Patterson, James - Alex Cross 3 - Jack and Jill

He tried to look pleasantly surprised that she would remain talking with him. He could play parlor games as well as anyone -- when he had to, when he wanted to.

“If I might be just a little bold,” he said, “would you consider the two of us cutting back together?” His very natural and unassuming smile undercut the forward-sounding line. It was a come-on just the same. There was no disguising that. Natalie Sheehan's answer was tremendously important, to both of them.

She stared at him, slightly taken aback. He'd completely blown it, he thought. Or maybe she was acting now.

Then Natalie Sheehan laughed. It was a hearty laugh, almost raucous. He was sure that no one in America had ever heard it in her prim and proper role as a network television reporter.

Poor Natalie, Jack thought. Number two.

NATALIE TOOK another margarita for the trip home. “A roadie,” she told him and laughed that deep, wonderful laugh of hers again.

“I learned how to party a little bit at St. Catherine's Academy in Cleveland. Then at Ohio State,” she confided as they walked to the garage under the Pension Building. She was trying to show him that she was different from her television persona. Looser, more fun. He got that much, got the message. He even liked her for it. He was noticing that her usually crisp and exact enunciation was just a little off now. She probably thought it was sexy, and she was right. She was actually very nice, very down-to-earth, which surprised him a little.

They took her' car, as Jill had accurately predicted. Natalie drove the silverblue Dodge Stealth a little too fast. All the while she talked rapid-fire, too, but kept it interesting: GATT, Boris Yeltsin's drinking problems, D.C. real estate, campaign-financing reform. She showed herself to be intelligent, informed, high-spirited, and only slightly neurotic about the ongoing struggle between men and women.

“Where are we going?” he finally thought he should ask. He already knew the answer, of course. The Jefferson Hotel.

Natalie's honey trap in D.C. Her place.

“Oh, to my laboratory,” she said. “Why, are you nervous?”

“No. Well, maybe a little nervous,” he said and laughed. It was the truth.

She brought him upstairs to her private office in the Jefferson Hotel on Sixteenth Street. Two beautiful rooms and a spacious bath overlooked downtown. He knew that she also had a house in Old Town Alexandria. Jill had visited there. Just in case.

Just to be thorough. Measure twice. Measure five times, if necessary.

“This place is my treat for myself. A special spot where I can work right here in the city,” she told him. "Isn't the view breathtaking?

It makes you feel as if you own the whole city It does for me, anyway"

“I see what you mean. I love Washington myself,” Jack said.

For a moment he was lost, peering off into the distance. He did love this city and what it was supposed to represent -- at least, he had once upon a time. He still remembered his very first visit here. He had been a marine private, twenty years old. The Soldier.

He quietly surveyed her workspace. Laptop computer, Canon Bubblejet, two VCRs, gold Emmy, pocket OAG. Fresh-cut flowers in a pink vase beside a black ceramic bowl filled with foreign pocket change.

Natalie Sheehan, this is your life. Kind of impressive; kind of sad; kind of over.

Natalie stopped and looked at him closely, almost as if she were seeing him for the first time. "You're very nice, aren't you?

You strike me as being a very genuine person. The genuine article, as they say, or used to say You're a nice guy, aren't you, Scott Cookson?"

“Not really,” he shrugged. He rolled his sparkling blue eyes and an engaging little half-smile appeared. He was good at this: getting the girl -- if it was necessary. Actually, though, under normal circumstances, he never ran around. He was at heart a one-woman guy

“Nobody's really nice in Washington, right? Not after you've lived here for a while,” he said and continued to smile.

“I suppose that's true. I guess that's basically accurate,” she snorted out a raucous laugh, then laughed again. At herself? He could see that Natalie was disappointed a little in his answer.

She wanted, or maybe she needed, something genuine in her life. Well, so did he; and this was it." The game was exquisite, and it was definitely the genuine article. It was so important. It was history. And it was happening right now in this Jefferson Hotel suite.

This irresistible, dangerous game he was playing, this was his life. It was something with meaning, and he felt fulfilled. No, he felt, for the first time in years.

“Hi there, Scott Cookson. Did we lose you for a see?”

"No, no. I'm right here. I'm a here-and-now kind of person.

Just admiring the wonderful view you have here. Washington in the wee hours."

“It's our view for tonight. Yours and mine.”

Natalie made the first physical move, which was also as he had predicted and was therefore reassuring to him.

She came up close to him, from behind. She placed her long slender arms around his chest, bracelets jangling. It was extremely nice. She was highly desirable, almost overpoweringly so, and she knew it. He felt himself become aroused, become extremely hard down the left side of his trousers. That kind of arousal was like a small itch compared to everything else he was feeling now. Besides, he could use it. Let her feel your excitement.

Let her touch you.

“Are you okay with this?” she asked. She actually was nice, wasn't she? Thoughtful, considerate. It was too bad, really Too late to change the plan, to switch targets. Bad luck, Natalie.

“I'm very okay with this, Natalie.”

“Can I take your tie off, tasteful as it is?” she asked.

“I think that ties should be done away with altogether,” he answered.

“No, ties definitely have a place. First Communions, funerals, coronations.”

Natalie was standing very close to him. She could be so sweetly, gently seductive- and that was sad. He liked her more than he'd thought he would. Once upon a time, she had probably been the simple Midwestern beauty she now half pretended to be. He had felt nothing but revulsion for Daniel Fitzpatrick, but he felt a great deal tonight. Guilt, regret, second thoughts, compassion. The hardest thing was killing up close like this.

“How about white pima cotton shirts? Are you a white-shirt man?” Natalie asked.

“Don't like white shirts at all. White shirts are for funerals and coronations. And charity balls.”

“I agree a thousand percent with that sentiment,” Natalie said as she slowly unbuttoned his white shirt. He let her fingers do the walking. They trailed down to his belt. Teasing. Expert at this. She rubbed her palm across his crotch, then quickly took her hand away.

“How about high heels?” Natalie asked.

“Actually, I like those on the right occasion, and on the right woman,” he said. “But I like going barefoot, too.”

“Nicely put. Give a girl her choice. I like that.”

She kicked off just one black slingback, then laughed at her joke. A choice -- one shoe on, one off.

“Silk dresses?” she whispered against his neck. He was rock-hard now. His breathing was labored. So was Natalie's. He considered making love to her first. Was that fair game? Or was it rape? Natalie had managed to confuse the issue for him.

“I can do without those, depending on the occasion, of course,” he whispered back.

“Mmm. We seem to agree on a lot of things.”

Natalie Sheehan slid out of her dress. Then she was in her blue lacy underwear, one shoe, black stockings. Around her neck was a thin gold chain and cross that looked as if it had come with her all the way from Ohio.