Triple Cross (Alex Cross #30)(24)

Bree had taken no more than three steps onto the floor where the fashion designer displayed her wedding dresses, ball gowns, and big-ticket limited-run creations when she heard a squeal of delight.

“I knew you loved that dress with the brocade!” Marjorie cried, almost skipping to her side. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Bree smiled at the eager young woman. “You’re almost right. I have a sudden need for a gown immediately. As in tonight.”

Marjorie’s face fell. “Tonight? That’s going to be tough if alterations are needed.”

“Money is no object,” Bree said.

“Oh,” Marjorie said, grinning now. “Then we can make this happen.”

“Excellent,” Bree said and followed her to the rack where the gorgeous black ball gown with the exquisite brocade work on the bodice hung.

Marjorie pulled it off the rack and held it up against Bree. “So dramatic. I think it’ll fit, and if not, we’ll make it fit.”

“How much?”

“Fifty-five hundred,” Marjorie said.

Bree hesitated, then said, “That works.”

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Marjorie said, taking charge. “The fitting rooms are this way.”

Marjorie was standing in front of several mirrors and holding open the fitting-room door for her when Bree’s personal cell phone rang. She dug it out of her purse and saw Alex was trying to FaceTime her.

“I’m going to need a minute, Marjorie,” Bree said. “I have to watch my stepdaughter’s big track race.”

“I used to run track,” Marjorie said brightly. “The eight-hundred.”

“Jannie’s in the four-hundred,” Bree said, answering the video call.





CHAPTER 24


I CALLED BREE AS I was standing in the bleachers by the track at Howard University between Nana Mama and my son Damon, who had just regaled us with the story of his ride in the private jet. Ali was sitting behind us, absorbed in a book.

Bree’s face appeared on my phone.

“Still want to watch?” I said, seeing that she was in a store of some kind.

“Definitely,” Bree said. “Is she getting ready?”

I glanced at the track. Jannie was doing a few loose practice starts out of her blocks, which were in lane three on a stagger of six.

“She is ready,” I said.

Damon leaned over. “She was in the zone when we got here.”

“Hi, Damon!” Bree called.

“Good to see you! Wish you were here!”

“Next best thing.”

Ali set his book aside, grabbed my wrist, and pulled the phone down so Bree could see his face. “I think she’s going to blow people’s doors in, Bree,” Ali said. “Where are you?”

“A store in New York,” she said. “Let me talk to your dad again.”

I raised the phone to my face. “Shopping?”

She grinned a little naughtily. “I am. On an expense account. For a black-tie affair.”

“Well, la-di-da,” I said, and laughed. “You and Damon!”

“I know, right? Do you want to see the dress?”

“Sure.”

Bree looked away. “Marjorie, can you bring the dress over so my husband can take a look?”

She turned the camera and I saw a slight, pretty blonde come toward the lens carrying one of the most beautiful dresses I had ever seen.

“Wowzah,” I said.

“Wowzah if I can fit into it,” Bree said.

“You absolutely will,” Marjorie said, sounding insistent.

Nana Mama pulled on my left sleeve. “Jannie’s getting ready to go.”

“C’mon, sis,” Damon said. “Show ’em how.”

Out on the track, the official was calling the girls to race. This was an invitation-only event, which meant the competition would be fierce. Indeed, four girls in the field were already committed on scholarship to Division 1 NCAA programs. Only Jannie and a young woman from Richmond had not yet completed their dance cards.

“What’s happening?” Bree asked.

“Sorry,” I said and I aimed the phone camera at the track. “Can you see?”

“Now I can,” Bree said. “And Marjorie says turn your phone sideways so we can see in full screen.”

I complied. Looking around at the people getting to their feet, I saw eight or nine coaches I recognized from past recruiting visits. Shortly after we’d arrived today, several of them had come up to me, including the coaches from the Universities of Oregon and Texas. I had to tell them that I honestly had no idea where Jannie would decide to go to school.

“On your marks,” the official called out.

The athletes went to their blocks, some appearing confident and some who struck me as tense. Several of them glanced at Jannie, who settled into her blocks, loose, ignoring them and everything else but the lane before her.

“Set.”

My daughter coiled like a big cat about to spring.

The starting gun cracked.

Jannie burst out of the blocks low and charging, her hands open and slicing upward like blades. Twenty yards out, she began to lift her torso inch by inch with each stride. Her legs and arms were chopping as she ran the first curve. But by the time Jannie exited the turn, her shoulders and head were nearly upright, and her stride and arm pumps had become longer, easier.