James Patterson - I, Alex Cross

When the door from the parking bay below opened, both of them stood up at once and started to primp.

Nicholson's body tensed as he watched Zeus stride into the room, looking like any other client with his crisp blue suit, briefcase in hand, and a tan overcoat on his arm.

Except for one thing – Zeus wore a mask. Always. Black. Like an executioner.

"Hello, ladies. Very pretty. Very nice. Are you ready for me?" he asked.

That was what he always said too.

And in the voice he always used – too deep to be his real speaking voice.

Another element of disguise.

So who was this creepy, powerful, rich bastard?

THROUGH THE NARROW peepholes in his mask, Zeus studied the two girls and thought they were gorgeous, just spectacular to look at. One was tall, with long dark hair and alabaster skin. The other was a short dark beauty who was probably Hispanic.

They had obviously been instructed not to ask about the mask, or who he might be, or anything of a personal nature.

This was good – his mood couldn't have been any better.

"I think we're going to have a good time tonight," he said. That was all they needed to know for now, and actually, he had no idea how tonight might go, only that it was completely in his control. He was, after all, Zeus.

They took his words as a cue to speak and introduced themselves as Katherine and Renata. "Can I take your coat?" Katherine asked, and somehow managed to make it sound seductive. "Get you something to drink? What would you like? We have it all."

"No, thank you. I'm fine for now." He was polite, but definitely reserved, even strange. For one thing, he never touched anything outside the bedroom. His people knew as much and would work accordingly.

"Let's go on in," he said. "You're the most beautiful girls I've seen here, by the way. I don't know which of you is prettier."

Everything in the bedroom was laid out as it should be. The windows were curtained; there was a bottle of Grey Goose vodka, a new box of latex gloves on the dresser, and nothing else – no knickknacks, no carpets, no bedding except for a fitted rubber sheet covering the mattress.

"This is interesting." Katherine sat down and ran her hand over it. "Decor by Rubbermaid."

Zeus made no comment.

He had the two girls undress first, then took off his own clothes, except the mask, folding everything onto the dresser so he could leave the club just as neat and pressed as when he'd arrived.

Finally, he opened his briefcase.

"I'm going to tie you girls up," he said. "Nothing too scary. They told you about this, correct? Good. Have either of you been handcuffed before?"

The shy one, Renata, shook her head no. The other, Katherine, put a come-fuck-me look into her eyes and nodded. "Once or twice," she said. "And you know what? I still haven't learned to be a good girl."

"Don't do that, Katherine," he told her. She looked at him as if she didn't know what he was talking about. "Don't ever playact for me. Please. Just be yourself. I can tell the difference."

Before there could be any more nonsense, he tossed a pair of cuffs onto the bed. "Put those on, please. What I'd like – I want you to share them. One cuff for each of you."

While the girls clipped the cuffs on, he slipped his hands into a pair of gloves and took out the rest of his gear: two more pairs of cuffs, a new skein of hardware store rope, two red rubber ball gags with black leather straps.

"Just lie back now," he said, and went over to Renata first. He could see something interesting now, mounting concern in her eyes, the beginning of fear.

"Give me your free hand," he said. Then he cuffed her wrist to the bedpost. "Thank you, Renata. You're very sweet. I like compliant women. It's my vice."

As he walked around to the other side, Katherine arched her back a little and widened her eyes, more vacant than scared.

"Please don't hurt us. We'll do anything you want; I promise," Katherine said.

She was getting him pissed – already. Like some cockteasing little wife. Doing her coital duty. He slapped on the last cuff and secured it to the other bedpost and started fitting the gag into her mouth before she could say any more and ruin tonight.

"I can tell you're still acting, and you're not good at it," he told her. "Now you're making me a little angry. I'm sorry. I don't like myself when I get like this. You won't either."

He tightened the strap at the back of her head. He used all of his strength, and he was a powerful man. The girl tried to say something, but it came out as a muted grunt. He'd caused her pain. Good. She deserved it.

When he stepped back, the look on Katherine's face had changed completely. She was afraid of him now. That wasn't something you could fake.

"Much better," he said. "Now, let's see if I can think of anything else to improve that performance of yours. Oh, how about these?"

He reached into his black briefcase and pulled out a Taser gun. And pliers.

"Katherine, that's wonderful. Your improvement is just outstanding. It's all in the eyes."

NICHOLSON FELT AS if he'd been drinking coffee all night instead of expensive scotch. He squinted at the headlights on Lee Highway, wishing for nothing more than a nightcap, an Ambien, and a few hours away from his own tortured thoughts.

It was done, anyway. He'd wiped the hard drive and taken the disk away with him. He'd recorded Zeus's session with the two girls. He'd witnessed the horror show. The question now was what to do with it.

It was tempting to drive around all night, put the thing in his safe-deposit box, and hopefully never go back to it again. On the other hand, he thought, if the need did arise, he'd be smart to keep it closer at hand. Just in case.

Nicholson had never indulged in the idea that this scheme of his could go on forever. The discreet club and the dirty blackmail had been a delicate balance. With Zeus in the mix, it was untenable, and the madman showed no sign of slowing down.

If Nicholson wanted out, he was going to have to disappear, and sooner rather than later.

One contingency plan after another ran through his head as he drove.

The offshore account in the Seychelles had just over two million in it. There was a hundred and fifty thousand coming from Temple Suiter, and then the Al-Hamad party next week, which promised to be good for at least as much. It was no lifetime reserve, but it was certainly enough to get him out of the country and keep him more than comfortable for a while. Definitely a couple of years, maybe longer.

He could fly through Zurich and lie low for a few weeks, until he could get a second passport. Lots of countries offered acquisition programs; Ireland might draw the least notice. Then he could use it to fly back out again, perhaps heading east. He'd always heard the trade in flesh was outrageous in Bangkok. Maybe it was time to find out.

Meanwhile, there was Charlotte.

God, what had he been thinking when he married her? That he would turn that lump of clay into something worth keeping? She'd been a little nothing of a London schoolteacher when they met; now she was a little nothing of an American housewife. It was like some kind of cruel joke – on him.

One thing was certain. Mrs. Nicholson would definitely not be making the trip east, or wherever he ended up. The only question was whether he should find someone to finish her off – just one more body at this point, and well worth the twenty or thirty thousand it would cost. Anything to keep that gob of hers from flapping after he was gone.

It was just after four a.m. when Nicholson finally got home. His mind was still racing as he came down the short, curved slope of his driveway, and he nearly rear-ended the black Jeep four-door parked right in front of the garage.