Cross (Alex Cross 12)

Then he heard a baby crying and took out his Beretta. He fingered the scalpel in his left-hand pocket.

This was a promising development. Babies in the house made everybody careless. He’d killed guys like this before, in Brooklyn and in Queens. One mob stoolie he’d cut into little pieces in his own kitchen, then stocked the family fridge to send a message.

He passed down a short hall, moving like a shadow. Didn’t make a sound.

Then he peeked into the small living room, family room, whatever the hell it was.

This wasn’t exactly what he’d expected to see. Tall, good-looking man changing diapers for two little kids. The guy seemed to be pretty good at it too. Sullivan knew because years ago he’d been in charge of his three snot-nosed brothers in Brooklyn. Changed a lot of stinking diapers in his day.

“You the lady of the house?” he asked.

The guy looked up—Detective Alex Cross—and he didn’t seem afraid of him. Didn’t even seem surprised that the Butcher was in the house, even though he had to be shocked, and probably scared. So the cop had some brass balls on him anyway. Unarmed, changing his kids’ diapers, but showing some attitude, some real character.

“Who are you?” Detective Cross asked, almost as if he was in charge of the situation.

The Butcher folded his arms, keeping the pistol out of sight from the children. Hell, he liked kids okay. It was adults he had a problem with. Like his old man—to take one flagrant example.

“You don’t know why I’m here? No idea?”

“Maybe I do. I guess you’re the hit man from the other day. But why are you here? At my house? This isn’t right.”

Sullivan shrugged. “Right? Wrong? Who’s to say? I’m supposed to be a little crazy. So people tell me anyway. That could be it. You think? They call me the Butcher.”

Cross nodded. “So I’ve heard. Don’t hurt my kids. No one else is here but me. Their mother’s not home.”

“Now why would I do that? Hurt your kids? Hurt you in front of your kids? Not my style. Tell you what. I’m outta here. Like I said—crazy. You lucked out. Bye-bye, kiddies.”

Then the hit man took another bow, like he had after he shot down Jiang An-Lo.

The Butcher turned away, and he left the apartment the way he came in. Let the hotshot detective try to figure that one out. There was a method to his madness though—always a method to every move he made. He knew what he was doing, and why, and when.

Chapter 14

THAT NIGHT WITH THE BUTCHER shook me more than anything that had happened to me before as a policeman. A killer inside my house. Right in the living room with my kids.

And what was I supposed to make of it? That I’d been warned? That I was lucky to be alive? Oh, lucky me? The killer had spared my family. But why had he come after me in the first place?

The next day was one of my worst on the police force. While a squad car watched over the house, I was called into three separate meetings about the screwup at Jiang An-Lo’s. There was talk of a departmental review, the first I’d been involved in.

On account of all the unscheduled meetings, plus the extra paperwork and my regular workload, I was late picking up Maria at Potomac Gardens that night. I felt guilty about it. I hadn’t gotten used to her spending time inside a project like Potomac Gardens, especially once it got dark. It was dark now. And Maria was pregnant again.

It was a little past seven fifteen when I got to the projects that night. Maria wasn’t waiting out front as she usually was.

I parked and got out of the car. I started to walk toward her office, which was located near maintenance, on the ground floor. Finally, I began to jog.

Then I saw Maria coming out the front door, and everything was suddenly right with the night. Her satchel was filled with so much paperwork that she couldn’t get it closed. She had an armful of folders that wouldn’t fit in the bag.

She still managed to wave and smile when she saw me coming her way. There was almost never anger from her over mistakes I made—like being more than half an hour late to pick her up.

I didn’t care how corny or old-fashioned it was, but I was excited to see her, and that’s the way it always was with us. My priorities had shifted to Maria and our family first and then my job. It felt good to me, the right balance.

Maria had this excited way of calling out my name. “Alex! Alex!” she shouted, and waved one hand as I jogged to meet her in front of the building. A couple of neighborhood gangbangers leaning on the front fence turned our way and got a laugh at our expense.

“Hey, beautiful,” I called. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No problem. I was working too. Hey, Reu-ben! You jealous, chico?” she called to one of the bangers propped against the fence.

He laughed and called back, “You wish, Maria. You wish you had me ’stead of him.”