I, Alex Cross (Alex Cross 16)

“You bastards! You fucking bastards, you killed her! Now do you believe me? Is that what it takes?”

The two men were as cool as ever. They exchanged a glance. A couple of shrugs.

“We should go,” the white guy said. The other nodded, and for a second Nicholson thought he’d pulled it off, that maybe “we” meant only the two of them. It didn’t. One of them picked up Charlotte and the other dragged Nicholson.

As he was forced to hobble on his good leg toward the door—and God knew where after that—Nicholson had the strangest thought. He wished he had been nicer to Charlotte.

Chapter 53

NED MAHONEY AND I were in my car, headed east on I-66 toward Alexandria, when the call came in that we were too late. Virginia State Police were reporting that they’d found Nicholson’s house empty. There were signs of a break-in and a struggle, two packed suitcases left behind, both of the Nicholsons’ cars still in the garage.

/> An APB was in effect, but without a specific vehicle to look for, it didn’t carry much hope of an apprehension.

The plan was still to convene at the Nicholson house. ADIC Hamel was calling in another Evidence Response Team right away. And Mahoney phoned someone at the Hoover Building to do some fast digging on Nicholson.

He also had one of the Bureau-issue Toughbooks in the car, which let him double up on research. He started feeding me information rapid-fire, the way Ned always does when he’s keyed up.

“Well, our boy’s never been arrested, naturalized, federally employed, in the military—no big surprises. He doesn’t have any known aliases either. And he doesn’t cross-reference in any Bureau file, under Tony or Anthony Nicholson.”

“I don’t think he’s our killer,” I said.

Mahoney stopped what he was doing and gave me his attention. “Because?”

“There’re too many loose ends here,” I explained. “Nicholson’s obviously one of them, but that’s all he is, Ned. It’s like that old story about the five blind men and all the elephant parts.”

“Which makes Nicholson what—the asshole?”

I had to laugh. Mahoney is never without a quick response, and he’s at his best when the pressure’s on.

“I think someone came after the same thing we’re looking for, only they got to him first. Which just means they have more puzzle pieces to work with than we do.”

“Or”—Mahoney held up a finger—“he staged his own disappearance. It wouldn’t be hard—drop a few suitcases, bust up some furniture, and he’s halfway over the Atlantic with his little snuff film collection while we’re still dusting the house for prints.”

We batted possibilities around some more, until another call came in. Whatever it was got Mahoney excited—again. He punched an address into his laptop.

A few seconds later, we were following the GPS onto the Beltway toward Alexandria—but not to Nicholson’s house.

“Avalon Apartments,” Mahoney said. “Nicholson came up on a tenant database. Guess he missed a payment or something.”

“A rental?” I said. “In the same town where he already lives?”

Mahoney nodded. “Lives with his wife,” he said, “who I’m betting is at least fifteen years older than whoever we find behind door number two. What do you say—twenty bucks?”

“No bet.”

Chapter 54

TONY NICHOLSON LEANED forward from the backseat, as far as the cuffs would allow. He could see that the lights on the second floor were on.

“We don’t need to be here,” he said. “She doesn’t know anything. I promise you.”

The one who had ruined Nicholson’s leg opened the passenger door. “Who knows?” he said. “Maybe you talk in your sleep.”

He got out and went to the front door. Then he used one of Nicholson’s keys to let himself in.

Nicholson was thinking that he still might be able to save himself, and maybe Mara. He had a surreal image of her beautiful face trapped inside a plastic bag.

The driver was tall and blond—like him—with pale eyes and a square forehead. He looked more intelligent than the spic. Maybe he was more reasonable too.