Triple Cross (Alex Cross #30)(64)

“I’m feeling kind of the same way,” I said. “I’m sensing things in the Family Man case, but I’ve got nothing solid to back them up yet.”

“Yet. That’s the word we have to hold on to. Yet.”

I got us heading toward DC. “Did you talk to the attorney and the rich woman who hired you and Bluestone?”

“Both of them,” Bree said. “But first, tell me about that data-mining company you’ve been working with.”

“Paladin?”

She nodded. “Theresa May Alcott and her husband were some of the original investors in that company. They did it quietly, but I found the SEC filings online.”

“She must know Ryan Malcomb, then. He’s one of the founders. The brain behind the algorithms. An interesting, creative guy.”

“Alcott is Malcomb’s maternal aunt. She adopted him and his twin brother, Sean, after their mother—Alcott’s sister—and father were murdered in a home invasion. The boys were nine. The killers were never caught.”

“Jesus. I didn’t know that. He’s had a tough life, then. Did I tell you he was stricken with muscular dystrophy as a teenager?”

“No,” Bree said. “But it makes sense. In her office, there are pictures of her and her husband with Jerry Lewis.”





CHAPTER 70


WE PULLED UP IN front of our house, still talking about the coincidence of Ryan Malcomb, the founder of Paladin, being Theresa May Alcott’s nephew.

“What are you thinking?” I asked, climbing out.

“God, I don’t know,” Bree said, following me. “I just think it’s odd that our two cases intersect with the presence of Paladin.”

“It is odd,” I said as we climbed the stairs to the porch. “I’ll bring it up the next time I talk to Malcomb.”

Our house was filled with wonderful aromas, all wafting from the kitchen. Ali and Jannie were watching a basketball game in the front room.

“Hey, guys,” I said.

Ali twisted in his seat. “It’s Atlanta versus Houston in the semifinals.”

“Good game?”

Jannie nodded, taking her eyes off the screen. “Tied starting the second half.”

“That’s fun.”

Bree said, “I’m starving.”

“I am too,” I said.

Jannie moaned. “It’s so good. I don’t know where Nana comes up with these dishes, but it’s one of her best lately.”

Ali said, “Chicken slow-cooked with onions, sweet potatoes, green olives, and some sauce she just invented!”

“On my way,” Bree said and hustled toward the kitchen with me in tow.

My grandmother was in the great room beyond the kitchen, reading a book with oversize print.

“We’ve heard dinner is another original masterpiece, Nana Mama,” I said, going straight to the lidded yellow ceramic casserole dish.

“Not all original,” she said, putting her book down and struggling to get up. “I modified something I saw in one of my magazines the other day. There’s rice in there too. And more hot sauce in the fridge if you want it.”

Nana held her hip and limped toward us, looking frailer and more tired than I’d seen her in a long time.

Bree picked up on it as well. “Are you feeling okay, Nana?”

My grandmother said, “Just getting old. My sciatica’s acting up.”

“Well, sit down,” I said. “We can get the food for ourselves.”

“Sitting down is half the problem, my doctor says,” Nana replied with a laugh and a flip of her hand. “I’ll just go have Jannie help me stretch again while you eat.”

The way she was moving had me concerned enough that I made sure she did go out and have Jannie help her with her stretches before I started eating.

The dish was a masterpiece. The chicken practically fell off the bone. The green olives had become part of the sauce, which tasted a little sweet at first before the hint of fire crossed the lips and lit up the tongue.

Nana Mama came back into the kitchen after her stretches, moving much better. Bree moaned. “How did you get that sweet and hot taste in the sauce? It was so good!”

“Blackstrap molasses and cayenne pepper,” Nana said, pleased. “Glad you liked it. Now that my back’s feeling a bit better, I’m going up to my room to read a little more before I turn in. Can I leave the dishes for you?”

“Of course,” I said, getting up to hug her. “Thank you for taking good care of us, old lady.”

“It’s an old lady’s pleasure.” She laughed. “And her purpose.”





CHAPTER 71


AFTER WE’D CLEANED THE dishes and put away the leftovers, Bree and I watched some of the game with Ali and Jannie. But then Atlanta pulled away and was up eighteen points in the middle of the fourth quarter.

Bree, drowsing on my shoulder, said, “I’m zonked. It’s bedtime for this girl.”

“I’m not long behind you,” I said.

“Good night,” Bree said; she kissed me and went up the stairs.

I yawned when the game ended and the kids went up to bed, but I knew I was still far too wound up to sleep. As I often did when I felt like this, I climbed up to my little attic office.