Джеймс Паттерсон - Killer Instinct

“Really? What did you think?”

“It was a little dry in places.” She held a straight face before breaking into a laugh. “No, I’m kidding. I thought it was fascinating.”

“For example?”

“Are you fishing for more compliments or trying to make sure I really read it?”

“Both.”

“It’s how you dispel the traditional notion of abnormal psychology, especially with most serial killers,” she said. “The way they rationalize their behavior is that they don’t rationalize at all. They’re doing what they think is absolutely necessary. It’s what they believe in to their very core.”

“I thought you might say that. I imagine it dovetails with what you teach regarding epistemology.”

“Yes,” she said. “The role that justified belief plays in society, which these days is really about only one thing.”

“Religion,” I said.

She nodded. “And let’s face it, only one religion in particular.”

“Which happens to be your religion, I’m assuming.”

She nodded again. “On the plus side, my being a Shia all but guarantees me tenure. A real live Muslim delving into the minds of terrorists for the so-called liberal elites? It’s my gig as long as I want it.”

“Cynicism and sarcasm, all in the same breath,” I said. “You really are a New Yorker.”

“Farther away from home than Dorothy, that’s for sure.”

“How often do you get back?” I asked.

“To Iran? It’s been a while,” she said. I waited to see if she would add anything about her scheduled flight to Tehran. She didn’t. The pause turned awkward. “Was I supposed to keep talking?”

“No, sorry.” Think quickly, Dylan. “That was me debating my next question in my head. I fear it might be a bit sexist.”

“Ah,” she said with a nod. “You want to know how I’m not married or even have a boyfriend.”

“I’d never survive those liberal elites at NYU, would I?”

“Yale is hardly turning out many William F. Buckleys these days.”

Good point. “Does that mean you will or won’t answer the question, though?” I asked.

Sadira motioned to the bartender as she threw back the last of bourbon number six. “It means we now order one more round and then maybe, just maybe, we’ll explore the subject of my sex life.”

She placed a hand on my forearm for a brief moment, the sort of flirty gesture that lasts just long enough to blur the line between innocent and suggestive. Her beauty was her edge, and it was enough to make most any man lose his.

Of course, most men would’ve probably thought that was just a pretty necklace she had on.

Why are you using Halo, Sadira?

What are your plans for me?

Chapter 97

“LET’S GET out of here,” I said.

I pulled out four hundred dollars in cash—welcome to Manhattan—and placed it under my empty bourbon glass.

“Thank you,” said Sadira. “I’ve got the next one.”

The next one? Irony.

I knew she couldn’t say no to leaving with me. Besides, she wasn’t about to kill me in front of all these witnesses. I’d probably taken the words right out of her mouth. Let’s get out of here.

But where?

I held the door for her as we walked out of the restaurant. She never turned back to me once she hit the sidewalk. Instead, she made a beeline for the curb and a waiting taxi. You can always bank on one outside Gramercy Tavern.

“Jane Street, corner of Hudson,” she told the driver.

We were going to her place in the West Village. Only I couldn’t let on that I knew where she lived. “Is that your—”

“Yes, my place,” she said. She turned to me, holding my stare. “I don’t usually do this.”

“Neither do I.”

“That’s good. Perfect,” she said. “We can both not usually do this together.”

I would’ve laughed at that line were it not for her suddenly leaning in to kiss me. She pressed her lips softly against mine, keeping them there for only a second, as if to tease me for what was to come. There was barely any time for me to kiss her back, and that was the point. I might have been the one to suggest getting out of here, but I was hardly in charge. She was.

That’s good. Perfect. You keep thinking that, Sadira.

We rode in silence the rest of the way. After we passed Union Square, she reached over and held my hand. Only when we arrived at her place did she let go.

“At least let me pay for the cab,” she said, taking out her wallet.

I would’ve bet the cost of dinner and then some that Sadira didn’t live in a doorman building. That would’ve defeated the purpose of her wearing Halo. No, I fully expected to be walking into a brownstone. The surprise, though, was that it wasn’t merely a brownstone. It was her brownstone. All of it.

“Just how much are they paying you at NYU?” I joked as she led me into the foyer. It opened into a massive living room beyond which was a kitchen that would’ve made Martha Stewart jealous. And this was only the first floor.

“Family money,” she said without any hesitation.

It was possible. Or maybe it was just a straight-up lie. The point was, I couldn’t tell. Not with anything about her. Was any of this real? I didn’t think so, but damn, she was convincing in every way.

From the get-go I’d felt there was more to Sadira than met the eye, and nothing about that had changed. Until now.

Now it was more than a feeling. I was sure of it. One way or another, I was about to learn the truth.

As Sadira put down her purse and wrap, there was no doubt that she had me exactly where she wanted me. This was home-field advantage.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she said.

Chapter 98

SOME THINGS you simply don’t need to be taught. For example, if someone wants to kill you, the last thing you should do is turn your back on her.

I extended my arm toward her staircase. “After you,” I said.

We walked up to the second floor and down a short hallway to what was clearly her bedroom. The sheer size of it, for starters. Also the books piled up on her nightstand, most with dog-eared pages. This was definitely where she slept. Among other things.

Sadira slipped out of her heels and dimmed the lights. What exactly are we about to do?

It was hard enough playing it straight, so to speak, back in the cab when she kissed me. This was shaping up to be a little more than kissing. Or was that simply what she wanted me to think?

In poker, sometimes you wait for the bluff. Other times, you have to draw it out. “Come here,” I whispered to her.

Never mind that the last time I’d been with a woman was my freshman year in college. It was a Let’s just make sure I’m gay encounter and, as I barely recall, it involved about the same amount of alcohol as the bourbon merry-go-round back at Gramercy Tavern.

“Who, me?” Sadira playfully whispered back.

“Yes, you,” I said. “All of you.”

She slowly walked toward me, her eyes trained on mine. I could swear she never blinked. Then, only inches away, she spun around. “Can you unzip me?” she asked, pushing her long brown hair to the side.

I reached for the zipper, pulling it halfway down her back. “How about the necklace?” I asked. “Do you need help with that?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ve got it,” she said. “It’s a little tricky.”

You’re telling me…

I waited for her to turn around to face me again. Instead, she headed for her walk-in closet. “I’ll be right back,” she said over her shoulder.

Sadira closed the door behind her. And like that, she was gone. So much for not letting her out of my sight. I couldn’t see her or anything she was doing.