CHAPTER 29
Cross
ALEX DRIVES THE RED Camry up Pearson Trail Road as fast as the rugged terrain allows, Bree holding tight to the handgrip. They turn off onto Barbee Chapel Hill Road, a two-lane country road with thick trees and brush on both sides, no homes or buildings in sight.
The dirt road widens and comes to an end at the trailhead. Bree is out the door before Alex comes to a full stop. He gets out and joins her.
For a moment, they stand side by side in the empty parking area. It’s cool and quiet. The early morning mist is still rising from the woods surrounding them. No other vehicles are at the trailhead. No sounds except for birds.
“What was he doing out here?” Bree asks.
“Clearing his head?” Alex suggests. “At least, that’s what he told Melissa.”
“Right,” says Bree. “But remember, he was on his bike. Wouldn’t he have told Melissa if he was going on a trail ride?”
She points to where two dirt trails lead into the woods. Even with the sun coming up, the trails look dark and foreboding.
“I have a lot to ask that young lady,” says Alex, “including why she and her friends disappeared so fast last night.”
“She still hasn’t answered your texts?” asks Bree.
“Nope.”
“Mine either. I left a voicemail too.”
Alex and Bree walk to the spot where the two trails begin. “You go left,” says Alex. “I’ll go right.” He reaches over to squeeze his wife’s hand, then heads down the steep incline.
After Alex takes just a few steps, the parking lot and the Camry are out of sight. Alex can feel his heart racing. He’s picturing Damon somewhere down the slope, maybe with a concussion or a broken leg, but at least alive.
“Damon!” he yells. “Damon Cross! Are you out here?”
From the other trail, he can hear Bree shouting too, her voice growing fainter as the trails diverge. When Alex looks down, he sees plenty of bike tracks in the dirt—far too many to hope that they’d find a match for Damon’s treads.
That’s assuming he was even on his bicycle when he got here.
Alex plunges on, ducking through brush and nearly tripping over exposed rocks. He’s nearly fifty yards from the trailhead, with no end in sight.
“Damon!”he calls out again.“Damon Cross!”
His phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out, a little surprised that there’s even reception out here.
It’s Bree.
“Hey,” he says. “You okay?”
“Get over here fast,” says Bree. Her voice sounds tight. “I found it.”
CHAPTER 30
Sampson
WE’RE SPEEDING WEST ON U.S. 50; Anna Rizzo’s in her government-issued Ford Taurus, siren wailing, emergency lights flashing, and I’m following in my black Grand Cherokee, trying to keep up as she dodges in and out of traffic like a football player making a ninety-nine-yard run to the end zone.
I pick up my handheld Motorola radio. “Dispatch, this is Sampson, D-five. Where’s ground zero?”
This dispatcher responds, “Henry Bacon Drive off Constitution Avenue Northwest. Near the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.”
I sit back in shock. “Dispatch, Sampson, D-five. To clarify, was the memorial targeted?”
