James Patterson - Roses Are Red

My heart was beating wildly as I hurried down the flight of stairs. My gun was at the ready. I lowered my head and took a good look around. Jesus!

I saw them as soon as I cleared the wooden overhang. I felt the adrenaline spike.

"I'm Detective Cross. I'm the police!"

The wife and the baby girl were there. The mother was bound and gagged with black tape over different colored cloths. Her eyes were wide and as bright as searchlights. The baby had black tape over her mouth. The infant's chest was heaving with silent sobs.

They were alive, though. No one had been hurt either here or at the bank.

Why was that?

The pattern had changed!

"What's going on down there? You all right, Alex?" I heard Kyle Craig call. I flashed the light up and saw Kyle and Agent Cavalierre standing at the top of the stairs.

"They're here. They're safe. Everyone's alive."

What in hell was going on?

The Mastermind what a quaint, totally absurd name. It was almost perverse. He liked it for just that reason.

He actually watched the scene at the bank manager's house and he felt as if he were standing outside of his own body. He remembered an old TV show from his youth: You Are There. He was, wasn't he.

He found it quite thrilling to see the FBI technicians enter the house with their magic black boxes. He knew all about them, the VCU, or Violent Crime Unit.

He closely observed the somber, serious-faced agents come and go.

Then the Rosslyn police arrived en masse. Half a dozen squad cars with their turret lights blazing. Sort of pretty.

Finally, he saw Detective Alex Cross leave the house. Cross was tall and well built. He was in his early forties, resembled the fighter Muhammad All at his best. Cross's face wasn't flat, though. His brown eyes sparkled constantly. He was better-looking, actually, than Ali had ever been.

Cross was one of his prime opponents, and this was a fight to the death, wasn't it. It was an intensive battle of wits, but even more than that, a battle of wills.

The Mastermind was confident that he would win against Cross. If anything, this was a mismatch. The Mastermind always won, didn't he? And yet, he felt a little unsure. Cross exuded confidence too, and that made him angry. How dare he? Who did the detective think he was?

He watched the house for a while longer, and knew it was perfectly safe for him to be there.

Perfectly safe.

On a numerical scale of 9.9999 out of 10.

He had a crazy thought then, and he knew where it came from.

– -r

When he was just a boy, he absolutely loved cowboy-and-Indian movies and TV shows. He always rooted for the Indians. And he particularly loved one extraordinary trick that they had they would sneak into an enemy's camp and simply touch the enemy while he slept. It was called, he believed, counting coup. The Mastermind wanted to count coup on Alex Cross.

As soon as we knew that everyone in the house was safe, I called St. Anthony's Hospital to check on Jannie. Guilt, paranoia, and duty were all pulling hard at me. The furies had me in a terrible vise. The bank manager's family was safe. What about my own?

I was put in contact with the nurses' station on Jannie's floor. I spoke to an RN, Julietta Newton, who sometimes stopped by Jannie's room when I came to visit. Julietta reminded me of an old friend, a nurse who had died the year before, Nina Childs.

"This is Alex Cross. I'm sorry to bother you, Julietta, but I'm trying to reach my grandmother. Or my daughter, Jannie."

"Nana isn't on the floor at the moment," the nurse told me. "Jannie just went down for an MRL A spot was available and Dr. Petito wanted her to take it. Your grandmother accompanied her downstairs."

"I'm on my way. Is Jannie all right?"

The nurse hesitated, then she spoke. "She had another seizure, Detective. She's stabilized, though."

I rushed back to the hospital from Rosslyn and got there in about fifteen minutes. I hurried down to B-l and found an area marked DIAGNOSTIC TESTING. It was late, almost ten o'clock. No one was at the front desk, so I walked right past and down a light blue corridor that looked eerie and foreboding at that time of night.

As I approached a room with COMPUTERIZED TOMOGRAPHY and MRI lettered on the door, a technician appeared from a doorway across the hall. He startled me I was walking in a fog. Thinking, worrying about Jannie.

"Can I help you? Are you supposed to be down here, sir?"

"I'm Jannie Cross's father. I'm Detective Cross. She's having an MRI. She had a seizure tonight."

The man nodded. "She's down here. I'll show you the way. I believe she's about halfway through the test. Our last patient for the night."

The hospital tech showed me into the MRI room where Nana was sitting vigil. She was trying to keep up a calm exterior, trying to maintain her usual self-control. For once, it wasn't working. I saw the fear lighting up her eyes, or maybe I was projecting my own feelings.

I looked over at the MRI machine and it was state-of-the-art. It was more open and less restraining than others I'd seen. I'd had two MRIs, so I knew the drill. Jannie would be lying flat inside. Her head would be immobilized on either side by' sandbags "The image of Jannie alone inside the imposing machine was disturbing. But so was her third seizure in two days.

"Can she hear us?" I asked.

Nana cupped her hands to her ears. "She's listening to music in there. But you can hold her hand, Alex. She knows your touch."

I reached out and took one of Jannie's hands. I squeezed gently, and she squeezed back. She knew it was me.

"What happened while I was gone?" I asked Nana.

"We were lucky, so lucky," she said. "Dr. Petito stopped by on his rounds. He was talking to Jannie when she had another grand mal. He ordered the MRI, and they had an opening for her. Actually, they stayed open for her."

I sat down because I needed to. It had been a long and stressful day and it wasn't over yet. My heart was still racing, so was my head. The rest of my body was struggling to catch up.

"Don't start blaming yourself," Nana told me. "Like I said, we're very lucky. The best doctor in the hospital was right there in her room."

"I'm not blaming anybody," I muttered, knowing it wasn't true.

Nana frowned. "If you had been there during the seizure, she'd still be here having the MRI. And in case you think it could have been the boxing, Dr. Petito said there's almost no chance. The contact was too minimal. It's something else, Alex."

That was exactly what I was afraid of. We waited for the test to be over and it was a long hard wait. Finally, Jannie slowly slid out of the machine. Her little face brightened when she saw me.

"Fugees," she said, then took off the earphones for me to hear. "Killing me softly with his song." She sang along with the music. "Hello, Daddy. You said you'd come back. Kept your promise."

"I did." I bent down to kiss her. "How are you, sweetie?" I asked. "You feeling okay now?"

"They played some really nice music for me, "she said. 'I'm hanging in there, hanging tough. I can't wait to see the pictures of my brain, though."

Neither could I, neither could I. Dr. Petito had waited around for the pictures. He never seemed to leave the hospital. I met with him in his office at a little past eleven-thirty. I was beyond tired. We both were.

"Long day for you,” I said. Every day seemed to be like that for Petito. The neurologist had office hours starting at seven-thirty in the morning, and he was still around the hospital at nine and ten o'clock at night, sometimes later. He actually encouraged patients to call him at home if they had a problem or just got scared at night.