“Alex,” she said softly. She looked out the front window. It was still coming down and snow was piled more than a foot high on the cars. But there was no sign of her grandson.
“My, my,” she heard someone say. “Santa’s helpers get younger and prettier every year.”
Nana turned around and saw Bree standing at the edge of the living room. They hugged and wished each other a merry Christmas, both of them knowing it wasn’t all that merry without Alex in the house.
“Did you get any sleep?” Nana asked.
“Not a wink.”
“Makes two of us,” Nana said. “Terrible knot in my stomach all night.”
They drank coffee and kept each other company. Jannie and Damon and Ava joined them just as Christmas Day was dawning. Everyone smiled and hugged and said merry Christmas, but the usual rush to rip open gifts just wasn’t there.
“What this Christmas morning needs is a good hot breakfast,” Nana said.
They all pretended to agree with her.
“Well, let’s get into the kitchen and get to work. You don’t think I’m going to fix it all by myself, do you?” said Nana. “I need helpers.”
The children followed her into the kitchen. Bree said she’d join them in a minute. “I love cracking eggs. Save that job for me,” she called after them.
Then she picked up the remote and flicked on the television. Words at the bottom of the screen said CHRISTMAS HOSTAGE CRISIS.
There was a shot of the big, handsome house in Georgetown. Snow and people and cops were everywhere. Then there was Alex carrying a woman from the house where the lunatic had been holed up. The news anchor identified her as Congressman Brandywine’s wife and said, “Detective Cross risked his life and entered the house unarmed to negotiate face-to-face with the madman. One life has been saved, but from what we understand, another one hangs in the balance—Fowler shot and wounded his ex-wife’s husband.”
He’d gone into the house unarmed. Someone had been shot inside. Bree thought about that and said softly, as if the TV could hear her, “Oh, Alex, Alex, Alex. I don’t know if I can bear where you go.”
Then she changed the channel.
But Channel 4 had the identical story. That network, however, had a reporter on the scene. She held a microphone and was talking to the camera.
“From superlawyer to drug addict to madman: that’s the road Henry Fowler took to arrive here this Christmas morning—”
Bree punched POWER, threw the remote down. She rubbed her sleeve against her damp eyes. Then she shouted toward the kitchen, “Nobody better have touched those eggs!”
CHAPTER
29
I FELT SOMEONE SHAKING ME. I JERKED AWAKE AND WAS SURPRISED TO SEE Detective McGoey standing in a weak, pale light.
“It’s Fowler,” he said. “A couple of minutes ago it sounded like he was going rhino in there, and Nu was getting ready to give his men the go to assault when Fowler answered the phone, finally. He’s asking for you, Alex.”
I nodded, sat up, shook the cobwebs from my head. “Time is it?”
“Six fifteen,” McGoey said.
“I slept for four hours?” I said.
“There was no reason to wake you until now,” he said.
I nodded dumbly, followed him toward the front of the van and Ramiro, who held out a phone to me. “This is Cross,” I said.
“I’m disappointed in you” announced Fowler’s voice. “Very disappointed.”
“Why?”
“You betrayed me. I’ve been looking out my windows. You’ve got me surrounded by an army.”