The Big Bad Wolf

said. Finally they smiled, and I saw that Meredith had braces too. Very cute girls, sweet.
    I heard a voice from above. “Agent Cross?”
Agent?
I wasn’t used to the sound of that yet.
    I looked up the front staircase as Judge Brendan Connolly made his way down. He had on a striped blue dress shirt, dark blue slacks, black driving loafers. He looked trim and in shape, but tired, as if he hadn’t slept in days. I knew from the FBI workup sheets that he was forty-four and had attended Georgia Tech and Vanderbilt Law School.
    “So which is it,” he asked, then forced a smile, “do you bite or not?”
    I shook his hand. “I only bite people who deserve it,” I said. “Alex Cross.”
    Brendan Connolly nodded toward a large library-den that I could see was crammed from floor to ceiling with books. There was also room for a baby grand piano. I noticed sheet music for some Billy Joel songs. In the corner of the room was a daybed—unmade.
    “After Agent Cross and I are done, I’ll make dinner,” he said to the girls. “I’ll try not to poison anybody tonight, but I’ll need your help, ladies.”
    “Yes, Daddy,” they chorused. They seemed to adore their father. He pulled the sliding oak doors, and the two of us were sealed inside.
    “This is so damn
bad.
So hard.” He let out a deep breath. “Trying to keep up a front for them. They’re the best girls in the world.” Judge Connolly gestured around the book-lined room. “This is Lizzie’s favorite place in the house. She plays the piano very well. So do the girls. We’re both bookaholics, but she especially loved reading in this room.”
    He sat in a club chair covered in rust-tone leather. “I appreciate that you came to Atlanta. I’ve heard you’re very good at difficult cases. How can I help you?” he asked.
    I sat across from him on a matching rust-tone-leather couch. On the wall behind him were photographs of the Parthenon, Chartres, the pyramids, and an honorary plaque from Chastain Horse Park. “There are a lot of people working to find Mrs. Connolly, and they’ll go down a lot of avenues. I’m not going to get into too many details about your family. The local detectives can go there.”
    “Thank you,” the judge said. “Those questions are devastating to answer right now. To go over and over. You can’t imagine.”
    I nodded. “Are you aware of any local men, or even women, who might have taken an inappropriate interest in your wife? A long-standing crush, a potential obsession? That’s the one private area I’d like to go into. Then, any little things that strike you as out of the ordinary. Did you notice anyone watching your wife? Are there any faces you’ve seen around more than normal lately? Delivery men? Federal Express or other services? Neighbors who are suspicious in any way? Work associates? Even friends who might have fantasized about Mrs. Connolly?”
    Brendan Connolly nodded. “I see what you’re getting at.”
    I looked him in the eye. “Have you and your wife had any fights lately?” I asked. “I need to know if you have. Then we can move on.”
    Wetness suddenly appeared in the corners of Brendan Connolly’s eyes. “I met Lizzie in Washington when she was with the
Post
and I was an associate at Tate Schilling, a law firm there. It
was
love at first sight. We almost never fought, hardly ever raised our voices. That’s still true. Agent Cross, I love my wife. So do her daughters. Please help us bring her home. You have to find Lizzie.”

Chapter 15
    THE MODERN-DAY GODFATHER. A forty-seven-year-old Russian now living in America and known as the Wolf. Rumored to be fearless, hands-on, into everything from weapon sales, extortion, and drugs to legitimate businesses such as banking and venture capital. No one seemed to know his true identity, or his American name, or where he lived.
Clever.
Invisible.
Safe from the FBI. And anybody else who might be looking for him.
    He had been in his twenties when he made the switch from the KGB to become one of the most ruthless cell leaders in Russian organized crime, the Red Mafiya. His namesake, the Siberian wolf, was a skillful hunter, but also relentlessly hunted. The Siberian was a fast runner and could overpower much heavier animals—but it was also hunted for its blood and bones. The human Wolf was also a hunter who was hunted—except that the police had no idea where to hunt.
    Invisible. By design.
Actually, he was hiding in plain sight. On a balmy evening, the