Criss Cross (Alex Cross) - James Patterson Page 0,94

there was a possible head injury.

I shook Ali lightly, and he opened his eyes a little.

“Stay with me, pal.”

He smiled lazily. “Dad?”

“Right here,” I said, and I held his hand.

“Ambulance ETA two minutes, Dr. Cross,” the dispatcher said.

“Is this a dream, Dad?”

Though I knew I had to be calm and collected for his sake, that question broke me in a way I’d never expected, and I choked out, “No. No, Ali. This is no dream. You’re here, and I’m here.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks as his grin broadened.

“I knew we’d make it,” he said. “Right, Mrs. J.?”

“You never doubted it,” the woman said. “Even when I did.”

Sirens wailed down our street.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said. “Who are you?”

“Diane Jenkins,” she said. “I live in Ohio.”

My jaw sagged a moment before I smiled in disbelief and said, “Of course. We’ve been looking for you.”

“Can I call my husband?”

“Right after we get you some medical help.”

“Dad?” Ali said as two ambulances wailed and sped down our street toward us.

“Right here,” I said, squeezing his hand.

“Mrs. J. is really good with a blowtorch.”

“It was his idea,” she said.

Ali’s eyes started to wobble closed.

“C’mon, stay awake, pal,” I said, shaking him again.

“I really wanna sleep, Dad. I’m tired. We’ve been up all night.”

“I know you do,” I said, stroking his cheek. “But I need you to stay awake a little longer.”

“Do I get to ride in an ambulance?” he said as the sirens whooped up beside the camper and stopped.

“You do,” I said, feeling more love for him than I’d thought possible.

“You should see your face, Dad,” he said, smiling and licking his lips as the EMTs came to the door behind me.

“I know,” I said, tearing up again. “The happiest father alive.” “We’re coming in,” the medic said.

I let go of my son’s hand.

His eyes widened. “Don’t leave.”

“Don’t worry, pal,” I said. “Dad will be with you every step of the way.”

CHAPTER 107

TWO DAYS LATER, on the third floor of the neurology unit at Georgetown University Medical Center, an orderly wheeled Diane Jenkins on a gurney toward me. Her right arm was in a cast; her leg was heavily bandaged.

Her husband, Melvin, walked at her side. He came straight to me and shook my hand. “I’m sorry for the things I said to you, Dr. Cross.”

“Water under the bridge,” I said, then I looked at his wife. “You gave us quite a scare with that leg.”

She shook her head. “I’d never heard of compartment syndrome, but the surgeon said I’m lucky I didn’t lose it below the knee. How is Ali?”

I smiled. “Concussion, but no skull fracture. The gash is what caused all the blood and made it look so bad. And he was exhausted. Do you want to see him?”

“How could I not?”

I looked over at Bree, Ned Mahoney, and John Sampson, who were waiting down the hall outside a hospital room. The orderly pushed Mrs. Jenkins toward them.

Melvin Jenkins gazed at me, apparently uncomfortable. “Look, Dr. Cross, I’m deeply, deeply grateful Diane’s alive. And, well, I’m wondering if we have any idea where he put the five million dollars I borrowed?”

I put my hand on his arm. “We do. And I’m sure the person who has it will return it to you once she understands that the money went to her to throw us off M’s trail and implicate her in his crimes.”

Jenkins’s shoulders relaxed, and he hugged me. “Thank you. Shall we go in?”

I patted him on the back. “Melvin, I’d appreciate it if you’d watch on the feed. I need to do this alone.”

You could tell he didn’t want to leave his wife, but he nodded. “Right next door?”

“Right next door.”

He went to join the others inside an adjoining room set up with monitors so they didn’t miss a thing. The orderly pushed Mrs. Jenkins through the next door down. Before I entered Ali’s room, I paused outside, bowed my head, and for the thousandth time thanked God for the miracle of his survival.

They’d been giving my son fewer and fewer drugs the past day, bringing him slowly up out of a tranquilized state the doctors wanted him in while they assessed the extent of his injuries. He was semi-upright in his bed, and as alert as I’d seen him.

“Mrs. J.!” he said when he saw Diane Jenkins. “Why’s your leg like that?”

“I bashed it good enough to pinch the blood supply, and it got all swollen, so they cut it open to fix it and drain it,” she