London Bridges (Alex Cross 10)

Christine answered the bell herself, with Alex in her arms. As much as I tried not to, I couldn’t help thinking about the way things might have been if I hadn’t been a homicide cop and my life as a detective hadn’t violently derailed the two of us.

I was surprised that she was home, and she must have recognized the look in my eyes.

“I won’t bite you, Alex, I promise. I brought Alex back from preschool to be with you,” she said. Then she handed over the Boy, and he was all I wanted to think about right then.

“Hello, Dada,” he said, and laughed shyly, which is his way at first. I smiled back. A woman I know in the D.C. area calls me “a saint,” and she doesn’t mean it as a compliment. I’m not, not even close, but I have learned to make the best of things. My guess is that she hasn’t.

“You’re such a big boy,” I said, expressing my surprise, and I suppose, my pride and delight in my son. “How old are you now? Six? Eight? Twelve years old?” I asked.

“I’m two, almost three,” he said, and laughed at my joke. He always gets me, at least he seems to.

“He’s been talking about seeing you all morning, Alex. He kept saying, ‘Today’s Daddy day,’” Christine said. “You two have fun together.” Then she did something that surprised me: she leaned in and kissed my cheek. That kind of threw me. I may be cautious, even a little paranoid, but I’m not immune. First Kayla Coles—and now Christine. Maybe I looked as though I needed a little TLC. That was probably it.

Well, Alex and I did have some good times together. I acted as if Seattle were our hometown, and I went with it. First we rode over to the Fremont area, where I had visited a retired detective friend a few years back. Fremont was full of older buildings, lots of vintage clothing and furniture shops, character, if such a worthy trait can actually be traced to architecture and style. A lot of people seem to think it can, but I’m not so sure.

When we got there, Little Alex and I shared a scone with butter and blackberry jam from the Touchstone Bakery. We continued on our walking tour, and closely examined the fifty-five-foot-tall Fremont Rocket attached to one of the local stores. Then I bought Alex a t

ie-dyed kite, and we took it for a test flight at Gas Works Park, which had a view of Lake Union and downtown Seattle. Seattle has parks galore. It’s one of the things I like so much about the city. I wondered if I could ever live out here and imagined that I could, and then I wondered why I was entertaining that line of thought at all. Because Christine had given me a quick little peck on the cheek? Was I that starved for affection? Pitiful.

We did some more exploring, and checked out the sculpture garden and the Fremont Troll, a large sculpture that reminded me of the singer Joe Cocker clutching a Volkswagen Bug in one hand. Finally we had a late lunch—organic, of course—a roasted vegetable salad, plus peanut butter and jelly on Ezekiel bread. When in Rome, and all that.

“Life is pretty good out here, huh, buddy?” I said as we munched our food together. “This is the best, little guy.”

Alex Junior nodded that it was good, but then he stared up at me all wide-eyed and innocent, and asked, “When are you coming home, Daddy?”

Oh man, oh man. When am I coming home?

Chapter 98

CHRISTINE HAD ASKED that I have Alex home before six, and I did as I’d promised. I am so responsible, so Alex, it drives me a little crazy sometimes. She was waiting for us on the porch, in a bright blue dress and heels, and handled everything as well as I could have expected her to. She smiled warmly when she saw us, and hugged Alex against her long legs when he ran up to her squealing, “Mommy!”

“You two look like you had some fun,” she said as she stroked the top of the Big Boy’s head. “That’s nice. I knew you would. Alex, Daddy has to go to his house now. Back to Washington, D.C. You and I have to go to Theo’s for dinner.”

Tears filled his eyes. “I don’t want Daddy to go,” he protested.

“I know, but he has to, sweetheart. Daddy has to go to work. Give him a hug. He’ll come visit again.”

“I will. Of course I will,” I said, wondering who Theo was. “I’ll always come see you.”

Alex ran into my arms, and I loved having him close and didn’t want to let him go. I loved the smell of him, his touch, the feeling of his little heart beating. But I also didn’t want him to feel the separation that was already making my heart ache.

“I’ll be back real soon,” I said. “Soon as I can. Don’t get too big when I’m not looking.”

And Alex whispered, “Please don’t go away, Daddy. Please don’t go.”

He kept repeating it over and over until I was inside my rental car and driving away, waving back to my son, who kept getting smaller and smaller, until he disappeared as I turned the corner of his street. I could still feel Alex’s little body pressing against mine. I can still feel it now.

Chapter 99

A LITTLE BEFORE eight that night I sat alone at the dimly lit bar inside the Kingfish Café on Nineteenth and Mercer in Seattle. I was lost in thoughts about my youngest son—all of my children, really—when Jamilla rolled into the restaurant.

She had on a long black leather car coat, with a dark blouse and black skirt, and she smiled brilliantly when she saw me sitting there at the bar, maybe looking as good to her as she did to me. Maybe. The thing about Jamilla is that she’s pretty but doesn’t seem to know it, at least to believe it. I had mentioned I was coming to Seattle, and Jam said she’d fly up to have dinner with me.

At first I hadn’t been sure it was a good idea, but that was wrong, all wrong. I was incredibly happy to see her, especially after leaving Alex.

“You look good, Sugar,” she whispered against my cheek. “But you do seem a little beat-up, darling. You’re working too hard. Burning the candle down.”

“I feel a lot better right now,” I told her. “You look good enough for both of us.”