After we’d toasted and taken a sip of the champagne, Bree reached across the table and took my hand. “I want to tell you how touched I am, how wonderful I felt when I found out you’d jumped on a plane to Paris just because you thought I was in danger.”
Gazing into her tear-filled eyes, I said, “There was no thought about it. The decision was just made and I had to go. My baby needed me.”
“She did,” Bree said. “She does.”
“I admit I was scared on the flight over. Not being able to do anything for twelve hours—it makes a guy’s mind play tricks on him.”
“I’ve never known you to be scared of much, Alex. What were you afraid of?”
“A life without you.”
“Aww,” she said and reached up to stroke my cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid of that ever.”
“Some things are out of our control,” I said, touching the back of her hand. “But not my love for you. That is forever.”
Bree smiled and flushed, and her eyes sparkled. “You are on fire tonight.”
“It’s Paris. And the champagne.”
She laughed and sat back in delight. “Alex Cross turns romantic! Yet another reason to love this place. It’s just magical what it does to people, isn’t it?”
Chapter
47
Washington, DC
In the six weeks that followed our return from France, life became a lot less hectic. No other federal agents were killed by Maestro, and no innocent families were attacked by the Alejandro cartel.
Elena Martin had given Bree a hefty bonus and a week’s vacation after her ordeal in Paris, both of which were unexpected and appreciated.
John Sampson’s surgeons were impressed by his progress and released him from the hospital three days after his stabbing. He got up on his own and walked from the wheelchair to my car—a little hunched over and limping on the right leg, but he did it. He climbed into my front passenger seat dripping with sweat.
“That hurt?”
“You have no idea,” he said through gritted teeth. “But that’s not stopping me from getting out of that hospital. People die in those places, you know.”
“Yeah, I’d heard that,” I said and drove him home.
At the end of July, my older boy, Damon, came home for two weeks after his stint as a camp counselor was done. He and I and Ali and Jannie played a lot of basketball before he headed back to Davidson, where he was to be a resident adviser in a freshman dorm.
Ali often seemed tired and cranky, which was unusual. Ordinarily, my youngest is upbeat and full of energy. Nana Mama had commented on the constant yawning and grumpiness as well, and I was thinking about taking him to his pediatrician.
After a month and a half of rehab, Sampson was walking three miles a day without the cane. He had recently returned to work when we both got a call from Ned Mahoney at a quarter to six on a Thursday morning.
“We’ve got another body with a confession,” he said. “I want you both there.”
“Where?” I asked.
“Congressional Country Club,” Mahoney said.
Thirty minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of the toniest golf club in the greater DC area. I got out and offered to help John, but he waved me off.
“I got this, Alex,” Sampson said, though he looked stiff climbing from the car and he limped a little when we walked over to meet Ned.
“We’ve got a problem,” Mahoney said. “Victim is DEA, and the DEA got here first.”
“Where’s ‘here’？” I asked.
“Eighteenth hole.”
There were five of them in DEA windbreakers when we came around the side of the country club and approached the eighteenth hole, where a body was propped up and lashed to the flagpole. Male, Hispanic, and slightly bigger than a horse jockey, he had been badly beaten and shot in the face.
One of the DEA agents, a woman in her forties with pale skin and brassy-red hair, noticed us and came our way with both hands up. “Whoever you are, back off.”
“Supervising Special Agent Mahoney, FBI,” Mahoney said. “This is our case.”
“The hell it is,” she said. “I am Special Agent in Charge Jill Hanson and the victim was one of our best.”
“Be that as it may, Special Agent in Charge Hanson, the FBI has had control of this investigation since CIA officer Catherine Hingham’s body was dumped with her confession almost two months ago.”
“Be that as it may, Supervising Special Agent Mahoney,” she said, “we are gathering our own evidence and will conduct our own internal investigation as well.”