Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross 1)

Jezzie sat down next to Devine on the couch. He was definitely sexy and he knew it. He had Paul Newman’s looks, minus the unbearably beautiful blue eyes. He also liked women, and it showed.

“I shouldn’t be here, Michael. We shouldn’t be together now.” Jezzie rubbed her head against his shoulder. She gently kissed his cheek, his nose. She felt like doing anything but cuddling up with him now. But she could do it if she had to. She could do whatever it took.

“Yeah, you should be here, Jezzie. What good is all this money if we can’t spend it, and we can’t be together.”

“I seem to remember a few days down at the lake recently. Did I imagine that?”

“To hell with stolen moments. Come to Florida with me.”

Jezzie kissed his throat. He was clean-shaven and he always smelled nice. She unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hand in. Then she let her fingers graze the lump in his trousers. She was on automatic control now. Whatever it took.

“We might have to get rid of Alex Cross. I’m serious,” he said in a whisper. “You hear me, Jezzie?”

She knew he was testing her, trying to get a reaction. “It’s a serious thing to say. Let me work on it a little. I’ll find out what Alex knows. Be patient.”

“You’re fucking him, Jezzie. That’s why you’re patient.”

“No, I’m not.”

She was undoing his belt, being a little clumsy with her left hand. She needed to keep him in line for a while longer.

“How do I know you haven’t fallen for Alex Cross?” he persisted.

“Because, Michael, I’m in love with you.” She pushed closer to Devine and held him. He was easy to fool. They all were. All she had to do now was wait out the FBI, and they were home free. Perfect. The crime of the century.

CHAPTER 80

I WAS ASLEEP when I got the call at four in the morning. A devastated Wallace Hart was on the line. He was calling from Fallston, where he had a serious problem on his hands.

An hour later I was at the prison. I was one of four privileged insiders secreted in Wallace’s cramped, over-heated office.

The press hadn’t been told about the sensational escape yet. They had to be alerted soon—there was no getting around that. They’d have a field day with the news flash that Soneji/Murphy was back on the loose.

Wallace Hart was slumped over his paper-littered desk as if he’d been gut-shot. The others in the office were the prison warden and the prison’s attorney.

“What do you know about this missing guard?” I asked Wallace at the first opportunity.

“His name’s Fishenauer. Thirty-six years old. He’s been at the prison eleven years with a good service record,” said Hart. “Until today, he did his job.”

“What’s your best guess? Is this guard Gary’s latest hostage?” I asked Wallace.

“I don’t think so. I think the son-of-a-bitch bastard helped Soneji escape.”

That same morning, the FBI set up round-the-clock surveillance on Michael Devine and Charles Chakely. One theory was that Soneji/Murphy might come after them. He knew that they had screwed up his master plan.

The body of prison guard Robert Fishenauer was found in a dilapidated garage on the abandoned farm in Crisfield, Maryland. A twenty-dollar bill was stuffed into his mouth. The bill was not part of the Florida ransom money.

The usual rumors of Soneji/Murphy “sightings” went on throughout the day. Nothing came of them.

Soneji/Murphy was out there somewhere, laughing at us, probably howling in some dark cellar. He was back on the front page of every newspaper in the country. Just the way Gary liked it. The number-one Bad Boy of all time.

I drove to Jezzie’s apartment that night around six. I didn’t want to go over there. My stomach wasn’t doing too well. My head was in even worse shape. I had to warn her that Soneji/Murphy might have her on his list, especially if he’d connected Jezzie with Devine and Chakely. I had to warn Jezzie, without telling her everything else I knew.

As I climbed the familiar, redbrick porch stairs, I could hear rock music playing inside the house, making the walls tremble. It was Bonnie Raitt’s Taking My Time album. Bonnie was wailing “I Gave My Love a Candle.”

Jezzie and I had played the Bonnie Raitt tape over and over at her lake cabin. Maybe she was thinking of me that night. I’d been doing a lot of thinking about Jezzie the past few days.

I rang the bell, and Jezzie opened the screen door. She was wearing her usual attire: a wrinkled T-shirt, cutoffs, thongs. She smiled and looked glad to see me. So calm, cool, and collected. My stomach was knotted up tight. The rest of me was very cold. I knew what I had to do now. At least I thought I did.