Ms. Haranzo waited for me to finish, then she started in again. I felt as if I were on trial here. “Your work, Dr. Cross. It’s dangerous. Your family has been put in grave danger before. Also, you’ve had intimate relationships with women since Ms. Johnson left. Isn’t that so?”

I sighed. Then I slowly rose from the leather chair. “I’m sorry, but this meeting is over. Excuse me. I have to get out of here.” At the door, I turned back to Christine. “This is wrong.”

Chapter 70

Chapter 70

I HAD TO GET OUT of there and put my mind somewhere else for a while. I returned to the Hoover Building, and no one seemed to have missed me. I couldn’t help thinking that some of these agents squirreled away in the home office had no idea how crimes were solved in the real world. They almost seemed to believe that you fed data into computers and eventually they spit out a criminal. It happens on the street! Get out of this windowless “crisis” room with all the bad air. Work the sidewalks! I wanted to shout.

But I didn’t say a word. I sat at a computer and read the latest on the Russian mob. I didn’t see any promising connections. Plus, I couldn’t really concentrate after my meeting with Christine’s lawyers. Just past seven, I packed up my things and left the Hoover Building.

Nobody seemed to notice me leave. And then I wondered—Is that such a bad thing?

When I got home, Nana was waiting at the front door. I was just walking up the steps when she opened the door and came outside. “You watch Little Alex, Damon. We’ll be back in a while,” she called through the screen door.

Nana limped down the front stairs and I followed her. “Where are we going?” I asked.

“We’re going for a drive,” she said. “You and I have some things to talk about.”

Oh, shit.

I got back in the old Porsche and started it up. Nana flopped down in the passenger seat.

“Drive,” she said.

“Yes, Miss Daisy.”

“Don’t give me any of your lip, either, or your sorry attempts at wit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s a good example of your lip.”

“I know it is, ma’am.”

I decided to head out west, toward the Shenandoah Mountains, a pretty ride and one of Nana’s favorites. For the first part of the drive, we were both fairly quiet, unusual for the two of us.

“What happened at the lawyer’s?” Nana finally asked as I turned onto Route 66.

I gave her the long version, probably because I needed to vent. She listened very quietly, then she did something unusual for her. Nana actually cursed. “The hell with Christine Johnson. She’s wrong about this!”