Criss Cross (Alex Cross) - James Patterson Page 0,50

in writing as well as an in-depth training plan for her to follow.”

Coach Wilson said goodbye and left a few minutes later, and we gathered in the kitchen.

“She was sure different than the others,” Nana Mama said. “They were falling all over themselves to get Jannie.”

Acting defensive, Jannie said, “Maybe I should just call up the coach at Oregon and tell him I’ll take his offer.”

“That would be the easy way, Jannie,” I said. “But you know Coach Wilson wasn’t dissing you. She was challenging you.”

“To prove I’m worthy?” Jannie said.

“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? To show you’re more than worthy?”

“I guess,” she said with little enthusiasm.

“You didn’t think this was going to be easy, did you?” my grandmother asked.

“It felt that way with the other coaches.”

“Nothing worth achieving is done without effort, young lady.”

Jannie sighed and walked over to hug her great-grandmother. “You’re right, Nana. How is it you’re always right?”

“Not always,” Nana said. “But often enough.”

CHAPTER 54

I GRABBED A HOODED JACKET and went out on the front porch. It was in the low sixties, as beautiful a March evening as I’d ever seen, with air that smelled like flowers.

But my heart felt more than a little heavy when I sat in Nana’s porch swing.

Bree came out and sat beside me.

“We never know, do we?” she said.

“What’s that?”

“What twist or turn will be thrown our way.”

“Jannie?”

“Yes. She’s still digesting. You okay?”

“I’m fine with it.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Sampson,” I said, and I told her all about it.

When I finished, Bree said, “He was right. And he was right to tell you.”

“I know, and I feel lousy now … but in the heat of the moment, I did what I thought was right.”

She leaned over and put her arm around my shoulders. “You took action to move toward danger. That’s more than ninety-nine percent of the population would have done.”

“It was worse than just moving in the wrong direction, Bree.”

“No, it wasn’t. Unless you intentionally dragged Sampson into a situation that could have cost him his job?”

“No.”

“There, then,” Bree said, and she hugged me tight. “Briefly lost at sea. No shipwreck. A little navigation issue. That is all.”

I smiled. “My life as a voyage?”

She laughed and kissed me on the cheek. “Something like that.”

“Thank you,” I said, and I kissed her back.

“For what?”

“Believing in me.”

“Always and forever, Alex Cross.”

I felt a whole lot better about me and Bree, but me and Sampson were still off. That conflict must have shown on my face because Bree said, “You need to see John.”

“You are a perceptive thing, aren’t you?”

“It rubbed off from someone I know.”

“I’m going to drive over and knock on his door. Make this right.”

Bree patted me on the chest and said, “If it will help you sleep.”

“It will.”

“Go on, then,” she said. “I’ll still be up.”

I got in the car, flipped on the headlights of our old Mercedes, and pulled out onto Fifth.

A headlight beam slashed across my rearview mirror. I glanced back and noticed that a small black SUV had pulled out half a block behind me.

I drove to Sampson’s home, a route I could do blindfolded, or at least without consciously thinking about it, which was good because my mind was on other things that night.

I had the screenshot of M’s last message on an old phone in my pocket, but I didn’t need to pull it out to remember it. The first three or four lines, the taunting tone, and the fish-head stuff were designed to get me anxious, to remind me that M was bizarre and unpredictable and actively plotting against me. He was trying to keep me under pressure, but I could avoid it by simply not dwelling on those parts of his message.

Those last few sentences were harder to shake.

Now things get interesting, Cross. This will all make perfect sense soon.

M is for …

I decided he was playing a game based on dwindling time, attempting to get me to burn mental energy as I tried to anticipate his next move. But there was more.

“He knows the whole M-thing bothers me,” I murmured as I slowed for a yellow light turning red on Pennsylvania Avenue. “What it stands for. Who he really is.”

Out of habit, I glanced in the rearview and saw five cars in the other lane—a service vehicle, a pickup truck, a minivan, a white Jeep, and a small black SUV.

The light turned green. I drove on toward the Beltway, the circuit of highways that girdle the nation’s capital, and my