Cross and Sampson

Prologue
Chapter 1

•••

Prologue

MY BEST FRIEND, Alex Cross, has been my favorite ride-along ever since he joined the force, and that was a long time ago— before we both sported gray hair.

Tonight, we’re cruising the streets of downtown DC in an unmarked patrol vehicle. It’s the biggest SUV that I could pull from the Metro Police motor pool, but I’m six foot nine, so my head still scrapes the inside roof. I’ve got the scanner turned down low. I’m not even on duty. Just felt like a drive, and I needed the company.

“How’s everybody at home, Alex?”

First thing I always ask. Nana Mama, Alex’s grandmother, is a big part of his life— and mine. I was at their house so often as a kid, she basically raised me. The Cross family is practically my own.

“Good,” he says. “Jannie’s enjoying her classes and still focused on track. Damon seems to be settling in at UNC.”
“Can’t believe he’s already in grad school. He likes it down there in Chapel Hill?”
“Loves it. He’s in the clinical psychology graduate program, on his way to a PhD.”
“And Ali?”
“Still doing well in school, still kicking up some good trouble. Bree and I have a ways to go before we’re empty nesters.”
“The house’ll never be empty. What about Nana Mama?”
“Of course. Goes without saying. She’s a permanent fixture.”

Alex lobs a few questions back to me about my family. Doesn’t take long, since it’s just me and my young daughter, Willow.

“And how’s Bree doing?” I ask.

Alex and I have seen each other through the pain of losing loved ones, and I was truly happy when he found Bree. She’s a loving person and the sharpest investigator I’ve ever met.

Next to Alex, of course.

“You know Bree,” says Alex. “She never lets up. Always working.”
“You two should take a vacation. Fly off to Bermuda for a week.”
Alex lets out a snort. “Right. You’ll need to convince my wife. She’s nonstop.”

Who’s he kidding? Alex and Bree are both workaholics. Crime-solving machines.

Made for each other. As a DC detective, I feel lucky whenever I’m on their team.

I ease past a four-car motorcade. From the level of security, I can tell that it’s nobody too high up on the food chain. Probably some foreign ambassador or a federal official. I give the one-man motorcycle escort a salute as we pass.

Nothing shimmers quite like Washington at night. The landmarks are glowing as we drive along Constitution Avenue from the Capitol toward the White House. We pass the Smithsonian Castle and the National Museum of Natural History. Up ahead, I can see the Washington Monument.

It never gets old, none of it.

This might be the nation’s capital, but it’s also our hometown. Mine and Alex’s. We were both raised here, and we’ve seen our share of pain and tragedy on these historic streets. I’m afraid we’ll see more.

In the past year, we’ve dealt with suicide bombers, hate-group rallies, and homegrown terrorism. Hell, Alex got shot in the chest. Almost died.

He looks over at me. Must have been reading my mind.

“Enough with the family updates, John,” he says. “What’s bothering you? The city’s peaceful tonight.”
Alex knows me too well. We’ve been as close as brothers since we were kids. “You heard about the bombings out in Iowa?”
“The grain-tower explosions? Yeah. I thought those were solved.”
“Yeah. They caught the guy. But I don’t think that’s the end of it. It’s like a game of Whac-A-Mole these days— you knock the crazies down in one place, they pop up somewhere else.”
Alex leans back in his seat and rubs his chin. “You know, John, there’s something I took away from my recent near-death experience.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t go looking for trouble. It’ll find you soon enough.”

•••

Chapter 1

ALEX CROSS SLOWLY SIPS his second cup of co!ee and enjoys the sweet silence at his home on Fifth Street in Southeast DC. He’s reading the Post and finishing the last of his scrambled eggs and toast, prepared by the Cross family’s indispensable matriarch.

From the way his grandmother moves around the kitchen, it’s hard to tell that Nana Mama is in her nineties. At the moment, she’s busy cleaning and seasoning her cast-iron frying pan, the same one she’s been using for decades. No one else in the Cross household would dare touch it. Not even Alex.

Across the table, Alex’s wife, Bree, is working on her laptop, fingers flying, her hazel eyes focused on the screen. One of the rules Nana Mama enforces in the Cross household is that no electronics are allowed at the kitchen table until your meal is finished and your dishes cleared away. The rule applies to adults and children alike.

That means Bree usually eats quicker than Alex so she can get on her laptop and start her busy day. Retired from her previous jobs as a detective and FBI agent, Bree now works for the Bluestone Group, an international private security firm. She’s one of their top investigators.

These days, Alex divides his time between consulting for the FBI as a forensic psychologist and writing books about the criminal mind. Every now and then, he lectures at his alma mater, Georgetown University, and he always packs the house.

With the two older Cross kids away at college— Janelle at Howard, Damon now in grad school at the University of North Carolina—and Ali off to middle school nearby, the day is starting quietly and peacefully in the warm, cozy kitchen.

Alex looks over at Bree. “What’s getting you going this morning?”
“Just a sec, just a sec,” Bree replies, not looking up.
Alex smiles. When Bree is working hard, “just a sec” could mean a minute, a half hour, or even an hour. She has an amazing capacity for blocking out distractions, including her husband.

No matter. Alex has his own project, going over the notes for a new book. The deadline is looming and his publisher is getting anxious. Time to bear down and—

Alex’s iPhone rings, interrupting his thoughts.

He looks at the screen. The caller ID says UNC—Damon’s school.

He puts the phone on speaker. “Hello?”
“Dr. Cross?” A woman’s voice. Hesitant.
“Yes, this is Alex Cross. How can I help you?”
“This is Professor Clarisse Pope. I’m calling about your son Damon. He’s in my Abnormal Psychology class, and I’m also his academic adviser.”

Bree looks up from her work.

“Good morning, Professor. I’ve read some of your books, and Damon mentioned he really likes the course. What’s he up to now?”

Damon’s a dedicated student, but he’s been known to miss a class here and there when he’s doing something else that really matters to him. That used to be basketball but now it’s more likely to be political activism, trying to save the world. A passion he shares with his younger brother, Ali.

“Go ahead, Professor,” Alex says. “I have you on speaker. My wife, Bree, is here too. Is there an issue with Damon’s academics?”
Pope’s delivery is a bit halting: “No, no. Nothing like that. Damon’s a great student. Very diligent. Always on top of things. Which is why I’m calling. I was just wondering . . . have you heard from him recently?”

Alex can see Nana Mama listening from across the kitchen, leaning in toward the conversation.

“No,” says Alex, a cold sensation seeping into his gut. “At least, I haven’t.” He glances at his wife. Like a lot of college students, Damon is a sporadic communicator. It isn’t unusual for him to be out of touch now and then. Alex and Bree have learned to give him some space.
“I got a text from him last week,” says Bree, her jaw tensing. “He sent a cartoon—something about smart doctors who can’t remember their own phone numbers.”
“Right,” says Alex. “I remember now. I got the same thing. I wrote back, telling him it wasn’t as funny as he thought it was.” He looks at the phone. “Professor Pope, is something wrong? What’s going on?”

There’s a quick intake of breath on the other end of the line.

“Dr. Cross, I’m not sure what it means, but Damon wasn’t in class this week, and he missed our regular appointment. I checked with some other members of the faculty, and he hasn’t shown up for their classes either. I called his cell phone, but it goes right to voicemail. He hasn’t replied to my texts. I reached out to his girlfriend, Melissa, but I haven’t heard back from her.”

Alex locks eyes with Bree.

“Dr. Cross,” the professor says, “I think your son is missing.”

Nana drops her cast-iron pan to the floor, and a loud bang echoes in the kitchen.