Roses Are Red

"Put the gun down, Brand. Get some clothes on. We need to talk to you. I believe you were at a wedding. I believe you and Theresa. Put the gun down."

I was aware that my shirt was soaked through to the skin. One of the children was still lurking behind Brand and Lopez. In the line of fire. Oh God, don't make me shoot this man.

Then slowly, Mitchell Brand lowered his gun from the forehead of Theresa Lopez. He kissed the side of her head. "Sorry, baby," he whispered.

I was already thinking we'd made a mistake. I felt it in my gut. When he lowered his gun, I knew it. Maybe somebody had set up Mitchell Brand. We'd wasted a lot of time and resources to capture him. We had been distracted for days.

I felt the cold breath of the Mastermind on the back of my neck.

Chapter Seventy-One

I came home very late from the East Capitol Dwellings project. I wasn't feeling too hot about a lot of things: Working too much; Christine; the arrest that night of Mitchell Brand.

I needed to wind down so I played Gershwin and Cole Porter on the piano until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. Then I climbed upstairs. I fell fast asleep as soon as my head collided with the pillow.

I actually slept in the next morning. I finally joined Nana and Damon for breakfast around seven-thirty. This was a big day for the Cross family. I wouldn't even be going into work. I had better things to do.

We left the house at eight-thirty. We were on our way to St. Anthony's Hospital. Ja

She was waiting for us. Ja

"Let's go, let's go. I can't wait to get home," she giggled and motor mouthed as soon as we walked in the door. "Here's my suitcase, what's the hurry." She handed her little pink American Tourister to Damon and he rolled his eyes, but took the overnighter from her, anyway.

"How long is this special treatment supposed to last?" he asked.

"Rest of your life." She set her brother straight about men and women. "Maybe even longer than that."

Suddenly, a storm cloud of fear crossed Ja

I nodded and smiled. "You sure can. But what you can't do, is walk out of here by yourself. Hospital rules, little sister."

Ja

I reached down and picked her up. "Yes, in a wheelchair," I said. "But you're all dressed up now. You look beautiful for your departure, princess."

We stopped off at the nurses' station and Ja

She was well now. The tests on the removed tumor had come back benign. She had a clean bill of health and I had never felt so relieved in my life. If I had ever forgotten how precious she was to me, and I doubt that I had, I never would again. Ja

It took us less than ten minutes to ride home and Ja

When we got to the house and I parked the car, Ja

"There's no place like home," she finally whispered, 'just like in The Wizard of Oz." She turned to me. "You even got the Batman and Robin kite down out of the tree. Praise the Lord."

I gri

"You, stop. "Nana Mama laughed and waved a hand at me.

We followed Ja

Ja

It was so fine and good to watch and be a part of and yes, Ja

But then again, maybe I'm just rationalizing about the way I am, and probably always will be.

Chapter Seventy-Two

I went to the FBI field office early the next morning. The floor was buzzing with faxes, phones, personal computers, and energy good and bad. It was already pretty clear that Mitchell Brand wasn't our man, and maybe even that he had been set up.

Betsey Cavalierre had returned from her weekend off. She had a tan, a bright smile, and looked nicely rested. I wondered briefly where she had been, but then I was sucked into the powerful vortex of the investigation again.

The high-tech FBI war room was still in place, but now three of the four walls were covered with possible leads. The FBI point of view was that every avenue must be explored. The director had already gone on record that it was the largest manhunt in FBI history. Corporate America was applying enormous pressure. The same thing had happened after the Unabomber had killed a New York businessman in the early nineties.

I spent most of the day in a windowless, seemingly airless conference room watching an endless slide show, along with several agents and Metro police detectives. Suspects were continuously shown on the big screen, then discussed, and placed into three categories: Discard, Active, and Extremely Active.

At six o'clock that night, Senior Agent Walsh held a meeting that covered the possibility that the crew might strike again soon. Betsey Cavalierre arrived late for the briefing. She sat in the back and observed.

Two FBI behavioral psychologists had worked up a list of potential future targets for the Mastermind. The targets included multinational banks, other top insurance companies, credit-card companies, communications conglomerates, and Wall Street firms.

One of the behavioral psychologists, Dr. Joa