Hope to Die (Alex Cross)
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Detective Alex Cross is being stalked by a psychotic genius, forced to play the deadliest game of his career. Cross's family-his loving wife, Bree, the wise and lively Nana Mama, and his precious children-have been ripped away. Terrified and desperate, Cross must give this madman what he wants if he has any chance of saving the most important people in his life. The stakes have never been higher: What will Cross sacrifice to save the ones he loves?
Widely praised by the greatest crime and thriller writers of our time, Cross My Heart set a jaw-dropping story in motion. Hope to Die propels Alex Cross's greatest challenge to its astonishing finish.
sure of it last night.” Silence descended on the group for several seconds before Quintus said, “I won’t put out a bulletin.” “But Captain—” Aaliyah began. “End of discussion, Detective. I won’t do it.” Chapter 23 They heard shouts from down the street. Several of the reporters and cameramen behind the barricade were having some kind of dispute. “Another subject, sir?” Aaliyah said, turning away. “Go on,” he replied. “I think we need the media on our side,” she replied. “We need to tell
have a stroke or a heart attack, I sank to my knees, bowed my head, and raised my hands toward heaven. “Why, Mulch?” I screamed. “Why?” Chapter 4 I jerked awake in the predawn light, felt the dull pounding in my head again. At first I had no idea where I was, but gradually I came to recognize my bedroom in shadows. I was in bed, still dressed for work and soaked through with sweat. Instinctively, I reached over to feel for my wife’s sleeping form. Bree wasn’t there, and in one gut-wrenching
red-bearded guy who’d gone to Ali’s school slipping alongside the Daleys’ house in a snowstorm carrying the knife that would kill the mother who had abandoned him. Mulch was inside then, a Grinch creeping past a glowing Christmas tree. He climbed the staircase, pushed open the first bedroom door. There were forms lying beneath the covers of a queen-size bed. When Mulch eased back the blankets, I saw that woman who now lived in the Daleys’ house. Beside her, my son Ali, not her son, was curled up
right on target. Sunday was riding in the front passenger seat of the Durango, raptly focused on the screen of a laptop computer and the video feed transmitting from a tiny camera, hidden weeks before, high up in a tree that overlooked the construction site. He’d seen it all, how Cross fell to his knees in front of the body and stayed there for a very long time, looking crushed. “The end is near,” he said to Acadia, who was in the backseat. “Did you see the way he was begging right into the
I said. She rolled her eyes and then got them for me. “What’s your name?” “Sally Hitchcock.” “Sally Hitchcock, I will never forget your kindness.” Sally Hitchcock actually smiled. I ran out and looked back toward the road, wanting to wave in thanks to Frost and his mother. But the GTO was gone. Five minutes later, I was pulling away from the dock in a Whaler 240 Dauntless with a three-hundred-horsepower engine that frankly scared the hell out of me when I pushed down on the throttle. In