Alex Cross 02 - Kiss the Girls (12 page)

“Maybe, if you pass a few more simple tests, that is. What else have you figured out?”

I bad-eyed Kyle while I slowly sipped my beer. “You know, I thought you were all right, but you’re just another FBI prick.”

“I was programmed at Quantico,”
Kyle said in a passable computer voice. “Have you done a psych profile on Casanova?”

“I’m working on it.” I told him what he already knew. “As much as I can with virtually no information available.”

Kyle beckoned with the cupped fingers of his right hand. He wanted it all, and then
maybe
he’d share something with me.

“He has to be someone who blends into the community well,” I said. “No one’s even come close to catching him. He’s probably
driven by the same obsessive sexual fantasies that he’s had since he was a boy. He could have been the victim of abuse, maybe
incest. Maybe he was a Peeping Tom, a rapist, or a date rapist. Now he’s a very fancy collector of extremely beautiful women;
he seems to choose only the extraordinary ones. He’s
researching
them, Kyle. I’m almost sure of it. He’s lonely. Maybe he wants the perfect woman.”

Kyle shook his head back and forth. “You are so goddamn crazy, man. You
think
like him!”

“Not funny.” I grabbed Kyle’s cheek between my thumb and forefinger. “Now you tell me something
I
dont’t know.”

Kyle pulled away from my cheekhold. “Let me run a deal by you, Alex. This is a
good
deal, so don’t get cynical on me.”

I raised my hand high in the air for the table waitress. “Check!
Separate
checks, please.”

“No, no. Wait. This
is
a good deal, Alex. I hate to say, ‘Trust me,’ but trust me. Just to prove my truthfulness, I simply can’t tell you everything
right now. I’ll admit that the case is definitely bigger than anything you’ve seen so far. You’re right about Burns. The deputy
director wasn’t down here by accident.”

“I figured Burns wasn’t here to see the azaleas.” I felt like yelling at Kyle inside the quiet hotel bar. “Okay, tell me one
thing I don’t know already.”

“I can’t tell you any more than I already have.”

“
Damn
you, Kyle. You haven’t told me a goddamn thing.” I raised my voice. “What’s the deal you have for me?”

He put up a hand. He wanted me calm for this. “Listen. As you know, or suspect, this is already a four-star, multijurisdictional
nightmare, and it hasn’t really heated up yet. Believe me on that. Nobody’s getting anything done, Alex. Here’s what I’d like
you to consider.”

My eyes rolled back. “I’m glad I’m sitting down for this,” I said.

“This is an excellent offer for a man in your position to consider. Since you’re already outside the multijurisdictional mess,
and therefore immune to it, why don’t you keep it that way. Stay on the outside, and work
directly
with me.”

“Work with the Federal Bureau?” I choked on my beer. “Collaborate with the Feebies?”

“I can give you access to all the information we get, as soon as we get it. I’ll give you everything you need in terms of
resources and information and all of our current data.”

“And
you
don’t have to share anything I come up with? Not even with the local or state police?” I said.

Kyle had become his intense self again. “Look, Alex, this investigation is large and expensive, but it’s getting nowhere.
Officers are falling over one another while women all over the South, including your niece, are disappearing right under our
noses.”

“I understand the problem, Kyle. Let me think about your solution. Give me a little space on this one.”

Kyle and I talked some more about his offer, and I was able to pin him down on a few specifics. Basically I was sold, though.
Working with Kyle would give me access to a first-rate support team, and I’d have clout whenever I needed it. I wouldn’t be
alone anymore. We ordered burgers and more beers, and continued to talk and put the final touches on my deal with the Devil.
For the first time since I’d come South, I was feeling a little hopeful.

“I do have something else to share with you,” I finally told him. “He dropped me a note last night. It was a nice note, thoughtful,
welcoming me to the area.”

“We know.” Kyle grinned like the grown-up Andy Hardy that he is. “It was a postcard, actually. It showed an odalisque, a love
slave from a harem.”

B
Y THE time I got back to my room it was a little late, but I called Nana and the kids, anyway. I always call home when I’m
away, twice every day, morning and night. I hadn’t missed yet, and didn’t plan to start that night.

