The People vs. Alex Cross (Alex Cross #25)(2)

And in a way, he had, hadn’t he? He glanced at the phone gripped tightly in his hand as he continued to sprint back toward the trail. It wasn’t the epic video he’d hoped for, but it was still— Deuce heard a vehicle roar into the clearing and skid to a halt. One of the girls screamed.

Deuce stopped and looked back. Sweat dripped down his face, and he strained to see the clearing through the thick foliage.

The boy told himself to go, get home fast, upload the video to his computer, and spend the night reliving his victory before trying to figure out which website to sell it to. But his natural curiosity overwhelmed him, propelled him back toward the clearing’s edge.

The sun was setting. Shadows were taking the opening in the woods. A white Ford utility van with a souped-up motor was idling next to the Camry, blocking Deuce’s view of the girls.

He lifted his binoculars, saw the van’s windows were darkly tinted. A magnetic sign on the near side said DISH NETWORK.

Dish? Out here? Wasn’t that like a—

“No!” one of the girls shouted from the other side of the van. “Please! Don’t do this! Help! Kid! Help us, kid!”

Deuce realized she was screaming for him and didn’t know what to do.

Another scream followed, louder, terror-stricken. One of the girls was sobbing, blubbering, begging for mercy.

Deuce began to tremble with fear. A voice in his head yelled, Run!

A car door slammed. The van door slid shut, muffling the girls’ cries.

I’m probably wrong for taking the video, Deuce thought, but this is seriously messed up. I’ve got to do something.

He dug furiously in his pocket, came up with a little magnetic doubling lens that he fitted to his phone’s camera lens. He slid the mode to photo for better resolution and zoomed in on the van’s rear license plate, lit by its parking lights, some sixty yards away.

The van’s headlights went on. The engine revved. They were leaving.

Deuce squeezed the upper volume button of the iPhone to shoot without flash or autofocus. Click, click, click. He got five shots in all before the van rolled forward, picked up speed, and left the clearing.

The boy watched the van go, then raised his binoculars to look at the Camry. It was empty in the last fading light. No movement. Both girls were gone.

The boy began to tremble; he felt sick. Those girls had been screaming.

Deuce decided he had to do something. He needed to erase the porn part, make up some story about why he’d seen all this, and then tell it to the police. They’d go find the Camry, figure out who the girls were, and find whoever was driving that Dish van.

And he had to do it sooner rather than later.

He looked at his phone. He punched 911 but got no connection. No Service, the screen read. He’d have to go back to the other side of the creek before reception turned solid.

Deuce looked around, got his bearings, and set off toward the logging trail. It would be dark before he knew it, but he’d been walking around in these woods since he was four.

When the boy hit the logging road, a three-quarter moon was rising behind him. He broke into a jog and went up and over the rise.

Right where the trail got steep again, Deuce caught a glimpse of something dark, heavy, and long coming right at him.

He tried to duck, but it was too late.

A forearm smashed into the boy’s neck and clotheslined him. Deuce’s feet went out from beneath him, and his upper body, arms, and head whipsawed violently before crashing onto the logging road.

The boy felt bones break on impact, and he took a nasty crack to the head. He saw stars, and his limp fingers and arms flung wide. His iPhone sailed off into the woods, along with all the wind in his lungs.

For a second, maybe two, Deuce was dazed and saw only shadows and darkness. He heard nothing but the sound of his own choking and felt nothing but pain that seemed everywhere.

Then the boy heard a man’s voice right beside him. “There, now,” he said. “Where did you think you were going, young man?”





Part One


PLATINUM DAMAGES THE BRAIN





CHAPTER


1


I LOOKED IN my bedroom mirror and tried to tie the perfect necktie knot.

It was such a simple thing, a ritual I performed every day before work, and yet I couldn’t get it right.

“Here, Alex, let me help,” Bree said, sliding in beside me.

I let the tie hang and said, “Nerves.”

“Understandable,” Bree said, coming around in front of me and adjusting the lengths of the tie.

I have a good six inches on my wife, and I gazed down in wonder at how easily she tied the knot.

“Men can’t do that,” I said. “We have to stand behind a guy to do it.”

“Just a difference in perspective,” Bree said, snugging the knot up against my Adam’s apple and tugging down the starched collar. She hesitated, then looked up at me with wide, fearful eyes and said, “You’re ready now.”

I felt queasy. “You think?”

“I believe in you,” Bree said, getting up on her tiptoes and tilting her head back. “We all believe in you.”

I kissed her then, and hugged her tight.

“Love you,” I said.

“Forever and ever,” Bree said.

When we separated, she had shiny eyes.