Kill Alex Cross

at virtually the same time that I fired. Sampson, too. Glass’s own shot went wide as he took two bullets high in the chest. We weren’t messing around. These were kill shots, and he went down hard.
    I kept both hands on my gun and sited him as I stepped closer. He was out flat, with both eyes closed. There was no discernible movement. Was this finally over?
    “Check him,” I told John. “Careful.”
    Sampson kicked Glass’s gun away first. Then he ran his hands down Glass’s sides and each leg to check for other weapons. He put two fingers to Glass’s carotid artery. “There’s a pulse,” he said, and turned toward the car. “I’ll call it in.”
    Glass groaned weakly.
    “Rodney?” I said. “Can you hear me? Hang on. We’ll get you help.”
    He didn’t say anything. But he wasn’t grinning anymore.
    I used my knife to cut up the middle of his sweatshirt. There were two dark burn holes in his chest. As far as I could tell, neither of the bullets had passed through.
    I could hear John on the radio phone. He sounded urgent. “This is Detective Sampson with Washington PD. We need immediate medical assistance. We’re on an unmarked fire road, just off of Hampton Valley …”
    Even as John was talking to dispatch, he handed me a plastic take-out bag from the car. I pressed it over Glass’s chest, trying to seal the two wounds and keep them from sucking air.
    Glass shook his head. He reached up with a hand on my wrist and tried to stop me.
    “Doesn’t matter,” he gutted out. “No use.”
    He’d obviously punctured a lung, if not both. A fine mist of blood was coming out with every labored breath. Essentially, he was drowning, and he knew it. Glass was a nurse, after all.
    “My boy … shouldn’t have died,” he said. And then, unbelievably, that awful grin of his returned. “ You should have died. You ruined it.”
    Then, before Sampson was even off the phone, Rodney Glass let out one last, long hiss of air, and he was gone. Bizarre turnarounds happen sometimes. One second, you’re trying to stop someone from killing you, and the next you’re doing everything you can to save his life.
    I’d like to say I felt something when Glass died, but the truth is, nothing came. I wasn’t glad, and I wasn’t sorry, either. After everything that had happened, it all seemed to be over incredibly quickly — just like the story Glass had been trying to tell all this time, in his own deluded way.
    He never did get the ending he wanted so badly, but he got the one he deserved.

Epilogue

FAMILY TIES

“ LET’S GO, LET’S go, let’s go! I’m ready. Let’s go, everybody!”
    Ali was already in his shirt and tie, and as far as he was concerned, that meant it was time to leave. The sooner we got out of the house, the sooner he could be back home and out of that cursed silk noose around his neck.
    “Just sit tight, little man,” I said. “Maybe your big brother will do a little wakeboarding with you.”
    I did what I used to promise myself I never would, and plopped Ali in front of a video game to distract him. Damon, who was home from boarding school for the Thanksgiving weekend, picked up the other Wii controller.
    “It’s good to have you here, Day,” I said. “We miss you like crazy.”
    “And I miss kicking Ali’s butt,” Damon said, jumping into the virtual water with both feet. “Let’s do this, little man.”
    The ladies of the house were all still in their rooms. I ran upstairs and knocked on Jannie’s door, where the sounds of Jennifer Hudson’s latest were playing at full blast.
    “Don’t come in!” she yelled over the music.
    “Ten minutes, Miss Cross.”
    Ava was already dressed. Her door was open and she was sprawled on the bed, reading Nana’s latest assignment — Twilight .
    “How’s the new book?” I asked.
    She gave me one of her trademark shrugs. “S’okay. Kind of weird.”
    “I’m glad you’re reading anyway,” I said. “It’s good to see.”
    She just nodded and turned the page. Another scintillating conversation between the two of us, but I had to keep moving.
    The foster parenting application, meanwhile, was working its way through the system. Bree and I had done the required twenty-seven hours of training with Child and Family Services, and it looked like Ava would be staying with us for the foreseeable future. Damon would bunk with Ali while he was home, and then next summer — well, we’d figure that out next summer.
    I was running way