The Big Bad Wolf (Alex Cross 9)

“Anything pop out at you?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I’m just a researcher, right? More corroboration. Upscale white women who’ve been reported missing in the last year or so. The numbers are out of whack, way too high. A lot of them are attractive blondes. Blondes do not have more fun in these instances. No particular regional skew, which I want to look into more. Geographic profiling? Sometimes it can pinpoint the exact locus of criminal activity.”

“No obvious regional differences so far. That’s too bad. Anything in terms of the victims’ appearances? Any patterns at all?”

Monnie clucked her tongue, shook her head. “Nothing sticks out. There are women missing in New England, the South, out West. I’ll check into it more. The women are described as very attractive, for the most part. And none of them have been found. They go missing, they stay missing.”

She looked at me for a few uncomfortable seconds. There was sadness in her eyes. I sensed that she wanted out of this cubicle.

I reached down for the pages. “We’re trying. I made a promise to the Connolly family.”

There was a flicker of humor in her light green eyes. “You keep your promises?”

“Try,” I said. “Thanks for the pages. Don’t work too hard. Go home and see your kids.”

“You too, Alex. See your kids. You’re working too hard already.”

Chapter 33

NANA AND THE KIDS, not to mention Rosie the cat, were lying in wait for me on the front porch when I got home that night. Their cranky body language and the sullen looks on their faces weren’t good signs. I figured I knew why everybody was so happy to see me. You always keep your promises?

“Seven-thirty. It’s getting later and later,” Nana said, and shook her head. “You mentioned we might go see Drumline at the movies. Damon was excited.”

“It’s orientation,” I told her.

“Exactly,” Nana said, and the frown on her face deepened. “Wait until the real stuff starts up. You’ll be coming home at midnight again. If at all. You have no life. You have no love life. All those women who like you, Alex—though God knows why—let one of them catch you. Let somebody in. Before it’s too late.”

“Maybe it’s too late already.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

“You’re tough,” I said, and plopped down on the porch steps next to the kids. “Your Nana is tough as nails,” I said to them. “Still light out. Anybody want to play hoops?”

Damon frowned and shook his head. “Not with Jannie. No way that’s gonna happen.”

“Not with the big superstar Damon.” Jannie smirked. “Even though Diana Taurasi could kick his butt at O-U-T.”

I got up and headed inside. “I’ll get the ball. We’ll play O-U-T.”

When we returned from the park, Nana had already put Little Alex to bed. She was back sitting on the porch. I’d brought a pint of pralines and cream and a pint of Oreos and cream. We ate, then the kids wandered up to their rooms to sleep, or study, or mess around on the Internet.

“You’re becoming hopeless, Alex,” Nana pronounced, as she sucked the last ice cream off her spoon. “That’s all I can say to you.”

“You mean consistent. And dedicated. That’s getting harder to find. You like that Oreos and cream, don’t you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe you ought to catch up with the times, son. Duty isn’t everything anymore.”

“I’m here for the kids. And even for you, old woman.”

“Never said you weren’t. Well, not lately, anyway. How’s Jamilla?”

“We’ve both been busy.”

Nana nodded her head, up and down, up and down, like one of those dolls that people keep on the dashboards of their automobiles. Then she pushed herself up and started to gather the ice-cream dishes the kids had left around the porch.

“I’ll get those,” I told her.

“Kids should get them. They know better too.”