Triple Cross (Alex Cross #30)(31)

After checking both ways, Moore moved out of the shadows and down the street with only a glance back at the Pans’ bungalow before she turned the corner. Three blocks on, she opened the door of a black Prius and climbed in.

After she’d gone several more blocks, she called Tull.

“How’s it going, Lisa?” the author asked.

“Solid foundational work, T,” she replied. “The surveillance site on the Pans is good. And I’ve got pictures of their house, front and back, as well as copies of their recent renovation blueprints. I think they are a go if there’s ginning to be done.”

“Excellent,” he said. “And the Allisons?”

“I’m heading in their direction now,” Moore said. “You shouldn’t wait up.”

“I will anyway,” Tull said. “I want to see those pictures and the blueprints.”





CHAPTER 32


AROUND ELEVEN SATURDAY EVENING, I was alone in the front room watching the local news when my cell phone buzzed with a text.

Bravo, Cross, you must be one happy pappy now that Jannie has shown the world her true mettle. A stunning achievement. Congrats to all. Your faithful servant—M

My stomach turned at the text’s end and that single letter M. I had been getting these kinds of texts and messages on and off for years, and I was still no closer to identifying M or Maestro, the group of ruthless vigilantes M controlled.

Before that evening’s text, M had been silent for nearly seven months, ever since the explosion that took the life of Emmanuella Alejandro, last of that drug cartel’s leaders. I stared at this latest message, frustrated all over again at my inability to nail M. I wanted to reply to the text, but M always used dark web filters and routing systems to scrub all identifying information, making it impossible to answer.

I had tried changing my phone number several times, to no avail. If M wanted to message me, he always found a way.

Before my irritation could turn to anger, my phone rang. Bree.

“How was your grand evening?” I asked.

“Grand until my cover got blown,” Bree said.

“Ouch.”

“Big ouch and my own fault,” she replied. “I was buying a dress and watching Jannie’s race with Marjorie, the clerk who was helping me.”

“I remember her.”

“She’s related to the target and knew my real name from the credit cards.”

“What happened?”

“I got tossed from the gala.”

“Escorted out?”

“To my town car, and they watched as I was driven away.”

“You tell Elena Martin yet?”

Bree sighed. “She’s my next phone call.”

“Did you find anything useful before you got the heave-ho? Any positives you can report to her?”

After a long pause, she said, “I believe the target is having serious cash-flow problems.”

“Is that the motive to sexually exploit?”

“I think so. But I have to get it nailed down as fact,” Bree said. “The target’s business is privately and hedge fund–held, so there aren’t the kind of declaratory documents a public company has to file with the Securities and Exchange Commission.”

“Anything else?”

“As I was being led out, I purposefully mentioned the first names of two people allegedly involved in the sex ring.”

“You get a reaction?”

“Lost color. Big glare. Fists clenched. Dead silent.”

“Sounds like you should tell Elena that good news first.”

“Maybe I’ll give her the choice.”

“Coming home tomorrow?”

“I think I’m going to stay through Monday, see if I can salvage this. How about you? What was your day like?”

“Exciting, to say the least. Jannie was on SportsCenter live again.”

“Live! Did you record it?”

“Ali did,” I said. “Jannie did great. Acted like an old pro.”

Bree laughed softly. “God, that’s so great for her, Alex!”

“And for us. She’s decided to go to Howard because of Coach Oliver and so we can watch her run.”

“Howard! That’s fantastic too—you know, choosing a historically all-Black school right here rather than going across the country. Are you beside yourself?”

“As a dad, I think ecstatic is the right word,” I said, deciding not to mention the text from M. “In fact, I’m exhausted from being ecstatic for so many hours in a row.”

“Then you better get some sleep,” Bree said, her voice softening. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Good luck with all of it.”

“Thanks,” she said, and hung up.

Upstairs in bed, I decided I would go back and finish Noon in Berlin after I skimmed Thomas Tull’s third book, Doctor’s Orders, which was set in South Carolina. But after reading the same paragraph three times and grasping little of it, I knew I was too far gone; I set the book down and turned off the light.

I fell into dreamless oblivion in seconds and slept so soundly I did not hear my phone ringing until it vibrated off my nightstand and hit the floor with a crack.

The phone stopped ringing and buzzing, but I’d been startled awake enough to peer blearily at my nightstand clock. It was six thirty Sunday morning.