Page 14 of Alex Cross Must Die

“Do I smell chocolate?” asked Dana. She slid herself up against the headboard and wrapped the top sheet tight across her chest.

“And cinnamon,” said Poe, unveiling a basket with two warm croissants.

“And coffee?” said Dana. “You, sir, are a man of distinction and a true lifesaver.”

“Like a Saint Bernard in a snowstorm,” said Poe.

He set the tray down and leaned over the bed. Then he brushed Dana’s dark hair back and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Nothing but the best for the most glamorous woman at the ball.”

“Awww,” Dana replied. She’d only known Auguste since yesterday,but so far, he did not disappoint. For a second, she considered lowering the sheet and pulling his body against hers again.

While Poe expertly pressed and poured the first cupful of coffee, Dana looked around the room. All she remembered about her surroundings from the night before was how plush and comfortable the bed was. Now she noticed the exposed brick walls, the sturdy beams supporting the polished wood ceiling, light pouring in through deep-set skylights, stacks of books on the floor, and dozens of filled-in word puzzles piled on a chair. The only thing she didn’t see were her clothes. She took a quick peek under the covers.

“Any idea where my party dress ended up?” she asked.

“Fear not,” said Poe. “I took care.” He handed her a cup of steaming coffee and opened the door of a massive oak wardrobe. Sure enough, her dress was dangling neatly from a cushioned hanger. Her heels were perfectly aligned below.

Dana sipped as Poe poured a cup of coffee for himself. He balanced a plate with both croissants on top of his cup and walked to his side of the bed. He eased down gently, then set the plate on a pillow and let the aromas waft up. This little tableau was almost too good to be true, Dana thought.

“So, tell me again,” she said, breaking off the tip of a croissant. “You said you actually live here, above your office, full time?”

“Correct,” said Poe. “Twenty-second commute.”

“And your two partners live herewithyou?”

“Right,” said Poe, sipping his coffee. “Same floor. Separate apartments. Very convenient.”

Dana took a nibble of the warm pastry. “You don’t find that a bit strange?” she asked. “Like living in a college dorm?”

“My college dorm was nothing like this,” said Poe.

“But isn’t it awkward?” Dana pressed. “Sharing the same space twenty-four seven? Walking into the hall and seeing each other in your underwear?”

“That almost never happens,” said Poe. He smiled. “Although, once in a while, Idocatch Holmes in his bathrobe.”

There was something else on Dana’s mind. Something that nagged at her. All evening long, Poe had been the perfect gentleman. Freshened her drinks without being asked. Engaged her in lively, intelligent conversation. Introduced her to Alicia Keys.

But there had been moments during the party—fleeting moments—when Dana sensed Poe’s mind wandering. Moments when he was looking at her but seemed to be thinking about someone else. Maybe his attractive business partner, Margaret? The one who was living right down the hall. Dana couldn’t exactly put her finger on it, but the whole arrangement felt a little … odd.

“If you need sugar, there’s some in the nightstand,” said Poe.

“You read my mind,” said Dana. She leaned over and pulled the small drawer open. Inside was a small tin filled with raw sugar packets. And next to it, a sleek, black pistol case. Underneath the gun was a framed photograph of a young woman with dark hair. Dana nudged the pistol aside to see the woman’s face. It looked startlingly like her own. Dana took two packets and closed the drawer.

“You know what, Auguste?” she said. “This has been great. All of it. But I have a huge opening argument to work on. Would it be weird if I took off?”

Poe reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “There is no exquisite beauty without some strangeness in proportion,” he said.

“That’s so sweet,” said Dana. “I think.”

“The shower is right through that door,” said Poe. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll drive you home.” He handed her a plush robe.

Dana put her coffee cup down on the nightstand. She took the robe and deftly covered herself as she slipped out from between the sheets.

“No need,” she said. “I’ll call an Uber.”

CHAPTER 15

AFTER A NIGHTin lively company, Marple always felt the need to recharge her introvert batteries. As a child, she’d often been branded antisocial. She was not. She loved people. Enjoyed being around them. But only in small doses. Afterward, during her recovery time, she usually sought out fictional friends.

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