The Big Bad Wolf (Alex Cross 9)

“It’s Christine, Alex. I’m in Washington. For a few days. I’d like to see Little Alex while I’m here,” she said, sounding as if it were a prepared speech.

I felt my face flush. Why are you calling here? Why now? I wanted to say but didn’t. “Do you want to come over tonight? It’s a little late, but we could keep him up.”

She hesitated. “Actually, I was thinking about tomorrow. Maybe around eight-thirty, quarter to nine in the morning? Would that be all right?”

I said, “That would be fine, Christine. I’ll be here.”

“Oh,” she said, then fumbled for words a little. “You don’t have to stay home for me. I heard you were working for the FBI.”

My stomach clenched. Christine Johnson and I had split up over a year ago, mainly because of the nature of the murder cases I worked. She had actually been abducted because of my work. We finally found her in a shack in a remote area of Jamaica. Alex was born there. I hadn’t known Christine was pregnant at the time. We were never the same after that. I felt it was my fault. Then she’d moved to Seattle. It had been Christine’s idea that Alex stay with me. She’d been seeing a psychiatrist and said she wasn’t emotionally fit to be a mother. Now she was in D.C. “for a few days.”

“What brings you back to Washington?” I finally asked.

“I wanted to see our son,” she said, her voice going very soft. “And some friends of mine.” I remembered how much I had loved her, and probably still did on some level, but I was resigned to the fact that we wouldn’t be together. Christine couldn’t stand my life as a cop, and I couldn’t seem to give it up.

“All right, well, I’ll be over at around eight-thirty tomorrow,” she said.

“I’ll be here,” I said.

Chapter 55

EIGHT-THIRTY ON THE BUTTON.

A shiny silver Taurus, a rental car from Hertz, pulled up in front of our house on Fifth Street.

Christine Johnson got out, and though she looked a little severe with her hair pulled back in a tight bun, I had to admit that she was a beautiful woman. Tall and slender, with distinct, sculpted features that I couldn’t make myself forget. Seeing her again made my heart catch in spite of what had happened between us.

I was edgy, but also tired. Why was that? I wondered how much energy I’d lost in the past year and a half. A doctor friend from Johns Hopkins has a half-serious theory that our life lines are written on the palms of our hands. He swears he can chart stress, illnesses, general health. I visited him a few weeks ago, and Bernie Stringer said I was in excellent physical shape, but that my life lines had taken a beating in the last year. That was partly because of Christine, our relationship, and the breakup.

I was standing behind the protective screen of the front door, with Alex in my arms. I stepped outside as Christine approached the house. She was wearing heels and a dark blue suit.

“Say hi,” I said to Alex, and waved one of his arms at his mother.

It was so strange, so completely unnerving to see Christine like this again. We had such a complicated history. Much of it was good, but what was bad was very bad. Her husband had been killed in her house during a case I was working on. I had nearly been responsible for her death. Now we were living thousands of miles apart. Why was she in D.C. again? To see Little Alex, of course. But what else had brought her?

“Hello, Alex,” she said, and smiled, and for a dizzying instant it was as if nothing had changed between us. I remembered the first time I had seen her, when she was still the principal at the Sojourner Truth School. She’d taken my breath away. Unfortunately, I guess, she still did.

Christine knelt at the foot of the stairs and spread her arms. “Hi, you handsome guy,” she said to Little Alex.

I set him down and let him decide what to do next. He looked up at me and laughed. Then he chose Christine’s beckoning smile, chose her warmth and charm—and went right into her arms.

“Hello, baby,” she whispered. “I missed you so much. You’ve grown so big.”

Christine hadn’t brought a gift, no bribes, and I liked that. It was just her, no tricks or gimmicks, but that was enough. In seconds, Alex was laughing and talking up a storm. They looked good together, mother and son.

“I’ll be inside,” I said, after I watched them for a moment. “Come in when you want. There’s fresh coffee. Nana’s. Breakfast if you haven’t eaten.”

Christine looked up at me and she smiled again. She looked so happy holding the Boy, our small son. “We’re fine for the moment,” she said. “Thank you. I’ll come in for coffee. Of course I will.” Of course. Christine had always been so sure about everything, and she hadn’t lost any of her confidence.

I stepped back inside and nearly bumped into Nana, who was watching from just beyond the screen door.

“Oh, Alex,” she whispered, and she didn’t have to say any more than that. I felt as if a knife had been plunged in my heart. It was the first twist, and just the first of many. I shut the front door and left them to have their private time.

Christine brought the baby inside after a while, and we all sat in the kitchen and drank coffee and she watched Alex with his bottle of apple juice. She talked about her life out in Seattle; mostly about work at a school out there, nothing too personal or revealing. I knew she had to be nervous and stressed, but I never saw it.

Then Christine showed the kind of warmth that could melt a heart. She was looking at Little Alex. “What a sweetheart he is,” she said. “What a sweet, darling little boy. Oh, Alex, my little Alex, how I missed you. You have no idea.”

Chapter 56