Merry Christmas, Alex Cross Part 7

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"WELL, LOOK WHO GOT OUT IN ONE PIECE," SAID ADAM NU, WHO CAME IN from the storm as the medics moved Mrs. Brandywine to an ambulance. Then Nu gave me a quick hug, which wasn't like him at all.

I let out a breath. "Yeah, it wasn't a lot of fun. But if I don't get some hot coffee and food, I'm going to be useless."

One of Nu's men got me a ham sandwich and a steaming Styrofoam cup of French roast, a holiday feast that I wolfed down as I stood by the gas heater. Then I asked, "What did you hear over the phone?"

"Some of it," McGoey said. "When he was yelling or singing or you were talking. Guy's a barking lunatic."

"He is, but I don't see him executing the family," I said.

"You said he shot Nicholson," Nu said.

"He did," I replied. "But not to kill. He was at point-blank range. He could easily have made a shot that was guaranteed to turn Nicholson's lights out."

"Maybe he wants him to suffer," Nu said.

"Or doesn't believe himself a killer deep down," I replied. "He did let Mrs. Brandywine go, and it could be an indicator of his willingness to negotiate an ending to this without further bloodshed."

"Sorry to spoil the holiday," McGoey said. "But you've got Fowler all wrong, Alex."

"How's that?" I asked, annoyed that he was trying to tell me about a man he'd never met.

He got out his cell phone and said, "Remember before you went in, we talked about the s.k.a.n.k meth addict Fowler lived with?"

"Patty something," I said.

"Patty Paradise, aka Patricia Kocot," McGoey said. "I had someone go to her crib, see if she'd be willing to come down and talk some sense into her boy."

"And?"

The detective got a laptop and showed me the most recent picture of Patty Paradise. She was naked, slumped in a bathtub. She had two bullet holes in her forehead, and split skin and angry bruising along her forearms and shins, clear indications she'd been electrocuted before being shot.

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AS NU AND HIS MEN PREPARED AN a.s.sAULT PLAN BASED ON WHAT I'D TOLD them about the layout of the house and the position of the hostages, Ramiro and other officers began calling the Nicholson residence again, trying to make a connection with Henry Fowler once more.

Despite the coffee and the food, I was suddenly exhausted. I told McGoey I was going to catch a catnap but to wake me if Fowler answered. The van was equipped with two bunks that folded down off the wall. I grabbed a blanket, lay down, and closed my eyes.

I've always been one of those people who can fall asleep at a moment's notice. It's a skill that's handy when you're involved with this kind of drawn-out fiasco. But that night I couldn't fall asleep. Not at first, at least.

My brain kept replaying what Fowler had said and done; I tried to use what he'd told me to connect the man he had been with the animal he was now.

I don't believe him, I thought as I finally drifted off to sleep. I thought as I finally drifted off to sleep. There's something going on here that we're not seeing. There's something going on here that we're not seeing.

CHAPTER

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n.o.bODY AT THE CROSSES' GETS UP EARLIER THAN NANA. NOT EVEN ON Christmas.

That morning she rose at a quarter to five.

First thing she did was dial up the thermostat in the house and "put up the coffee," as she liked to say. Then she turned on the lights on the tree, brought a big CVS shopping bag into the living room, and got started on the stockings. Filling the stockings was her job. She enjoyed it immensely. And everybody seemed to like the candy and the dollar-store goodies as much as the pricier shirts and sweaters and books and electronic games.

Nana doled out the tiny plastic puzzles and Hershey bars and ballpoint pens. As always, each of the stocking gifts had a double meaning. She gave Bree a disposable lighter; it was Nana's way of telling her that she knew Bree sneaked an occasional cigarette.

The old woman put a bottle of OPI nail polish in Ava's stocking, thinking it might inspire the girl to stop biting her nails.

She dropped iPod earbuds into Damon's stocking. A bright red hair clip went into Jannie's. And the one-handed flosser was for Alex.

"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 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, POWER, threw the remote down. She rubbed her sleeve against her damp eyes. Then she shouted toward the kitchen, "n.o.body better have touched those eggs!" threw the remote down. She rubbed her sleeve against her damp eyes. Then she shouted toward the kitchen, "n.o.body better have touched those eggs!"

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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 a.s.sault 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."

"That's the way it usually works when you're armed to the teeth and you don't talk to us," I said.

"Are they coming in after me? Are they going to shoot their way in?"

"Unless you talk to us."

"Coming in here would be a mistake," he said. "All you would find are bodies around the Christmas tree, mine included."

"But you'll talk to me?" I asked. "Help me try to figure out a way to avoid that?"

He didn't reply, but he didn't hang up either.

"Is Dr. Nicholson still alive?" I asked.

"Barry?" he shot back. "Sure, he's alive. But he's got a h.e.l.l of a stomachache."

"Let him go," I said. "Let me come in there with another unarmed officer and get him."

"No," Fowler said. "I'm enjoying his suffering."

"Then let someone else in there go. One of your children."

Silence, and then he said, "A goodwill gesture, isn't that what you said it would be?"

"That's right."

"Wish granted," he said. "I'm sending out the only one in this house I really care about."

Nu knocked on the wall, signaled me toward the van's side window. I got up, saw the front door open. A black Labrador retriever with a red bow around its neck slunk out, and it startled and began to run away, its tail between its legs, when the door slammed shut.

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