Patterson, James - Alex Cross 2 - Kiss the Girls

Watching Kate, I thought that she looked almost luminescent. She was back in good form. Her face was close to the way it had been, except for the dent. “It's my stubborn streak,” she told me, “and it's permanent until the day I die.” It was an idyllic time in many ways. Everything seemed just right for us. Kate and I felt that we both deserved a holiday, and much more.

We ate breakfast together every morning on a porch made from long gray planks, which overlooked the shimmering Atlantic. (I made breakfast on my mornings to cook; Kate went to the Nags Head Market and brought home sticky buns and Bavarian cream doughnuts on her days.) We went for long, long walks along the shoreline. We surf-cast for blues, and cooked the fresh fish right there on the beach. Sometimes, we just watched the shiny boats patrolling the water. We took a day trip to watch the crazy-ass hang gliders off the high dunes in Jockey's Ridge State Park.

We waited on Casanova. We were daring him to come after us. So far he wasn't interested, at least he didn't seem to be.

I thought of the book and movie The Prince of Tides. Kate and I were a little bit like Tom Wingo and Susan Lowenstein, only mixed together in a different, though equally complex, way. Lowenstein had brought out Tom Wingo's need to feel and give love, I remembered. Kate and I were learning everything about each other, the important things and we were both quick learners.

Early one August morning, we waded into the clear, deep blue water in front of the house. Most of the beach community wasn't up yet. A lone brown pelican was skimming the water.

We held hands above the low waves. Everything was picture-postcard perfect. So why was I feeling as if there were a gaping hole where my heart ought to be? Why was I still obsessed with Casanova?

“You're thinking bad thoughts, aren't you?” Kate bumped me hard with her hip. “You're on vacation. Think vacation thoughts.” “Actually, I was thinking very good thoughts, but they made me feel bad,” I told her.

“I know that crazy-ass song,” she said. She gave me a hug, to reassure me that we were in this thing together, whatever it was that we were in.

“Let's take a run. I'll race you to Coquina Beach,” she said. “Ready, set, prepare yourself to lose.” We started to jog. Kate showed no signs of a limp. The pace picked up. She was so strong in all ways. We both were. At the end, we were running nearly full-out and we collapsed in a wall of silver-blue surf.

I didn't want to lose Kate, I was thinking as I ran. I didn't want this to end. I didn't know what to do about it.

On a warm, breezy Saturday night, Kate and I lay on an old Indian blanket on the beach. We were talking on half a hundred subjects at one sitting. We had already feasted on roast Carolina duckling with blackberry sauce that we'd made together. Kate had on a sweatshirt that read: Trust me, I'm a doctor.

“I don't want this to end, either,” Kate said with a heavy sigh. Then, “Alex, let's talk about some of the reasons we both believe this has to end.” I shook my head and smiled at her characteristic directness. “Oh, this will never really end, Kate. We'll always have this time. It's one of those special treasures you get every once in a while in life.” Kate grabbed and held my arm with both her hands. Her deep brown eyes were intense. “Then why does it have to end here?” We both knew some, though not all, of the reasons.

"We're too much alike. We're both obsessively analytical. We're both so logical that we know the half-dozen reasons this won't work out.

We're stubborn and we're strong-willed. Eventually, we would go boom," I said in a half-teasing tone.

“Sounds like the old self-fulfilling prophecy to me,” Kate said.

We both knew I was telling the truth, though. Sad truth? Is there such a thing? I guess that there is.

“We just might go boom,” Kate said, and she smiled sweetly. “Then we couldn't even be friends. I couldn't stand the idea of losing you as my friend. That's still part of it for me. I can't risk a big loss yet.” “We're both physically too strong. We'd kill each other eventually, Nidan,” I told her. I was trying to lighten things up.

She squeezed me a little tighter. “Don't make jokes about it. Don't make me laugh, damn you, Alex. I want this to be our sad time at least. It's so sad I might cry. Now I am. See that?” “It is sad,” I said to Kate. “It's the saddest thing.” We lay on the scratchy wool beach blanket and held each other until the morning. We slept under the stars and listened to the steady beat of the Atlantic. Everything seemed gently touched with the brush of eternity that night on the Outer Banks. Well, almost everything.

Kate turned to me in between catnaps, in between dreams. “Alex, is he coming after us again? He is, isn't he?” I didn't know for sure, but that was the plan.

Alex Cross 2 - Kiss the Girls

CHAPTER 121.

TICK-COCK.

Tick-cock.

Tick-cock.

He was still obsessed with Kate Mctiernan, only it was much more disturbing and complex than just the fate of Doctor Kate now. She and Alex Cross had conspired to ruin his unique creation, his precious and very private art, his life as it had been. Nearly everything that he'd ever loved was gone now, or in disarray. It was time for a comeback.

Time to show them once and for all. Time to show his true face.

Casanova realized that he missed his “best friend” above all else. That was proof that he was sane, after all. He could love; he could feel things. He had watched in disbelief as Alex Cross shot down Will Rudolph on the streets of Chapel Hill. Rudolph had been worth ten Alex Crosses, and now Rudolph was dead.

Rudolph had been a rare genius. Will Rudolph was Jekyll and Hyde, but only Casanova had been able to appreciate both sides of his personality. He remembered their years together, and couldn't put them out of his thoughts anymore. They had both understood that exquisite pleasure intensified the more it was forbidden. That was a ruling principle behind the hunts, the collection of bright, beautiful, talented women, and eventually the long string of murders. The unbelievable, matchless thrill of breaking society's sacred taboos, of living out elaborate fantasies, was absolutely irresistible. These were pleasures not to be believed.

So were the hunts themselves: the choosing, observing, and taking of beautiful women and their most personal possessions.

But now Rudolph was gone. Casanova understood that he wasn't merely alone; he was suddenly afraid to be alone. He felt as if he'd been cut in half. He had to take control again. That's what he was doing now.

He had to give Alex Cross some credit. Cross had come close to catching him. He wondered if Cross knew how close? Alex Cross was obsessed: that was his edge on all the others in the chase. Cross would never give up, not until he was killed.

Cross had set up this delicious little trap in Nags Head for him, hadn't he? Of course he had. Cross had figured that he would come after him and Kate Mctiernan, anyway, so why not have it happen under controlled circumstances? Why not, indeed.

It was almost a full moon the night he arrived at the Outer Banks.

Casanova could make out two men in the tall, wavering dune grass up ahead. They were the FBI agents assigned to watch over Cross and Dr. Kate. The hand-picked guardians.

He flicked on his flashlight so that two of them would see him coming.

Yes, he could fit in anywhere. That was just part of his genius, though, just a small part of his act.

When he got within voice range, Casanova called out to the agents. “Yo, it's only me.” He tilted the flashlight upward to expose his face. He let them see him, see who he was.