“Are you listening to Nana and being a good girl for a change?” I asked Jannie when she came on the phone.

“I’m always a good girl!” Jannie squealed with little-girl glee. She loves talking to me. I feel the same way about her. Amazing,
we were still madly in love after five years together.

I closed my eyes and visualized my girl. I could just see her puffing out her little chest, making her face look defiant,
but smiling pointy crooked teeth at the same time. Once, Naomi had been a sweet little girl like that. I remembered everything
about those times. I chased away the thought, the vivid portrait of Scootchie.

“Well, how about your big brother? Damon says he’s being especially good, too. He says Nana’s called you ‘the holy terror’
today. Is that so?”

“Unh-uh, Daddy. That’s what Nana called
him.
Damon’s the holy terror in
this house.
I’m Nana’s angel all the time. I’m Nana Mama’s good girl angel. You can axt her.”

“Uh-huh. That’s good to hear,” I told my little spin-doctor. “Did you pull Damon’s hair just a tiny bit at Roy Rogers junkfood
restaurant today?”

“
Not
junk food, pally-wally!
He
pulled
my
hair first. Damon almost pulled my hair out, like I was Baby Clare without her hair now.”

Baby Clare had been jannie’s main doll since she was two years old. The doll was “her baby,” absolutely sacred to Jannie.
Sacred to all of us. Once we had left Baby Clare at Williamsburg during a day trip, and we had to drive all the way back.
Magically, Clare was waiting for us at the front-gate office, having a nice chat with the security guard.

“I couldn’t pull Damon’s hair, anyway. He’s almost
bald,
Daddy. Nana got him his summer haircut. Wait’ll you see my bald brother. He’s a
pool
ball!”

I could hear her laughing. I could
see
Jannie laughing. In the background, Damon wanted the phone back. He wanted his rebuttal about the state of his haircut.

After I finished with the kids, I talked to Nana.

“How are
you
holding up, Alex?” She went right to the point, as she always does. She would have made an outstanding detective, or anything
else she wanted to be. “Alex, I asked how you’re doing?”

“I’m doing just fine and dandy. Love my work,” I told her. “How are you, old woman?”

“Never mind that. I would watch these children in my sleep. You don’t sound good to me. You’re not sleeping, and you haven’t
made a lot of progress, have you?”

Man, she was tough when she wanted to be. “It’s not going as well as I would have hoped,” I told her. “Something good might
have just happened tonight.”

“I know,” Nana said, “that’s why you’re calling up so late. But you can’t share the good news with your grandmother. You’re
afraid I might call the
Washington Post.
”

We’d had this discussion before on cases I was working on. She always wants inside information, and I can’t give it up.

“I love you,” I finally said to her. “That’s the best I can do right now.”

“And I love you, Alex Cross. That’s the best I can do.”

She
had
to have the final word.

After I finished with Nana and the kids, I lay in the dark on the unmade, unwelcoming hotel bed. I didn’t want maids or anyone
else in the room, but the
Do Not Disturb
tag hadn’t deterred the FBI.

A bottle of beer sat upright on my chest. I slowed my breathing, let the bottle balance there. I’ve never liked hotel rooms,
not even on a vacation.

I started thinking about Naomi again. When she was a little girl like Jannie, she used to ride up on my shoulders, so she
could see “far, far away in the Big People’s World.” I remembered that Naomi thought Christmas was “Kissmass,” so she would
kiss everybody during the holidays.

Finally, I let my mind settle on the monster who had taken Scootchie away from us. The monster was winning so far. He seemed
invincible, uncatchable; he didn’t make any mistakes, and didn’t leave any clues. He was very sure of himself…. he even left
me a cute little postcard for sport. What should that tell me?

He might have read my book about Gary Soneji,
I thought. He just might have read my book. Had he taken Naomi to challenge me? Maybe to prove how good he was.

I didn’t like that thought very much.

I
’M ALIVE,
but I’m in hell!

Kate McTiernan tucked her legs close against her chest and shivered. She was certain that she’d been drugged. Severe tremors,
accompanied by gnawing nausea, swept over her in powerful waves
that would not stop
no matter what she tried.

