Sampson promised to stay with Nana and the kids until I could get home. There was no one that I trusted more, no one in the world they would be safer with. Still, I couldn’t be sure, and that was a terrible weight to carry. I didn’t feel I could leave California until I had at least located Jamilla, and knew she was safe.  Finally I called Tim Bradley at The Examiner. He didn’t know where she was, or even that she’d taken a day off work. Maybe she had needed to get away from town - to get away from being a homicide detective.
I was beginning to feel that maybe I had made a mistake by stopping in San Francisco. The longer I sat on the street, outside her house, the more convinced I was of it. Maybe the job was finally getting to me. The instincts go first.
But every time I considered leaving, I remembered the night I arrived at Betsey Cavalierre’s house, seeing her dead body.  And instincts had gotten me here in my career.
Feelings, gut reactions, experiences from the past.
Maybe just plain stubbornness.
I stayed on surveillance, stayed at my post. I got out of the car a couple of times, walked up and down the block a little. Climbed back in the car. Waited some more. I felt more than a little ridiculous, but I wouldn’t give in to it. I checked in with Sampson again. Everything was okay at home. Another homicide detective I knew, Jerome Thurman, had arrived at the house, too. Double duty against the Mastermind. Was that enough protection?
Then I saw Jamilla coming up the street in her Saab. I actually clapped my hands together. I smacked the dashboard with my palm.
Yes. Thank God she was safe. There she was
She parked about half a block from her house on Texas Street, got out, pulling a University of San Francisco gym bag behind her. I wanted to run up and hug her, but I stayed in my car. Her hair was up in a ponytail. She was wearing a dark blue tee and loose gray workout pants. She was all right; she hadn’t been hurt Jamilla hadn’t been murdered by the Mastermind.
I stared through the car windshield, waiting to see if anyone was watching her, stalking her. fart of me wanted to leave well enough alone now, to go home to Washington. But I kept remembering what had happened to Betsey Cavalierre after we finished our case together.
Why then? Why my partner? I almost didn’t want to go there.
I gave Jamilla time to get inside - then I called her on my cell.  ‘This is Jamilla Hughes. Your message is important to me. Please leave it at the beep.’
Damn it! I hated those machines.
‘Jamilla, this is Alex Cross. Call me. It’s important. Please—‘ ‘Hi, Alex. Where are you? How are you?’ I could hear the smile ............