All three of the Connolly daughters were pretty. Brigid was twelve, Meredith was eleven, and Gwynne was six. According to my crib notes, the younger girls attended the Lovett School. "I'm Alex Cross, with the FBI," I said to Brigid, who seemed tremendously self-assured for her age, especially during this crisis. "I think that your father is expecting me." "My dad will be right down, sir," she told me. Then she turned to her younger sisters and scolded, "You heard Daddy. Behave. Both of you." "I won't bite anybody," I said to the girls, who were still peeking at me from down the hallway. Meredith turned bright red. "Oh, we're sorry. This isn't about you." "I understand," I said. Finally they smiled, and I saw that Meredith had braces too. Very cute girls, sweet. I heard a voice from above. "Agent Cross?" Agent? I wasn't used to the sound of that yet. I looked up the front staircase as Judge Brendan Connolly made his way down. He had on a striped blue dress shirt, dark blue slacks, black driving loafers. He looked trim and in shape, but tired, as if he hadn't slept in days. I knew from the FBI workup sheets that he was forty-four and had attended Georgia Tech and Vanderbilt Law School. "So which is it," he asked, then forced a smile, "do you bite or not?" I shook his hand. "I only bite people who deserve it," I said. "Alex Cross." Brendan Connolly nodded toward a large library-den that I could see was crammed from floor to ceiling with books. There was also room for a baby grand piano. I noticed sheet music for some Billy Joel songs. In the corner of the room was a daybed - unmade. "After Agent Cross and I are done, I'll make dinner," he said to the girls. "I'll try not to poison anybody tonight, but I'll need your help, ladies." "Yes, Daddy," they chorused. They seemed to adore their father. He pulled the sliding oak doors, and the two of us were sealed inside.