Kiss the Girls (Alex Cross 2)

ris exclaimed. He was an associate at a prestigious law office in Raleigh. Not exactly Mitch McDeere in The Firm—no German-made convertible to sign on—but a good start on his lawyering career.

“Unfortunately, I have a paper on contracts due Monday.” Anna grimaced. She was in her third year of law school. “Plus, it’s for the sadist Stacklum.”

“Not tonight, Anna Banana. Screw Stacklum. Better still, screw me.”

“Thank you for bringing home the vino.” Anna finally smiled. Her white teeth were dazzling.

Chris and Anna were good for each other. Everyone said so, all their lawyer pals. They complemented each other, had pretty much the same worldview, and, most of all, were smart enough not to try to change each other. Chris was obsessive about his job. Okay, fine. Anna needed to go antiquing at least twice a month. She spent her own money as if there were no tomorrow. That was okay, too.

“I think this wine needs to breathe a little while longer,” Anna said with an impish grin. “Uhm, while we’re waiting.” She slipped down the straps of a white lace demibra. She’d purchased the bra and matching lace strip at Victoria’s Secret in the mall.

“Yep. Thank God, it’s the weekend,” said Chris Chapin.

The two of them fell into an all-purpose embrace, playfully undressing each other, kissing, caressing, losing themselves in the sexy moment.

In the middle of their lovemaking, Anna Miller had a strange feeling.

She sensed that someone else was in the bedroom. She pulled away from Chris.

Someone was standing at the foot of the bed!

He was wearing a grimly painted mask. Red and yellow dragons. Fierce ones. Angry and grotesque figures that appeared to be clawing at one another.

“Who the hell are you? What are you?” Chris said in a frightened voice. He searched for the ball bat they kept under the bed and found the bat handle. “Hey, I asked you a fucking question.”

The intruder growled like a wild animal.

“Well here’s a fucking answer.” Casanova’s right arm came up holding a Luger. He fired once, and a large red hole opened in Chris Chapin’s forehead. The young lawyer’s naked body slammed back against the bed’s headboard. The ball bat in his hand dropped to the floor.

Casanova moved quickly. He whipped out a second gun, and shot Anna in the chest with his stunner.

“I’m sorry about this,” he whispered softly as he carried her from the bed. “I’m so sorry. But I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”

Anna Miller was Casanova’s next great love.

CHAPTER 48

A DIZZYING medical mystery began the following morning. Everyone at North Carolina University Hospital was baffled, especially me.

Kate McTiernan had begun to talk very early that morning. I wasn’t there, but apparently Kyle Craig was in her room at daybreak. Unfortunately, our valuable witness was making no sense to anyone.

The highly intelligent intern raved incoherently throughout most of the morning. She seemed to be psychotic at times, and almost as if she were speaking in tongues. She experienced tremors, convulsions, and signs of abdominal and muscle cramps, according to the hospital write-up reports.

I visited with her late that afternoon. There was still concern that she had suffered brain damage. Most of the time I was in her room, she was quiet and unresponsive. Once, when she tried to speak, only a terrifying scream came out.

The doctor in charge came by the room while I was in there. We had already talked a couple of times that day. Dr. Maria Ruocco wasn’t interested in withholding important information about her patient from me. She was extremely helpful and nice, in fact. Dr. Ruocco said she wanted to help catch whoever, or whatever, had done this to the young intern.

I suspected that Kate McTiernan believed she was still being held captive. As I watched her struggle against unseen forces, I sensed that she was a terrific fighter. I found myself rooting for her in the hospital room.

I volunteered to sit with Kate McTiernan for long stretches. Nobody fought me for hospital-surveillance duty. Maybe she would say something, though. A phrase, or even a single word, might become an important clue in the hunt for Casanova. All we needed was one clue to mobilize everything.

“You’re safe now, Kate,” I whispered every so often. She didn’t seem to hear me, but I kept it up, anyway.

I got an idea, an irresistible notion, around nine-thirty that night. The team of doctors assigned to Kate McTiernan had already left for the day. I needed to tell someone, so I called the FBI and persuaded them to let me call Dr. Maria Ruocco at her home near Raleigh.

“Alex, are you still there at the hospital?” Dr. Ruocco asked when she got on the phone. She seemed more surprised than angry about the nocturnal call to her house. I had already spoken with her at great length during the day. We had both gone to Johns Hopkins and we talked a little about our backgrounds. She was very interested in the Soneji case and had read my book.

“I was sitting here obsessing as usual. I was trying to figure out how he kept his victims subdued.” I began to tell Maria Ruocco my theory, and what I had already done about it. “I figured he might drug them, and maybe he used something sophisticated. I called your lab for the results from Kate McTiernan’s toxic screen. They found Marinol in her urine.”