Alex Cross, Run (Alex Cross 20)

“You’ll drink to anything,” Creem said, and his friend shrugged at the truth of it. “What are you going to do with her, anyway?”

“Rock Creek Park,” he said. “I know a place.”

Creem tapped the ash of his Romeo y Julieta, watching it float down like snow onto the concrete garage floor. He felt calm and contemplative, not at all worked up the way Josh was. It pleased him to see Bergman so happy, but it made him a bit nervous, too, the way he seemed to enjoy this. Almost too much, if there were such a thing.

“Just be careful,” Creem said. “We’re not twenty-two anymore, Josh. We’re better than that.”

“I’m always careful,” Bergman said.

“No,” Creem said. “In fact, you’re not.”

“That’s true,” Bergman said, and they both laughed. “But I will be, Elijah. Cross my heart. We started this together, and when it’s time, we’ll end it together. That’s a promise.”

Creem wasn’t entirely sure what Bergman meant. Maybe it was the bourbon talking. Or maybe it meant nothing at all. But for reasons of his own, he let it lie where it was. When the time was right, he’d pick it back up again.

In the meantime, he finished his drink and stood up, indicating it was time for Josh to leave. He was tired. He wanted to go to bed.

And tonight, he was going to sleep like a baby.

CHAPTER

29

WHEN THE PHONE RINGS AT TWO IN THE MORNING IN MY HOUSE, THERE’S A better than average chance that someone’s dead. The only question is whose phone—mine or Bree’s. She’s with the Violent Crimes Branch at MPD, and I’m with Major Case Squad.

On this particular night, the wake-up call came from my side of the bed. I got the details from Sergeant Huizenga before I was even fully awake. Another body had turned up, in Rock Creek Park this time. White. Female. Multiple stab wounds. Hair all cut off.

Another Darcy Vickers.

“I’ll be right there,” I told Huizenga, and stood up with a Gordian knot in my stomach. If this homicide was what it sounded like, we’d just opened up a whole new dimension on an already-complicated case.

As I headed down the stairs a few minutes later, I was surprised to see the light of the TV, flashing into the hall from the living room. Nana had her own set in her room, and as far as I knew, the kids were all tucked in.

What I found was Ava, asleep on the couch. She was slumped in a sitting position, with the remote in her hand, and her chin on her chest. The TV was muted while an episode of Hoarders played silently on the screen. She was still dressed, too, including the new suede boots Bree had just bought her.

Or maybe she was dressed again. Had she snuck out in the night?

“Ava, you need to go to bed,” I said, with a hand on her shoulder from behind.

She didn’t move.

“Ava?” I came around and gave her a shake. “Ava!” She stirred then, but barely. Her eyes opened halfway, and she looked at me like I was some kind of stranger.

“Wassup?” she said in a half slur that sent my heart sinking.

“Ava, are you high?” I said. When I turned on the lamp next to the couch, she put a hand up to shield her face. “Let me see your eyes.”

“I ain’t high,” she said, and turned farther away.

But I wasn’t messing around now. I sat down and squared her off by the shoulders to face me. “Look at me,” I said. “Right now.”

Her eyes weren’t bloodshot, like I expected, but her pupils looked small, which was maybe even worse.

“Ava, what did you take?” I said.

“Nothin’.”

“Was it Oxy? Something else?”