Page 19 of Alex Cross Must Die

“Look,” he said. “She can’t get enough of us.”

“I hope she hasn’t been going through our rubbish,” said Marple.

Poe couldn’t quite explain why seeing Grey gave him a little lift. For some reason, she intrigued him. He already knew there was more to her than met the eye, because he’d run a thorough background check. He wondered why a bright young FBI agent would suddenly quit to become a middle-rank homicide detective. An odd career path. On the surface, she seemed like a total stickler for rules, but there was clearly some wiggle room. The Bain case proved that.

Grey ended her call as the investigators walked up. “I asked you not to piss him off,” she said.

“You heard?” asked Holmes.

“About ten seconds after you left,” said Grey. “Something about an exorbitant fee?”

“He can afford it,” said Poe. “And we’re worth every penny.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” said Grey.

“We absolutely do,” said Marple. “In our own way.”

Grey lowered her sunglasses. “I’m sure the mayor will be comforted to hear that.”

“The Police Benevolent Association too,” said Poe.

Holmes tapped the security code on the pad next to the door. The heavy lock clicked open. He turned to Grey. “If you’ll excuse us, Detective, we really need to get to work. Most stolen art ends up in another country within an hour of being taken, and we’ve already lost two days.”

“Right,” said Grey. “I’ll leave you to it.” She started toward the unmarked police Impala at the curb. On an impulse, Poe took a step after her.

“Detective? One question.” Grey turned. Poe smiled. “Can I take you to dinner?”

Grey looked at Poe, then over his shoulder at Holmes and Marple, then back at Poe. She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

As she resumed walking to her car, she nodded toward Poe’s GTO, parked just ahead of her. “But let’s drag race sometime,” she said. “That would be fun.” She slid into her Impala and started the engine, giving it a loud rev before pulling away.

Poe turned back toward his partners. “Not a word.”

“I like her,” said Marple. “I like her a lot.”

As they walked into the office, the partners split up and headed for their individual workspaces, spread out across the huge ground floor. On the way to his desk, Poe saw the red message light blinking on the team’s landline phone set in the common area. He pressed Speaker, then Play. A woman’s voice echoed through the space. She sounded frantic.

“They’re gone! My daughter. My husband. I need you! Now!”

Poe picked up the handset and took the phone off speaker. Hestepped to his desk and jotted on a small whiteboard there as he listened to the rest of the message. Holmes and Marple walked over as he hung up. Scrawled on the whiteboard was the name “Addilyn Charles” and a SoHo address.

“New case?” asked Holmes.

“Possible kidnapping,” said Poe. “Sounds dark.”

“Perfect for you,” said Marple. “Your lead.”

CHAPTER 20

POE HAD EXPECTEDthe SoHo building to be a converted industrial space like their HQ, or maybe an artist’s loft. But it was nothing like that. It was a contemporary tower with a high-end, designer interior.

When he and his partners stepped off a private elevator into the foyer of the penthouse level, a woman was waiting for them. Mid-fifties. Small boned. Sharp featured. Impeccably coiffed. And obviously distraught.

“Mrs. Charles?” said Poe.

“Yes! Call me Addilyn. Come in. Please!” She turned and walked from the foyer into a cleanly decorated parlor. The investigators followed. Poe went first, making the introductions. “I’m Auguste Poe. These are my associates, Brendan Holmes and Margaret Marple.”

“Yes, of course,” said Addilyn. “Such interesting names. I recognize you all from the press conference—about that poor young lawyer.” She stopped wringing her hands just long enough to shake theirs. Firm and polite.

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