Jack & Jill (Alex Cross 3)
“Can I take your tie off, tasteful as it is?” she asked.
“I think that ties should be done away with altogether,” he answered.
“No, ties definitely have a place. First Communions, funerals, coronations.”
Natalie was standing very close to him. She could be so sweetly, gently seductive—and that was sad. He liked her more than he’d thought he would. Once upon a time, she had probably been the simple Midwestern beauty she now half pretended to be. He had felt nothing but revulsion for Daniel Fitzpatrick, but he felt a great deal tonight. Guilt, regret, second thoughts, compassion. The hardest thing was killing up close like this.
“How about white pima cotton shirts? Are you a white-shirt man?” Natalie asked.
“Don’t like white shirts at all. White shirts are for funerals and coronations. And charity balls.”
“I agree a thousand percent with that sentiment,” Natalie said as she slowly unbuttoned his white shirt. He let her fingers do the walking. They trailed down to his belt. Teasing. Expert at this. She rubbed her palm across his crotch, then quickly took her hand away.
“How about high heels?” Natalie asked.
“Actually, I like those on the right occasion, and on the right woman,” he said. “But I like going barefoot, too.”
“Nicely put. Give a girl her choice. I like that.”
She kicked off just one black slingback, then laughed at her joke. A choice—one shoe on, one off.
“Silk dresses?” she whispered against his neck. He was rock-hard now. His breathing was labored. So was Natalie’s. He considered making love to her first. Was that fair game? Or was it rape? Natalie had managed to confuse the issue for him.
“I can do without those, depending on the occasion, of course,” he whispered back.
“Mmm. We seem to agree on a lot of things.”
Natalie Sheehan slid out of her dress. Then she was in her blue lacy underwear, one shoe, black stockings. Around her neck was a thin gold chain and cross that looked as if it had come with her all the way from Ohio.
Jack still had his trousers on. But no white shirt, no tie. “Can we go in there?” she whispered, indicating the bedroom. “It’s really nice in there. Same view, only with a fireplace. The fireplace even works. Something actually works in Washington.”
“Okay. Well, let’s start a fire, then.”
Jack picked her up as if she weighed nothing, as if they were both elegant dancers, which in a way they were. He didn’t want to care about her, but he did. He forced the thought out of his mind. He couldn’t think like that, like a schoolboy, a Pollyanna, a normal human being.
“Strong, too. Hmmm,” she sighed, finally kicking off the other shoe.
The picture window in the bedroom was astonishing to behold. The view was north up Sixteenth Street. The streets and Scott Circle below were like a lovely and expensive necklace, jewelry by Harry Winston or Tiffany. Something Princess Di might wear.
Jack had to remind himself that he was stalking Natalie. Nothing must stop this from happening now. The final decision had been made. The die was cast. Literally.
He forced himself not to be sentimental. Just like that! He could be so cold, and so good at this.
He thought about throwing the high-spirited and beautiful newswoman through the plate glass window of her bedroom. He wondered if she would crash through or just bounce back off the glass.
Instead, he set Natalie down gently on a bed covered with an Amish quilt. He pulled out handcuffs from his jacket pocket.
He let her see them.
Natalie Sheehan frowned, her blue eyes widening in disbelief. She seemed to deflate, to depress, right before his eyes.
“Is this some kind of joke?” She was angry with him, but she was also hurt. She figured he was a freak, and she was right beyond her wildest nightmares.
His voice was very low. “No, this isn’t a joke. This is very serious, Natalie. You might say that it’s newsworthy.”
There was a sudden and very sharp knock at the door to the demi-apartment. He held up a finger for Natalie to be quiet, very quiet.
Her eyes showed confusion, genuine fear, an uncustomary loss of her cool demeanor.