Merry Christmas, Alex Cross

CHAPTER 23

“Don’t do this,” I said. “No matter what trust may have been broken. No matter what was done to you, Fowler, this is not the way to deal with it.”

His eyes flashed. “That’s not for you to decide. Now, get out before I start thinking it’s a good idea to finish you off too. Go back to that family you love, Cross. And pity mine.”

I could see by the flat quality of his expression and eyes that I did not have much room to negotiate. Standing slowly, I said, “I appreciate your side of things, Henry.”

“And I appreciate you listening, Mr. Foreman,” Fowler said.

“Can I take one of them with me?” I asked, motioning toward his hostages. “A gesture of goodwill?”

“Leave.”

“Show me you’re willing to compromise,” I said, backing out of the room. “Otherwise you limit my options, Henry. You force my hand, make me inclined to take harsher measures.”

“I don’t care, Cross,” he said. “Threats work only on men who are scared for their lives, and I lost mine a long, long time ago.”

“Henry-”

He pointed the pistol at me. “Leave or you die right now.”

“I can’t believe you want to kill them,” I said.

“You don’t, huh?” he said, and marched up to Dr. Nicholson, who cowered as if he expected to be kicked again.

Fowler glared at me with an I-told-you-so expression, extended his arm, looked back at his ex-wife’s husband, aimed the gun, and shot him.