Alex Cross, Run (Alex Cross 20)

“What about Ava?” I said. “Is she okay?”

“A patrol cop brought her home this afternoon,” Bree said. “He found her in Seward Square, passed out on a park bench.”

The news hit me like a punch in the gut, but one that I was already half expecting.

“Passed out?” I said.

“With pupils like pin dots.”

That meant opiates. OxyContin, possibly, although Ava didn’t have that kind of money. Maybe fentanyl, which was cheaper and easier to get but also harder to control. My cop’s mind couldn’t help running down a list of possibilities.

“Nana’s upstairs with her now,” Bree went on. “She’s just sleeping. We’ll have to do a urine test in the morning.”

I nodded and looked down at the table. All of a sudden, it felt like July 1989 all over again. That was the last time drugs had haunted this house.

My brother Blake had been an addict. He’d shown up on Nana’s doorstep one night, dope sick and begging for help. Nana called me in my dorm at Georgetown and asked me to come home, which I did. It was a long, sweaty twelve hours, but we got through it. Nana was like an angel of mercy. I just helped out where I could.

What I didn’t know then was that it would be the last time all three of us were together. Blake promised to stick with the rehab program Nana found for him, but he quickly skipped out and disappeared. The next we heard was on the morning of September 2—another cop at the front door. Blake had been found in an Anacostia flophouse, dead from a heroin overdose.

Now, sitting here, I couldn’t help feeling terrified for Ava. She wasn’t Blake, obviously. But it was also true that Nana and I had done all we could for my brother, and it still wasn’t enough.

“So, what now?” I asked Stephanie.

“Counseling, for sure,” she said. “Maybe treatment. It depends on what Ava has to say for herself. We need to find out how long this has been going on, and if she’s dealing with an addiction here. Also, if you can find out where she’s getting her drugs, that could be a good step toward doing something about it.”

“We’ve had her on a short leash,” Bree said. “There’s been a little trouble lately.”

“Drug trouble?” Stephanie asked.

Bree and I looked at each other. “We weren’t sure,” she said. “But I guess we are now.”

“Well, as long as you’ll have her, Ava’s best off staying right here. I’ll let her rest tonight, but I’d like to see her tomorrow. And I’ll be making more frequent visits to the house. How are Wednesdays and Saturdays for you?”

“Fine,” Bree said.

I felt like I was still trying to catch up. My head was too crowded. When I looked up again, Stephanie and Bree were both looking back at me.

“I’m sorry—what?” I said.

“Wednesdays and Saturdays,” Stephanie repeated. “Is that okay for you, Alex?”

“Yes. Of course,” I said. “Whatever it takes. We’ll make it work.”

CHAPTER

52

“YES. OF COURSE. WHATEVER IT TAKES. WE’LL MAKE IT WORK.”

Ron Guidice slid the headphones off his ears and sat back. He’d heard all he needed to. The rest of the conversation could go to the hard drive.

In the meantime, it sounded like Alex was getting it coming and going these days. This was exactly what the electronic surveillance was for. There was only so much of a story Guidice could build without some kind of inside line on Alex’s home life. It was working out perfectly, in fact.

Guidice marked the time on a legal pad next to his computer and had just started typing up some thoughts when a knock came from the hall.

“Ronald, honey?”

“Come in,” he said, flipping the laptop closed.