Along Came a Spider (Alex Cross 1)
“That bartender left about ten seconds after we did. He’s home in his bed already.”
We’d reached the Du Pont’s third floor. There was a gentle bend in the hallway. Ornate signs on the wall listed room numbers and their direction. A
few guests had their shoes out to be shined overnight.
“I’m three eleven.” Jezzie pulled a white card-key from the pocket of her jacket.
“I’m in three thirty-four. Time to call it a night. Start fresh in the morning.”
Jezzie smiled and she looked into my eyes. For the first time that I could remember, neither of us had anything to say.
I took her into my arms, and held her gently. We kissed in the hallway. I hadn’t kissed anyone like that in a while. I wasn’t sure who had started the kiss, actually.
“You’re very beautiful,” I whispered as our lips drew apart. The words just came out. Not my best effort, but the truth.
Jezzie smiled and shook her head. “My lips are too puffy and big. I look like I was dropped face-first as a kid. You’re the good-looking one. You look like Muhammad Ali.”
“Sure. I do. After he took too many punches.”
“A few punches, maybe. To add character. Just the right number of hard knocks. Your smile’s nice, too. Smile for me, Alex.”
I kissed those puffy lips again. They were perfect as far as I could tell.
There’s a lot of myth about black men desiring white women; about some white women wanting to experiment with black men. Jezzie Flanagan was a smart, extremely desirable woman. She was somebody I could talk to, somebody I wanted to be around.
And there we were, snuggled in each other’s arms at around three in the morning. We’d both had a little too much to drink, but not a lot too much. No myths involved. Just two people alone, in a strange town, on a very strange night in both of our lives.
I wanted to be held by somebody right then. I think Jezzie did, too. The look in her eyes was sweet and comfortable. But there was also a brittleness that night. There was a network of tiny red veins in the corners of her eyes. Maybe she could still see Soneji/Murphy, too. We’d been so close to getting him. Only a half step behind this time.
I studied Jezzie’s face in a way I couldn’t have before, and never thought that I would. I ran a finger lightly over her cheeks. Her skin was soft and smooth. Her blond hair was like silk between my fingers. Her perfume was subtle, like wildflowers.
A phrase drifted through my head. Don’t start anything you can’t finish.
“Well, Alex?” Jezzie said, and she raised an eyebrow. “This is a knotty problem, isn’t it?”
“Not for two smart cops like us,” I said to her.
We took the soft left turn down the hotel hallway—and headed toward room 311.
“Maybe we should think twice about this,” I said as we walked.
“Maybe I already have,” Jezzie whispered back.
CHAPTER 41
AT ONE-THIRTY in the morning, Gary Soneji/Murphy walked out of a Motel 6 in Reston, Virginia. He caught his reflection in a glass door.
The new Gary—the Gary du jour—looked back at him. Black pompadour and a grungy beard; dusty shit-kicker’s clothes. He knew he could play this part. Put on an Old Dixie drawl. For as long as he needed to, anyway. Not too long. Don’t anybody blink.
Gary got into the battered VW and started to drive. He was completely wired. He loved this part of the plan more than he loved his life. He couldn’t separate the two anymore. This was the most daring part of the entire adventure. Real high-wire stuff.
Why was he so revved? he wondered as his mind drifted. Just because half the police and FBI bastards in the continental U.S.A. were out looking for him?
Because he’d kidnapped two rich brats and one had died? And the other—Maggie Rose? He didn’t even want to think about that—what had really happened to her.
Darkness slowly changed to a soft gray velvet. He fought the urge to step on the gas and keep it floored. An orangish tinge of morning finally arrived as he drove through Johnstown, Pennsylvania.
He stopped at a 7-Eleven in Johnstown. He got out and stretched his legs. Checked how he looked in the VW Bug’s dangling sideview mirror.