Triple Cross (Alex Cross #30)(79)

“This is Alex Cross,” I said.

“Deputy Lance Conrad, sir, with Fairfax County Sheriff’s Department. I was blocking the road near Lake Barcroft when you went to the Allison residence?”

“I remember, Deputy,” I said. “How can I help you?”

“I apologize because it slipped my mind that I was supposed to call you with the contact info on Tim Boulter, the jogger with the Jack Russell terrier?”

“Right. Can you text it over to me?”

After a pause, he said, “I can, but I don’t think it will do much good.”

“Why is that?”

“I looked up him and the bakery he said he owned. Tim Boulter is the owner of the Sunrise Bakery. But the real Tim Boulter is no two a.m. runner. They’ve got lots of pictures of the real Boulter on the bakery website. He’s big. Beefy. Bald. Looks nothing like our lean running guy with the dog.”

That came out of nowhere, and I paused at an intersection to collect my thoughts. “Send over the contact info he gave you anyway, Deputy Conrad. And I’ll take a look at that website. Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he said and hung up.

After looking at the Sunrise Bakery website and confirming the deputy’s observations, I spent the rest of the walk home trying to figure out who the runner was and why it was so important that he impersonate a baker and his dog out for a very early-morning jog.





CHAPTER 88


CIPRIANI ON FORTY-SECOND STREET was as opulent and grand a venue as Bree had ever seen. Were it not for the white evening dress Luster had literally sewn her into, she might have stayed longer to stare at the beauty of the Italian Renaissance architecture, the massive marble columns, the high ceilings, the inlaid floors, and the stunning chandeliers.

As it was, she grunted and said, “Even with the Spanx, I don’t think I fit into this, Phillip.”

Rosella Salazar laughed. “I think I fit perfectly in mine, Phillip. Thank you!”

The detective was wearing a simple but elegant full-length, flowing black gown that Luster had literally designed and made in under two hours. Looking at her move, you’d never have known she was pregnant.

“Let’s hope the stitches hold in both of your dresses,” Luster said, offering an arm for each of them to take. They swept into the room, where guests were already crowding the tables and the bars to either side of the front door.

“Where are we sitting?” Salazar said. “I have to get off my feet for a few.”

“Table four,” the fashion designer said. “I’ll take you. Bree, could you get me a glass of champers? The rosé Taittinger, please?”

“I could use one of those myself,” Bree said and got in line.

A well-put-together woman in her forties in front of her turned and smiled.

“I know absolutely no one here, so I’ll introduce myself,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Addie Wells.”

“Bree Stone,” Bree said, shaking her hand. “Nice to meet you, Addie.”

“Are you in fashion?”

“A friend of a designer at Tess Jackson. How about you?”

Wells said, “I was invited by an agent who’s trying to convince me to buy a book set in the fashion industry.”

“You work in publishing?”

“I’m an acquisitions editor. And you?”

“Former police chief in DC and now a private detective for Bluestone Group.”

The editor’s eyes sparkled. “Really? How exciting. I publish a great deal of true crime and crime fiction. I’ll bet you have a hundred stories to tell.”

“More than a hundred,” Bree said and laughed.

“Can I give you my card?”

“Why not?” Bree said, and she reached in her purse for her business cards, pushing aside the small Ruger nine-millimeter she always carried to find them.

Wells’s cell buzzed after they’d exchanged cards. She looked at the phone and grimaced. “Oh, dear, it’s my nanny. My kids must be on a rampage. We’ll talk again?”

“I look forward to it,” Bree said.

The editor walked away, finger in her left ear, cell phone pressed tight to her right.

Carrying two flutes of pink champagne, Bree found table four and Detective Salazar, who had her black sneakers up on the adjacent chair.

“Where’s Phillip?” Bree asked.

“Over there, blowing air kisses with the one-percenters,” Salazar said. “He’s not happy with the sneakers or me putting them up on the chair. But I can’t help it. My dogs are aching.”

“He’ll get over it,” Bree said. “He was miffed at me for wearing flats, but how tall can a girl be?”

The detective laughed and looked around. “Amazing place, huh?”

“One of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been in.”

Salazar looked longingly at the champagne. “Another time, another place, I could use four or five of those.”

Bree laughed. Salazar grinned. They liked each other. A lot.

“But nothing’s stopping you,” the detective went on. “Tell you what, I’ll live vicariously through you drinking four or five of … uh-oh, here comes the trouble we’ve been waiting for.”