Triple Cross

Liu ran over and was fumbling with the trackpad when—ding!

She opened the new e-mails, her eyes widening. She spun around, grinning wildly, and pumped her fist.

“Game on!” she cried. “Two seven-figure offers!”

The fax machine began churning out paper. Liu grabbed those pages and whooped with joy. She did a little shimmy and then jigged toward Moore. “We got ourselves a serious bidding war, lover!”

Moore took her agent in her arms, and kissed her hungrily. “Of course we do, little girl. Didn’t I tell you if we paid attention to details, things would work out for us in a big, big way?”

CHAPTER 98

TWO HOURS LATER, SUZANNE LIU and Lisa Moore strode triumphantly down Water Street in DC’s trendy Navy Yard district.

“I feel like we’ve slain Goliath,” Liu said breathlessly. “I’m serious.”

“You didn’t think they’d go that high?” Moore asked.

“You did?”

“When four of the six were in the game, I figured we were heading right in the ballpark of where we ended up.”

“Maybe you should be the agent,” Liu said.

“Where would that leave you? Writing?” Moore said it a little snidely.

Liu stiffened and said, “Don’t forget, that proposal would not have been in the shape it was without my guiding hand, lover.”

“No doubt. And I deeply appreciate it, little girl.”

They arrived at Osteria Morini, Moore’s favorite lunch spot in the nation’s capital. The maître d’ recognized her immediately.

“Business or celebration, Ms. Moore?” he asked.

“Definitely celebration, Brian. I’d like a bottle of your finest prosecco brought to the table.”

“Magnifico,” Brian said, beaming.

He led them to their table along the wall, handed them two menus, and promised to have their prosecco brought right away.

“Good food here?” Liu asked.

“Brilliant cuisine,” Moore said, as if Liu should have known. “The brodetto, an Adriatic-style fish stew, is incredible.”

“Sounds a little rich for lunch. I’d have to take a nap later.”

“I was actually hoping we might find our way into bed afterward.”

Liu’s smile turned saucy. “That does sound like a delicious dessert.”

Their waiter brought over the prosecco packed in ice in a silver bucket, made a nice show of popping the cork, and poured the wine into two flutes.

“I understand a celebration is under way,” he said.

Liu gestured at Moore. “I just sold her first book.”

“Yes? This is fantastic!”

“Thank you,” Moore said, blushing a little.

“Can I make recommendations?”

Liu said, “I heard about the brodetto. Sounds a little rich?”

“Then the branzino, seared Mediterranean sea bass.”

“Perfect.”

“That does sound good,” Moore said. “Make it two.”

The waiter made note of it, bowed slightly, and walked away; Moore raised her champagne flute and said, “To many, many more of these kinds of celebrations.”

“Hear, hear,” Liu said, clinking her glass against Moore’s. “And to many, many more books sold.”

“And auctioned to Hollywood,” Moore said. She drank deeply.

“Of course,” her agent said and she stared into her lover’s eyes as she drank from her own glass. “I have a feeling we’re going to need another bottle, don’t you think?”

“Mmm,” the newly minted writer said. “What a grand idea!”

Liu grabbed the bottle and refilled Moore’s flute. She was starting to refill her own when she noticed her companion glance up and freeze. The color drained from Moore’s face.

Liu twisted in her seat and saw Dr. Alex Cross, Detective John Sampson, and FBI special agent in charge Ned Mahoney heading right to their table.

Mahoney smiled at them and said, loud enough for half the restaurant to hear, “Lisa Moore and Suzanne Liu, you’re under arrest for the Family Man murders as well as multiple other crimes and conspiracies. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to …”

Liu barely heard any of it. She was staring at Cross in disbelief. “I’m innocent,” she said.

“No, you’re not,” Cross said.

“I didn’t kill anyone!”

“Maybe you didn’t,” Sampson said, looking at her and then at Moore, who had gone stone-faced. “But you did.”

“Stop talking, Suzanne,” Moore hissed as Mahoney cuffed her. “Say nothing until you’ve spoken to a lawyer.”

CHAPTER 99

Manhattan

ON WEDNESDAY, IN AN empty hospital room in a section of the NYU Medical Center far from the maternity ward, Bree watched a screen that Rosella Salazar’s partner had set up for her.

Connie Ellis, the assistant Manhattan DA overseeing the Paula Watkins investigation, stood next to her, also watching the screen.

It featured a feed from an iPhone that Detective Thompson had mounted on a tall tripod and carried to the room Dusan Volkov had been moved into after being brought out of a medically induced coma. Volkov’s head was heavily bandaged, but doctors had told Thompson and Salazar that while Bree’s bullet had grazed the side of his skull, he had not suffered a severe brain injury.