dumb-ass cop would. He had just snapped a pic of Alex Cross kissing his patient Sandy Quinlan, which, of course, wasn’t her real name. Sandy Quinlan was just another role to play. Like Anthony Demao. And Detective James Corning.

Corning had made it his business to keep tabs on Cross and Bree Stone all week. Getting too close wasn’t wise, but their basic comings and goings were easy enough to track.

Now he followed Cross to a parking lot near his office and then to Bree Stone’s apartment building on Eighteenth.

The two of them left together about ten minutes later. Stone was carrying an overnight bag, traveling light, something few women seemed capable of doing. James Corning stayed on them until it was obvious to him that they were headed for Reagan National. Well, well . He wasn’t all that surprised, actually.

At the entrance to the airport parking garage, he got in behind them again. Cross found a space on level three, and Corning kept going up. He parked on four and caught up with Cross and Stone again on the skyway to the terminal.

James Corning stayed back in the pack to avoid any chance of being spotted.

They checked in at American Airlines, so the departure board narrowed things for him. Denver was the logical choice . He waited for them to go down the escalator to security, then circled back to the ticketing area.

He held up his badge for the next customer in line. “Excuse me, just take a second here. Police business.”

Then he showed his creds to the American Airlines agent at the counter. “I’m Detective Corning, MPD. I need a little information on two passengers you just checked in. Stone and Cross?”

After he got the information he needed, James Corning stopped and bought a doughnut, which he had no intention of eating. It was all part of his plan, though. An important prop. Fun one too. He headed back to the parking garage.

On three, he stopped at Cross’s car. He put a brand-new cell phone in with the doughnut, folded the bag over, and duct-taped it to the bottom of the driver’s door seam. It was just out of sight for anyone passing by but surely wouldn’t be missed when Cross and Stone came home.

On Sunday, four thirty, Flight 322 from Denver.

DCAK might just be back to meet the flight himself.

BREE AND I FLEW to Denver on Friday afternoon, then up to Kalispell, Montana, the next morning. Our return flight was early on Sunday, so we had only a day or so to get everything done and find out as much as possible about Tyler Bell, about whatever had been going on up here in the North Woods, and about what he might be planning next.