Cat & Mouse

He spun round toward the source of the words, toward the hurt. Sampson gave the woman a glazed look and pushed forward into the yard, past collapsible sawhorses and yellow crime-scene tape.

He took the front porch steps in two long, athletic strides, and nearly collided with EMS medics hurrying a litter out of the living room.

Sampson stopped cold on the Cross’s front porch. He couldn’t believe any of this. Little Ja

A low moan escaped his mouth. He was no longer strong, no longer brave. His heart was breaking and he choked back a sob.

When she saw him, Ja

Ja

Sampson leaned in close to Ja

More blood ribboned through Ja

“You’re okay, baby,” Sampson whispered, the words catching like barbed wire in his throat. “I’m going to be back here with you in a minute. You’re okay, Ja

“What about Damon? What about my daddy?” Ja

Her eyes were wide with fear, with a terror that made Sampson’s heart break all over again. She was just a little girl. How could anyone do this?

“Everybody’s okay, baby. They’re okay,” Sampson whispered again. His tongue was thick, his mouth as dry as Sandpaper. He could barely get out the words. Everybody’s okay, baby. He prayed that was true.

The EMS medics did their best to wave Sampson away, and they carried Ja

He pushed his way into the house, which was crowded with police-both street officers and detectives. When the first alarm came, half of the precinct must have rushed over to the Cross house. He had never seen so many cops in one place.

He was late as usual-the late John Sampson, Alex liked to call him. He’d slept at a woman’s house. Cee walker’s and couldn’t be reached right away. His beeper was off, taking a night off after Alex’s party-after the big celebration.

Someone knew Alex would have his guard down, Sampson thought, being a homicide detective already. Who knew? Who did this terrible thing?

What in the name of God happened here?

Chapter 70

SAMPSON BOLTED up the narrow, twisting stairs to the second floor of the house. He wanted to shout above the blaring noise, the buzz of the incipient police investigation, to yell Alex’s name, to see him appear out of one of the bedrooms.

He’d had way too much to drink the night before and he was reeling, feeling shaky, rubbery all over. He rushed into Damon’s room and let out a deep moan. The boy was being transferred from his bed to a litter. Damon looked so much like his father, so much like Alex when he was Damon’s age.

He looked worse than Ja

Gary Soneji wad dead-he’d gone down in Grand Central Station. He couldn’t have done this horrible thing at Alex’s house.

And yet, he had promised that he would!

Nothing made sense to Sampson yet. He wished he were dreaming this nightmare, but knew he wasn’t

A detective named Rakeem Powell grabbed him by the shoulder, grabbed him hard and shook him. “Damon’s all right, John. Somebody came in here, beat the living hell out of the kids. Looks like he just used fists. Hard punches. Didn’t mean to kill them, though, or maybe the cowardly fuck couldn’t finish the job. Who the hell knows at this point. Damon’s all right. John? Are you all right?”

Sampson pushed Rakeem away, threw him off impatiently. “What about Alex? Nana?”

“Nana was beaten bad. Bus driver found her on the street, took her to St. Tony’s. She’s conscious, but she’s an old woman. Skin rips when they’re old. Alex got shot in his bedroom, John. They’re up there with him.”

“Who’s in there?” Sampson groaned. He was close to tears, and he never cried. He couldn’t help himself now, couldn’t hide his feelings.

“Christ, who isn’t?” Rakeem said and shook his head. “ EMS, us, FBI. Kyle Craig is here.”

Sampson broke away from Rakeem Powell and lunged toward the bedroom. Everybody wasn’t dead inside the house-but Alex had been shot. Somebody came here to get him! Who could it have been?

Sampson tried to go into Alex’s bedroom, but he was held back by men he didn’t know-probably FBI from the look of them.

Kyle Craig was in the room. He knew that much. The FBI was here already. “Tell Kyle I’m here,” he told the men at the door. “Tell Kyle Craig it’s Sampson.”

One of the FBI agents ducked inside. Kyle came out immediately, pushed his way into the hall to Sampson.

“Kyle, what the hell?” Sampson tried to talk. “Kyle, what happened?”

“He’s been shot twice. Shot and beaten,” Kyle said. “I need to talk to you, John. Listen to me, just listen to me, will you.”

Chapter 71

SAMPSON TRIED to hold back his fears, his true feelings, tried to control the chaos in his mind. Detectives and police perso

None of this could be happening!

Sampson turned away from the bedroom. He was afraid he was going to lose it, something he never did. Kyle hadn’t stopped talking, but he couldn’t really follow what Kyle was saying. He couldn’t concentrate on the FBI man’s words.

He inhaled deeply trying to fight off the reverberations of shock. It was shock, wasn’t it? Then not tears started to stream down his cheeks. He didn’t care if Kyle saw. The pain in his heart cut so deep, cut right to the bone. His nerve endings were already rubbed raw. Never anything like this before.

“Listen to me, John,” Kyle said, but Sampson wasn’t listening.

Sampson’s body slumped heavily against the wall. He asked Kyle how he’d gotten here so fast. Kyle had an answer, always an answer for everything. Still-nothing was really making sense to Sampson, not a word of it.

He was looking at something over the FBI man’s shoulder. Sampson couldn’t believe it. Through the window, he could see an FBI helicopter. It was landing in the vacant lot just across Fifth Street. Things were getting stranger and stranger.

A figure lurched out of the helicopter, crouched under the rotor blades, then started toward the Cross house. It almost seemed as if he were levitating above the blowing grass in the yard.

The man was tall and slender, with dark sunglasses, the kind with small round lenses. His long blond hair was bound in a ponytail. He didn’t look like FBI.

There was definitely something different about him, something radical for the Bureau. He almost looked angry as he pushed the looky-loss away. He also looked as if he were in charge, at least in charge of himself.

Now…what was this? Sampson thought. What’s going on here?

“Who the hell is that?” he asked Kyle Craig. “Who is that, Kyle? Who is that goddamn ponytailed asshole?”