I, Alex Cross

life.
    When they finally wheeled her out, it was a gift just to look into her eyes. She’d been unconscious when we arrived, and there had been no guarantee I would ever see her alive again.
    But here she was, and she was talking.
    "Gave you a little scare there, did I?" Her voice was weak and wheezy, and she looked even tinier than usual sitting up on the gurney, but she was alert.
    "More than a little scare," I said. It was all I could do to keep from squeezing the life right back out of her. I settled for a lingering kiss on the cheek.
    "Welcome back, old woman," I whispered in her ear — just to make her smile, which it did.
    "Good to be back. Now, let’s get out of here!"

Chapter 27

    ONCE WE GOT Nana settled —
in a hospital bed
— the cardiologist on call came in to meet with us. Her name was Dr. Englefield, and she looked about fifty, with a compassionate face but also the kind of professional detachment I’ve seen with a lot of specialists.
    She worked off Nana’s chart while she spoke.
    "Mrs. Cross, your general diagnosis is congestive heart failure. Specifically, your heart isn’t pumping enough blood into your system. That means you’re not getting enough oxygen or nutrients, and that’s most likely why you collapsed this morning."
    Nana nodded, not showing any emotion. The first thing she asked was "How soon can I leave the hospital?"
    "The average stay for something like this is four or five days. I’d like to adjust your blood pressure medication and see where we are in a few days."
    "Oh, I’ll be at home, Doctor. Where will you be?"
    Englefield laughed politely, as if she thought Nana was joking. As soon as she was gone, though, Nana turned to me.
    "You need to speak with someone else, Alex. I’m ready to go home."
    "Is that so?" I asked, trying to keep it light.
    "Yes, that’s so." She wagged her hand, trying to shoo me out of the room. "Go on. Make it happen."
    This was starting to get uncomfortable for me. I’d never called any shots for Nana before, and now, suddenly, I had to do just that.
    "I think we should go with the doctor on this one," I said. "If a few nights in the hospital means we don’t have to repeat this morning, then I’m all for it."
    "You’re not listening to me, Alex." Her voice had changed in a beat, and she grabbed my wrist. "I am not going to spend another day in a hospital bed, do you hear me? I
refuse
. It’s my right to do so."
    "Nana —"
    "No!" She let go and pointed at me with a shaking finger. "I will not have that tone, either. Now, are you going to respect my wishes or not? I’ll get right up and do it myself if I have to. You know I will, Alex."
    It was an awful feeling, standing there on the other end of that finger of hers. Nana was insisting, but she was also pleading with me to listen to her wishes.
    I sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned in so that my head was right next to hers. When I spoke, it was with my eyes closed.
    "Nana, I need for you to get serious about this recovery. Slow down a few miles an hour here and let this happen. You must. So be smart." The latter was something that Nana had been saying to me since I was ten years old.
Be smart.
    It was totally quiet in the room except the sound of her leaning back against the pillow. When I opened my eyes, there were tears on her cheeks. "That’s it, then? This is where I die?"
    I pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. Later, I’d sleep in that same chair. "Nobody’s dying in here tonight," I said.

Part Two

FIRE WITH FIRE

Chapter 28

    TONY NICHOLSON WAS already anxious enough,
crazed
actually, and now he was running late, thanks to an overturned tractor-trailer on the way out of the city. By the time he reached Blacksmith Farms, it was just after 9:30 and his important guests were due in less than half an hour. Including a very special guest.
    He stayed in his car and buzzed.
    "Yes?" a woman’s voice answered. Cultured. British. His assistant, Mary Claire.
    "It’s me, M.C."
    "Good evening, Mr. Nicholson. You’re a bit late."
No shit, Sherlock
, Nicholson thought but didn’t say out loud.
    The gate swung open and closed again behind his Cayman S as he pulled in.
    The long driveway cut across nearly a mile of open field, then through a swath of forest, mostly hickory and oak, before coming out in view of the main house. Nicholson parked his Cayman in the old carriage barn and came in through the patio French doors.
    "I’m here, I’m here. Sorry."
    His hostess