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“Get her hooked. Keep her working. Sounds like sexual slavery to me.”

“It did and does to me too. Interestingly enough, Molly did not come to me with her story until she happened to see Katherine one day in a different part of the city. Got a guess who Katherine was with?”

CHAPTER 19

Washington, DC

I DECIDED TO CALL it a day around six o’clock Friday evening. Sampson, a recent widower, had already left to spend time with his young daughter, Willow.

And I wanted to get home to see where my daughter Jannie’s head was the night before her big race and the decision about college. But before I left, the three paperbacks by Thomas Tull caught my attention. Each one was over five hundred pages.

A lazy part of my brain tried to convince me that Suzanne Liu was what Sampson had said she was: an editor scorned who was out for payback.

There’s nothing to it, I thought and almost walked out. But the obsessive-compulsive part of my personality wouldn’t let me. Shouldn’t you at least make sure?

I scooped the books up, dropped them in a day pack, and headed for the exit. On the Uber ride home, I read the back cover and the preface to Electric.

Set in metro Boston, Tull’s first book was about a series of electrocution deaths that police in separate jurisdictions had initially thought were unlinked accidents. The first three victims all worked at various high-end stores in and around the city.

The fourth victim, Emily Maxwell, attracted Tull’s attention because he’d met her several times at the Harvard Book Store, where she worked. Tull was a sophomore at Harvard, but he had a background as an NCIS investigator, and aspects of the bookstore clerk’s “accidental” death had not made sense to him.

He began to dig into the case and was soon convinced that Emily Maxwell and several others in the greater Boston area had been electrocuted on purpose. About the same time, Jane Hale, a young Boston police detective, also became suspicious about the electrocution deaths.

Hale ultimately let Tull shadow her during the investigation, giving him an inside look at the probe that proved riveting, especially when suspicions turned toward an unlikely serial killer operating in the open.

I had to admit, the back cover and the opening had me intrigued enough that I didn’t realize I was home until the Uber driver pulled over and told me.

My phone rang as I shut the car door. Caller ID said Paladin Inc.

“This is Cross,” I said.

Ryan Malcomb said, “I just wanted you to know that your request came through with all the correct permissions. The data is being loaded onto our supercomputers.”

“And then what? You start looking for the needle in the haystack?”

“First thing in the morning. I like to write the codes after a good night’s sleep.”

“You’re the expert.”

“We will let you know,” Malcomb said and hung up.

Inside, I found Ali engrossed by something on his laptop; he barely waved when I said hello.

Nana Mama was almost done with a shrimp and pasta dish with basil and garlic, and it smelled fantastic. Jannie was setting the table.

“How did practice go?” I asked.

“Light jog and stretching,” Jannie said.

My grandmother said, “She came in beaming with confidence.”

Jannie smiled. “I’ll do my best, but I honestly have no expectations. Whatever happens, I’ll be fine. Whichever school I decide on, I’ll find a home there.”

“Gotta like that attitude,” I said.

Bringing the steaming bowls of food to the table, Nana Mama said, “It’s the best attitude I can imagine. What time does your race start?”

“Around eleven, Nana.”

“Oh, good. Damon called. He’s got a week free before finals and he’s coming up for the race. He’ll get to Howard around ten thirty.”

I grinned. I hadn’t seen my oldest child in several months.

“How’s he getting here all the way from Davidson?” Ali asked.

Nana Mama started laughing. “Some college friend’s mother is turning fifty, and there’s a surprise birthday party in Chevy Chase tomorrow night, so the girl’s father is flying her home on the family jet.”

“And Damon is hitching a ride?”

“La-di-da,” my grandmother said and cackled. “I could never have imagined such a thing when I was his age.”

We were all laughing as we sat down to eat. It was pretty remarkable to think about my twenty-year-old in a private jet.

Ali said, “I’ve been looking at the girls you’ll be racing against, Jannie. There are some really fast—”

“I don’t care who they are or how fast they are,” Jannie said, scooping pasta from the bowl onto her plate.

“But—”

“But nothing,” my daughter said firmly. “Coach says I’m not racing them.”

Ali frowned. “Then who are you racing?”

“Me,” she said. “My best.”

“Oh,” my youngest child said, brightening. “I like that. You think you’re going to break your personal record?”

“I think I’m going to run like I know I can and I’ll see what happens,” Jannie said.

Ali was very goal-oriented for his age and I could tell her answer bothered him, but he sighed and said, “I hope you crush it.”