Target: Alex Cross (Alex Cross #26) - James Patterson Page 0,6
problems and wasn’t much interested in things physical. But Nina’s father loved to hike and roam around the Wisconsin countryside.
“He called those walks tramps,” she said wistfully. “He’d say, ‘Come on, Nina, time for a tramp up to Beech Ridge.’”
Davis blinked and wiped at a tear. “Even now, I miss tramping with him. I was thirteen when he died.”
Tough age, I thought, and I made a note before saying, “How did he die?”
“They were in the car, and my mother was driving. She was yelling at him about something, took her eyes off the road, and ran a red light. He was killed instantly.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been hard.”
Davis breathed in deep, pursed her lips, and shrugged. “My dad was gone, and my mom killed him. What can you say?”
I absorbed that, then said gently, “So you blame your mother?”
“Who else?” she said. “She’d kept her eyes on the road, my dad would’ve lived to a ripe old age. She’d kept her eyes on the road, and I wouldn’t have had a series of creepy men living in the house when I was a teenager.”
Davis had gone cold, and I decided to leave the statement for another time.
“She alive, your mother?”
“Last I heard.”
“When was that?”
“Three weeks ago, when I signed the monthly check that pays for her assisted-living facility back home.”
“I’m hearing a lot of conflicted feelings,” I said. “You blame her for all these things, and yet you stay involved in her care.”
“Yes, well, there’s no one else to do it,” Davis said as another tear formed and slipped down her cheek.
The timer dinged. She looked disappointed.
“I promise you our next talk will be longer,” I said. “When you’re a one-man shop like I am, first sessions get taken up as much by paperwork as by real substance. And I charge your insurance for only a thirty-minute session rather than the hour. I can see you for a full hour tomorrow morning.”
Her knitted brow eased. “That works.”
“Before you go, and just until we speak at our next appointment, I want you to remember those times when your mother made you happy, those times, maybe before your father’s death, when you were grateful for her rather than resentful.”
Davis’s laugh was short and sharp. “I’ll have to dig deep for memories like that.”
“I’d expect no less,” I said gently. We fixed a time for the next appointment, then I stood and opened my office door.
She walked through somewhat uncertainly, and I wondered whether she would ever return. I’d found over the years that a fair number of clients believed that they were going to get to the root of their problems in a session or two. When they realized that the process was less about cutting and more about peeling, some of them gave up. I never heard from them again.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked as she opened the basement door.
“I’ll be here, Dr. Cross,” she said, but she did not look back.
“I very much look forward to it, Nina,” I said, and I shut the door and the cold wind behind her.
Going back into my office, I wondered at the human brain’s ability to seize on some terrible personal event and let that event define and control every action for years, decades, even lifetimes. I—
Three short, sharp knocks came at the basement door.
I was puzzled. I wasn’t supposed to have another client until early afternoon.
When I opened the door, Ned Mahoney was standing there. Mahoney and I used to work together at the FBI, and he was normally as stoic a man as you’d find. But he was clearly upset as he came inside and shook snow off his pants legs.
I shut the door, and he looked at me. “There’s some kind of shitstorm brewing, Alex. We’re going to need your help on this one, and more than part-time.”
CHAPTER
7
MAHONEY STARED AT me expectantly, waiting for an answer.
“I have just a few clients at the moment, Ned,” I said. “The rest of my time is yours. Senator Walker’s case?”
He hesitated before digging in an inner pocket of his coat. “You’ve signed a recent nondisclosure form with us, the Bureau?”
“It’s in the formal contract, but I’m happy to sign again if you think it’s necessary.”
“No, no, of course not,” he said, pulling out his phone. “It’s just that this is sensitive in the extreme. You can’t tell anyone, Bree and Sampson included.”
“John’s on vacation in Belize, and I’ll keep this close until I hear otherwise.”