Cross the Line (Alex Cross 24)

“Do I need to remind you about the ten pounds you need to lose?”

“Ouch,” I said. “And it’s five.”

Jannie crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow skeptically.

“Okay, seven,” I said. “And let’s go before I decide to get doughnuts.”

Jannie turned, started to move, and became someone else. It was a very strange thing, I thought as she started to lope down the sidewalk with me puffing already. There was my daughter, Jannie, who had to struggle to sit still and succeed in school. And there was Jannie Cross, who ran so effortlessly.

She picked up her pace all the way to the end of the block and then glided back to me.

“Show-off,” I said.

“You’re breaking a sweat,” she said. “This is good.”

“How far are we going?” I asked.

“Three miles,” she said.

“Thank you for being merciful.”

“The idea is to make you want to show up again tomorrow.”

“Right,” I said without enthusiasm.

We ran past the Marine barracks and heard them doing PT. We ran past Chung Sun Chung’s convenience store, the best around. It was doing a brisk business, as usual. In the window, the Powerball sign said the pot was nearing fifty million dollars.

“Remind me to stop and get Nana Mama’s tickets on the way back,” I said.

“You ever won anything?”

“No.”

“Nana Mama?”

“Twice. Once ten thousand dollars and once twenty-five thousand.”

“When was that?”

“Before I went to college.”

“So a long time ago.”

“Paleolithic era,” I said.

“Must be why you run like a mastodon.”

She laughed and took off in a burst of speed, ran all the way to the end of the block, then jogged back to me again.

“Mastodon?” I said, trying to act offended.

“Saber-toothed tiger trying to get back in shape?”

“Much better.”

We ran on for several minutes before Jannie said, “So why were you and Bree fighting last night?”

“We weren’t fighting,” I said. “We were arguing.”