She didn’t know how long she had been asleep on the cold floor, or what time it was now. Was he watching her? Was there a
peephole hidden in the walls? Kate could almost
feel
his eyes crawling all over her.

She remembered every gruesome and hideous detail of the rape. The
feel
of it was so vivid. The thought of being touched by him was repulsive, and the most horrifying images snapped at her.

Anger, guilt, violation all fused in her mind. Adrenaline surged powerfully through her body. “Hail Mary, full of grace… the
Lord is with thee.” She thought she had forgotten how to pray. She hoped that God hadn’t forgotten her.

Kate’s head was spinning. He was definitely trying to break her will, break her resistance. That was his plan, wasn’t it?

She had to think, make herself
think.
Everything in the room was out of focus.
The drugs!
Kate tried to figure what he might be using.
What
drug? Which one?…

Perhaps it was Forane, a strong muscle relaxant that was used prior to anesthesia. It came in a one-hundred-milliliter bottle.
It could be sprayed directly into a victim’s face, or poured over a cloth and held to someone’s face. She tried to remember
the drug’s aftereffects. Shivering and nausea. Dry throat. Decrease in intellectual functioning for a day or two. She had
those symptoms! All of them!

He’s a doctor!
The thought struck her like a low punch. It made perfect sense to her. Who else would have access to a drug like Forane?

At the dojo in Chapel Hill, a discipline was taught to help students control their emotions. You had to sit in front of a
blank dojo wall, and remain sitting no matter how much you wanted, or thought you
needed,
to move.

Kate’s body was drenched with perspiration, but she was determined. She would never let him break her will. She could be unbelievably
strong when she needed to be. That was how she’d gotten through medical school on no money and against all odds.

She sat in a lotus position for more than an hour in “her prison room.” She breathed quietly and concentrated on clearing
her mind of the pain, the nausea, and the rape. She focused on what she had to do next.

One simple concept.

Escape.

K
ATE ROSE slowly to her feet after the hour of meditation. She was still woozy, but she felt a little better, more in control.
She decided to search for his peephole. It had to be there, hidden somewhere in the natural wood walls.

The bedroom was exactly twelve by fifteen. She’d measured it several times. In a tiny alcove the size of a closet, there was
the equivalent of an outhouse.

Kate carefully looked for even the tiniest slit in the wall, but she saw nothing. The toilet in the alcove seemed to empty
directly into the ground. There was no plumbing, at least not in this part of the building.
Where am I being kept? Where am I?

Her eyes watered from the acrid odor as she knelt over the black wooden seat and squinted into the dark hole. She had learned
to put up with the overpowering smell, and only a single dry heave came this time.

The opening looked as if it dropped about ten or twelve feet.
Dropped to what?
Kate wondered.

It looked very narrow, and she didn’t think she could squeeze through it, not even if she took off all her clothes.
Maybe she could, though. Never say never.

She heard his voice directly behind her. Her heart dropped and she felt faint.

There he was! No shirt again. Rippling muscles everywhere, but especially around his stomach and thighs. He was wearing another
mask. An angry-looking one. Crimson and bone-white swatches against a shiny black background. Was he angry today? Were the
masks like mood rings for him?

“Not one of your better ideas, Katie. It’s been tried by someone slimmer than you are,” he said in a singsongy voice. “I won’t
go down there to help you back up. Very shitty way to die. Think it through.”

Kate struggled to her feet and began to retch. She did her best to do it convincingly. “I’m sick I thought I was going to
throw up,” she said to Casanova.

“I definitely believe you do feel sick,” he said. “That will pass. But it
isn’t
the real reason you were kneeling over the toilet. Tell the truth, and shame the devil.”

“What do you
want
from me?” Kate asked. He sounded different today… maybe the drugs were distorting her hearing. She studied the mask. It seemed
to turn him into another person. Another kind of creep. Was he a split personality?

“I want to be in love. I want to make love to you again. I want you to get beautiful for me. Maybe one of the lovely dresses
from Neiman Marcus. Nylons and high heels.”