Prologue
Sampson
MY BEST FRIEND, Alex Cross, has been my favorite ride-along ever since he joined the force, and that was a long time ago—before we both sported gray hair.
Tonight, we’re cruising the streets of downtown DC in an unmarked patrol vehicle. It’s the biggest SUV that I could pull from the Metro Police motor pool, but I’m six foot nine, so my head still scrapes the inside roof. I’ve got the scanner turned down low. I’m not even on duty. Just felt like a drive, and I needed the company.
“How’s everybody at home, Alex?”
First thing I always ask. Nana Mama, Alex’s grandmother, is a big part of his life—and mine. I was at their house so often as a kid, she basically raised me. The Cross family is practically my own.
“Good,” he says. “Jannie’s enjoying her classes and still focused on track. Damon seems to be settling in at UNC.”
“Can’t believe he’s already in grad school. He likes it down there in Chapel Hill?”
“Loves it. He’s in the clinical psychology graduate program, on his way to a PhD.”
“And Ali?”
“Still doing well in school, still kicking up some good trouble. Bree and I have a ways to go before we’re empty nesters.”
“The house’ll never be empty. What about Nana Mama?”
“Of course. Goes without saying. She’s a permanent fixture.”
Alex lobs a few questions back to me about my family. Doesn’t take long, since it’s just me and my young daughter, Willow.
“And how’s Bree doing?” I ask.
Alex and I have seen each other through the pain of losing loved ones, and I was truly happy when he found Bree. She’s a loving person and the sharpest investigator I’ve ever met.
Next to Alex, of course.
“You know Bree,” says Alex. “She never lets up. Always working.”
“You two should take a vacation. Fly off to Bermuda for a week.”
Alex lets out a snort. “Right. You’ll need to convince my wife. She’s nonstop.”
Who’s he kidding? Alex and Bree arebothworkaholics. Crime-solving machines.
Made for each other. As a DC detective, I feel lucky whenever I’m on their team.
I ease past a four-car motorcade. From the level of security, I can tell that it’s nobody too high up on the food chain. Probably some foreign ambassador or a federal official. I give the one-man motorcycle escort a salute as we pass.
Nothing shimmers quite like Washington at night. The landmarks are glowing as we drive along Constitution Avenue fromthe Capitol toward the White House. We pass the Smithsonian Castle and the National Museum of Natural History. Up ahead, I can see the Washington Monument.
It never gets old, none of it.
This might be the nation’s capital, but it’s also our hometown. Mine and Alex’s. We were both raised here, and we’ve seen our share of pain and tragedy on these historic streets. I’m afraid we’ll see more.
In the past year, we’ve dealt with suicide bombers, hate-group rallies, and homegrown terrorism. Hell, Alex got shot in the chest. Almost died.
He looks over at me. Must have been reading my mind.
“Enough with the family updates, John,” he says. “What’s bothering you? The city’s peaceful tonight.”
Alex knows me too well. We’ve been as close as brothers since we were kids. “You heard about the bombings out in Iowa?”
