Double Cross (Alex Cross 13)

Kyle had been an FBI field agent, and before that he was with Special Forces in the army. He was an expert with knives, guns, even explosives, and I knew that from past experience. He was no one to fool with—no one to warn.

He heard Bree’s voice, and before she finished her threat, he was twisting his body around toward her and diving at the ground. I watched—unable to do anything to stop it from happening.

“Bree!”

His Beretta came up level and was aimed at the center of her chest—he wouldn’t take a chance of missing what would be a difficult shot, especially while he was still moving. He had her in his sights, and I had one thought: Take me instead.

I’m not sure if Bree waited until she had finished the words “you really will understand payback.” I doubt it.

She fired—and Kyle Craig jerked in midair. His mouth flew open in surprise. His eyes went wide.

He never got a shot off. He landed with a dull thud on the ground and lay there with one leg twitching. Finally he let go of the Beretta. Then, nothing at all.

Nothing.

Blessedly, nothing.

I hurried forward, kicked away his gun. I crouched beside Kyle, who I’d once thought was a friend and who had tur

ned into my worst enemy. His eyes were open, and he looked at me, right into my eyes, maybe my soul. He stared, and I wondered if he was dying at that instant, and if he knew it.

Then Kyle spoke, and he said something so very strange, something I didn’t understand, not to this day. “In your honor,” he said.

Then a horrible rattle began to stir somewhere back in his throat.

And I liked it. Sad to say, horrifying to me, I was relieved and exultant. I’d liked being in the audience, so much so that I clapped my hands together and applauded Bree.

And then, suddenly, Kyle was on all fours, then up on his feet. He pulled another gun from a holster behind his back.

Bree had lowered her gun, and now he had us.

“Put down the gun, Detective,” he said in the calmest voice I’d ever heard. “I don’t want to kill you right now. Not just yet. Tell her, Alex.”

“She won’t listen,” I said.

“Then she’s a dead girl. Put the gun down. For Christ’s sake, if I wanted to kill you, I would have pulled the trigger already.”

Bree bent at the knees and lowered her gun to the ground.

Kyle pulled the trigger.

But he missed her on purpose.

“You know, Bree,” he said in the same deadly calm voice, “the advice about chest shots versus head shots is good as far as it goes, but”—he patted his own chest—“it doesn’t allow for the possibility of vests, which I always wear to parties like this one. You should too. Especially with that exemplary chest of yours.”

Kyle started to back away from us. Then he smiled and said, “Oh, what the hell! Sorry, Alex!”

He fired in Bree’s direction—twice—and purposely missed again. Then he laughed and ran down the alley, disappearing around the first corner, still laughing.

The Mastermind.

Chapter 126

DCAK WAS STILL ALIVE. Bree and I met up with Nana and the kids at Washington Hospital Center, where Sampson and “Anthony” were being treated. “Sandy Quinlan” hadn’t made it; she died before the ambulance came.

Sampson was going to be fine, according to his doctors. He needed stitches and fluids, but I had no doubt he’d be driving the staff crazy by checkout time tomorrow. Eventually, we retreated to a waiting area so that Billie and Djakata could have some alone time with the Big Man. Billie didn’t seem too happy with him, though, or with me.

The kids were full of questions, and Bree and I answered as many as we could. Though—as always—we didn’t have all the answers ourselves. Not yet, and maybe not ever. Especially where Kyle Craig was concerned.