“What’s up?” asks Rizzo, glancing at my phone.
I slip it into my pocket. “Feel like seeing a movie?”
“Depends. Who’s in it?”
“Our bomber. Let’s see just how organized he is.”
CHAPTER 12
Cross
ALEX OPENS THE DOOR and takes a few steps into Damon’s apartment, and he feels an immediate rush of relief. The inside of the apartment is musty with a stale aroma of grilled food. But no thick odor like rotting meat and fruit—the smell of decomposing flesh.
Bree is right behind him. “It smells okay, thank God.”
Alex finds a wall switch, flicks it up. A ceiling light illuminates a small living room with a couch, coffee table, two chairs, and a large-screen television.
“Hello?” Alex calls out, walking slowly through the room, cluttered with computer equipment and empty take-out cartons. “Damon? Melissa?”
Alex scans the floor and walls. No signs of violence, no overturned furniture. Nothing out of place.
To the right is a small kitchen. The sink is clean. Alex opens therefrigerator. It’s lightly stocked with low-fat milk, orange juice, yogurt, and leftovers wrapped in foil.
Bree looks over his shoulder. “If Nana Mama saw this, she’d spend a day cooking just to fill the larder.”
Next up is the bedroom on the other side of the apartment.
Two bureaus, a queen-size bed with rumpled sheets, and clothing scattered around the carpeted floor. Alex spots a grouping of framed pictures on one of the bureaus: some photos of the whole Cross clan on various family trips, plus two photos of Damon and Melissa in front of the campus library.
Bree steps up to the bureau and runs a gloved hand over one of the family pictures.
Alex walks into the bathroom, checks the shower stall and sink. He opens the medicine cabinet, looking for any clues, anything out of the ordinary.
But there’s nothing.
He joins Bree as she opens the side-by-side bedroom closets. On the right, dresses, blouses, and skirts hang neatly from the rod, with shoes lined up below like a fashion display. Jeans and shorts are stacked on a shelf.
The left-hand closet is clearly Damon’s. Sneakers and dress shoes lie in a tumble on the floor along with T-shirts and sweatpants. Half of the hangers are bare; the others hold a few wrinkled dress shirts, a sport coat, and a handful of narrow ties.
Bree sighs. “Just like home.”
“Everything looks normal,” agrees Alex. “If something happened to Damon, it didn’t happen here.”
He hears a sound from the living room. He whips around, puts a finger to his lips, and walks slowly back to the bedroom door,which is open just a sliver. Alex looks through the narrow gap; Bree is right behind him.
He sees the front door’s knob turn and waits as the door opens slowly.
A man steps in. Mid-thirties. Gray suit, white shirt, blue necktie, carefully combed blond hair. His head swivels around as he checks every angle.
Alex slips a hand under his jacket and pulls out his SIG Sauer P365. Bree reaches into her bag and comes out with a pistol of her own.
Alex looks at Bree and holds up three fingers. Then two. Then one.
He pushes the door all the way open and steps through, pistol raised.“Freeze!”
CHAPTER 13
Sampson
