I, Alex Cross
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Can Alex Cross survive his most chilling - and personal - case ever? Pulled out of a family celebration, Detective Alex Cross gets awful news: A beloved relative has been found brutally murdered. Vowing to catch the killer, he quickly learns that she was mixed up in one of Washington, D.C.'s wildest scenes. And she was not this killer's only victim . . .
The hunt for the murderer leads Alex and his girlfriend, Detective Brianna Stone, to a place where every fantasy is possible, if you have the credentials to get in. Soon they confront some very important, very protected, and very dangerous people who will do anything to keep their secrets safe. As Alex closes in on the killer, he discovers evidence that points to the unimaginable - a revelation that could rock the entire world.
Nana’s gone into a coma. I’m going back in now, so you won’t be able to reach me anymore. Get here as soon as you can.” Chapter 59 THE FUNCTION BEING held at One Observatory Circle tonight was relatively informal, a Maryland crab boil for several midlevel staffers and their families. That meant jackets with no ties—until the vice president went to shirtsleeves just before dinner and his male guests followed suit. Agent Cormorant, however, kept his jacket on. It was specially tailored to
like she’d always imagined as a girl. It seemed like the perfect way to start her life over. But when she woke up on that third night home with a man’s hand pressed tightly over her mouth, and heard the American accent in her ear, Esther knew that she hadn’t run far enough. “One peep and I’ll kill everyone in the house. Everyone. Do you understand what I’m saying, Esther? Just nod.” It was almost impossible not to scream. Her breath was coming in fast, high-pitched gasps, but she managed to
watching my house?” I shouted at him. “Who are you?” His partner got out on the other side, but they both kept their distance. “Alex?” I heard Bree coming up behind me. “Are you all right?” “I’m fine,” I shouted back. “Washington plates, DCY 182.” “Got it,” she said. The bald-headed guy flashed his palms for me. “Seriously, just take it down a notch, man. We know you’re a cop.” “I’ll take it down when you tell me what you’re doing here where I live.” “We’re not in for anything heavy, all
can’t wait until tomorrow.” I recognized the slight accent of Vance’s personal attorney, Raj Doshi, who was driving in from Maryland as we spoke. “Actually, there’s a very good reason,” I said. “People have already died under this cover-up. Not doing anything tonight means risking more lives, and the fact that we’re having this conversation only increases that risk.” “Excuse me—Detective Cross, was it?” Riordan asked. “We’re not going to make tactical decisions here based on your gut feelings
“With exceptions, of course.” “Of course.” Any more than that would have to wait, and not just because the bathrooms at Ben’s Chili Bowl were definitely not an option. We did in fact have somewhere important we had to be that day. After lunch, we strolled hand in hand up U Street to Sharita Williams’s jewelry store. Sharita was an old friend from high school, and she also happened to do outstanding work on antique pieces. A dozen tiny bells tinkled over our heads as we breezed in the door.