London Bridges Read Free Page A

Could I trust Christine? I guess I had to.
    Alex and I had a final couple of hugs on the sidewalk. I took a few more snapshots for Nana and the kids.
    Then he and Christine disappeared inside, and I was on the outside, alone, walking back to my rental car with my hands stuffed deep in my pockets, wondering what it was all about, missing my small son already, missing him badly, wondering if it would always be as heartbreaking as this, knowing that it would be.

Chapter 7
    AFTER THE VISIT with Alex in Seattle I took a flight down to San Francisco to spend some time with Homicide Inspector Jamilla Hughes. She and I had been seeing each other for about a year. I missed Jam and needed to be with her. She was good at making things all right.
    Most of the way I listened to the fine vocals of Erykah Badu, then Calvin Richardson. They were good at making things right, too. Better, anyway.
    As the plane got close to San Francisco we were treated to a surprisingly clear view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the city’s skyline. I spotted the Embarcadero and the Transamerica Building, and then I just let the scene wash over me. I couldn’t wait to see Jam. We’d been close ever since we worked a murder investigation together. The only problem: the two of us lived on different coasts. We liked our respective cities, and our jobs, and hadn’t figured out where to go with that yet.
    On the other hand, we definitely enjoyed being together, and I could see the joy on Jamilla’s face as I spotted her near an exit at busy San Francisco International Airport. She was in front of a North Beach Deli, grinning, clapping her hands over her head, then jumping up and down. She has that kind of spirit and can get away with it.
    I smiled and felt better as soon as I saw her. She always has that effect on me. She was wearing a buttery soft leather car coat, light blue T, and black jeans and looked as though she’d come straight from work. But she looked
good,
really good.
    She’d put on lipstick—and perfume, I discovered as I took her into my arms. “Oh
yes,
” I said. “I missed you.”
    “Then hold me, hug me, kiss me,” she said. “How was your boy? How was Alex?”
    “He’s getting big, smarter, funnier. He’s pretty great. I love that little guy. I miss him already, Jamilla.”
    “I know you do. I know you do, baby. Give me that hug.”
    I picked Jam up off her feet and spun her around. She’s five-nine and solid, and I love holding her in my arms. I noticed a few people watching us, and most were smiling. How could they not?
    Then two of the spectators, a man and a woman in dark suits, walked up to us.
Now what is this?
    The woman held up her badge for me to see: FBI.
    Oh no. No. Don’t do this to me.

Chapter 8
    I GROANED and gently set down Jamilla, as if we had been doing something wrong instead of something very right. All the good feelings inside me evaporated in a hurry. Just like that. Wham, bam! I needed a break—and this wasn’t going to be it.
    “I’m Agent Jean Matthews; this is Agent John Thompson,” the woman said, gesturing to a thirty-something blond guy munching a Ghirardelli chocolate bar. “We hate to interrupt, to intrude, but we were sent out here to meet your plane. You’re Alex Cross, sir?” she said, finally thinking to check.
    “I’m Alex Cross. This is Inspector Hughes from the SFPD. You can talk in front of her,” I said.
    Agent Matthews shook her head. “No, sir, I’m afraid I can’t.”
    Jamilla patted my arm. “It’s okay.” She walked away, leaving me with the two agents, which was the opposite of what I wanted to happen. I wanted
them
to walk away—far, far away.
    “What’s this about?” I asked Agent Matthews. I already knew it was something bad, which was an ongoing problem with my current job. FBI Director Burns had my schedule and itinerary at all times, even when I was off duty, which effectively meant that I was
never
off duty.
    “As I said, sir, we were told to meet you.