Violets Are Blue (Alex Cross 7)

But was it the absolute best he could do? It had to be a night he would never forget, something to savor always. A souvenir that would have great meaning to him, only to him.

There were two triangles that explained his complex relationship with Alex Cross, and he visualized them as he sat on the porch, biding his time, enjoying himself immensely. Christ, he was smiling like a damn fool. He was in his element, and he was happy, so happy.

It was such a good psychological model, so concise and clear and sound. It explained everything that was going to happen tonight. Even Dr. Cross would approve. It was the perfect dysfunctional family triangle.

Maybe he would explain it to Cross now. Just before he murdered him. He slid on plastic gloves and then plastic booties. He checked the load in his pistol. Everything was set. Then upstairs he went—the Caller, the Mastermind, Svengali, Moriarty.

He knew the Cross house very well. He didn’t even need a light. He didn’t make any unnecessary noise.

No mistakes. No evidence or clues for the local police or the FBI to follow.

What an incredible way this was for Cross and his family to die. What a coup. What a chilling idea. The “killing order” was starting to come to him as he climbed the stairs. Yes, he was sure of it.

Little Alex

Jannie

Damon

Nana

then Cross

He walked to the end of the upstairs hallway and stood there listening before he opened the bedroom door. Not a sound. He slowly pushed on the door.

What was this? A surprise? Christ!

He didn’t like surprises. He liked precision and order. He liked to be in total control.

The young daughter, Jannie, was sitting by Cross’s bed, fast asleep. Watching over her father, protecting him from harm.

He watched Cross and the girl for a long moment, maybe ninety seconds. A small night-light had been left on in the room.

There were thick bandages on Cross’s hand and shoulder. He was perspiring in his sleep. He was wounded, sick, not himself, not a worthy opponent. The killer sighed. He felt such disappointment, such sadness and despair.

No, no, no! This was all wrong. This wouldn’t do. It was all wrong, all wrong!

He slowly closed the bedroom door, and then he quickly, silently retraced his steps back out of the Cross house. No one would know he had been there. Not even the detective himself.

As usual, no one knew anything about him. No one suspected a thing.

He was the Mastermind, after all.

Chapter 55

I WOKE several times during the night. I thought someone was in the house at one point. I felt someone there. Nothing I could do about it, though.

Then I woke again after fourteen hours in bed, and found that I was actually feeling better. I could almost think straight again. Exhaustion still had a hold on me, though. All my joints ached. My eyesight was blurry. I could hear music playing softly in the house. Erykah Badu, one of my favorites.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and I said, “I’m decent. Who goes there?”

Jannie pushed open the door. She was holding a red plastic tray with a breakfast of poached eggs, hot cereal, orange juice, and a mug of steaming coffee. She was smiling, obviously proud of herself. I smiled back at her. That’s my girl. What a little sweetheart she was—when she wanted to be.

“I don’t know if you can eat yet, Daddy. I brought you some breakfast. Just in case.”

“Thank you, sweetie. I’m feeling a little better,” I said. I was able to push myself up in bed, then to prop a few pillows behind me with my good hand.

Jannie carried the tray over to the bed and carefully set it on my lap. She leaned in and kissed my fuzzy cheek. “Somebody needs a shave.”