Cross Fire (Alex Cross 17)

“Because the hits were directed at me,” I said slowly. “This is the part Kyle would want to do himself.”

“Even so” — Burns stopped pacing and sat down — “we’re getting off point here. Whether Craig made these kills or he didn’t, our hand is pretty much the same. We keep scouring the crime scenes. We make sure that our radar’s up and that our people are as ready as they can be the next time he strikes.”

“That’s not good enough. Goddamnit!” I said, and swiped my notes off the desk, taking with them a few other people’s papers, too. Right away, I regretted it. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Sorry.”

Burns bent to where I was picking up the papers and put out a hand. He pulled me to my feet. “Take a breather. Go get some dinner. There’s nothing else to do right now.”

Like it or not, he was right. I was exhausted and a little embarrassed, and I definitely needed to go home for a while. Once I’d gathered up my stuff, I headed out.

Waiting at the elevator, I felt my phone vibrate for the umpteenth time that day. It had been a steady stream of calls from MPD, Sampson, Bree, Nana —

But this time, when I looked at the ID, it just said, “A. Friend.”

“Alex Cross,” I answered, and I was already heading back to the operations center.

“Hello, Alex,” Kyle Craig said. “Really in the thick of things now, aren’t we?”

Chapter 71

“THIS PHONE I’M CALLING ON is encrypted, so don’t bother trying anything,” Kyle went on. “Now, if I’ve timed this correctly, you’re right in the belly of the beast. Is that right? And don’t put me on speaker — or I’m hanging up.”

I came into the conference room, gesticulating like crazy to let them know something was going on. Agents started scrambling, although there wasn’t much they could do. I had no doubt Kyle was telling the truth about the encrypted phone.

Someone handed me a pad and pen, and Burns sat down with his ear close to the cell, until an assistant ran over with a laptop. He took the director’s place and started transcribing as much as he could hear.

“You killed Anjali Patel and Nelson Tambour, didn’t you, Kyle?”

“I’m afraid I did.”

“And what about Bronson James?” I said. “Did you do that, too?”

“Remarkable little boy, wasn’t he? Just vegetable soup, last I checked.”

My big mistake the previous time with Kyle had been to lose my shit during the manhunt. I was determined not to let that happen again, but my heart was pounding with as much hate as I’ve ever felt for anyone in my life.

“Do you see the swath of destruction you’re creating here?” he went on. “How much better off these people would be if you simply didn’t exist?”

“What I see is a man with an obsession against me,” I told him.

“Not true,” he said. “I think you’re fascinating, especially for a Negro. If you weren’t, you’d be dead by now, and Tambour, Patel, and little Bronson James would all be wondering what to have for breakfast tomorrow. It’s quite a compliment, really. Not many people are worthy of my time.”

His voice sounded almost… playful? He appeared to be in an especially good mood. Killing seemed to do that for him. Kyle also loved to talk about himself.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Interesting. You don’t usually ask permission. Go right ahead, Alex.”

“I’m curious about the way you killed Tambour and Patel. It’s not like you to imitate anyone —”

“No,” he said right away. “It’s usually the other way around, isn’t it?”

“But that’s exactly what you did here. Twice.”

“So what’s your question, Alex?”

“Have you been in touch with them?” I asked. “The original killers. Are they yours, Kyle?”

He thought for a second, maybe trying to slow this down a little. Or maybe concocting a lie?