Merry Christmas, Alex Cross

CHAPTER 28

Nobody at the Crosses’ gets up earlier than Nana. Not even on Christmas.

That morning she rose at a quarter to five.

First thing she did was dial up the thermostat in the house and “put up the coffee,” as she liked to say. Then she turned on the lights on the tree, brought a big CVS shopping bag into the living room, and got started on the stockings. Filling the stockings was her job. She enjoyed it immensely. And everybody seemed to like the candy and the dollar-store goodies as much as the pricier shirts and sweaters and books and electronic games.

Nana doled out the tiny plastic puzzles and Hershey bars and ballpoint pens. As always, each of the stocking gifts had a double meaning. She gave Bree a disposable lighter; it was Nana’s way of telling her that she knew Bree sneaked an occasional cigarette.

The old woman put a bottle of OPI nail polish in Ava’s stocking, thinking it might inspire the girl to stop biting her nails.

She dropped iPod earbuds into Damon’s stocking. A bright red hair clip went into Jannie’s. And the one-handed flosser was for Alex.

“Alex,” she said softly. She looked out the front window. It was still coming down and snow was piled more than a foot high on the cars. But there was no sign of her grandson.

“My, my,” she heard someone say. “Santa’s helpers get younger and prettier every year.”

Nana turned around and saw Bree standing at the edge of the living room. They hugged and wished each other a merry Christmas, both of them knowing it wasn’t all that merry without Alex in the house.

“Did you get any sleep?” Nana asked.

“Not a wink.”

“Makes two of us,” Nana said. “Terrible knot in my stomach all night.”

They drank coffee and kept each other company. Jannie and Damon and Ava joined them just as Christmas Day was dawning. Everyone smiled and hugged and said merry Christmas, but the usual rush to rip open gifts just wasn’t there.

“What this Christmas morning needs is a good hot breakfast,” Nana said.

They all pretended to agree with her.

“Well, let’s get into the kitchen and get to work. You don’t think I’m going to fix it all by myself, do you?” said Nana. “I need helpers.”

The children followed her into the kitchen. Bree said she’d join them in a minute. “I love cracking eggs. Save that job for me,” she called after them.

Then she picked up the remote and flicked on the television. Words at the bottom of the screen said CHRISTMAS HOSTAGE CRISIS.

There was a shot of the big, handsome house in Georgetown. Snow and people and cops were everywhere. Then there was Alex carrying a woman from the house where the lunatic had been holed up. The news anchor identified her as Congressman Brandywine’s wife and said, “Detective Cross risked his life and entered the house unarmed to negotiate face-to-face with the madman. One life has been saved, but from what we understand, another one hangs in the balance-Fowler shot and wounded his ex-wife’s husband.”

He’d gone into the house unarmed. Someone had been shot inside. Bree thought about that and said softly, as if the TV could hear her, “Oh, Alex, Alex, Alex. I don’t know if I can bear where you go.”

Then she changed the channel.

But Channel 4 had the identical story. That network, however, had a reporter on the scene. She held a microphone and was talking to the camera.

“From superlawyer to drug addict to madman: that’s the road Henry Fowler took to arrive here this Christmas morning-”

Bree punched POWER, threw the remote down. She rubbed her sleeve against her damp eyes. Then she shouted toward the kitchen, “Nobody better have touched those eggs!”