Violets Are Blue (Alex Cross 7)

“That sounds like cheap-shot female chauvinism to me,” he grunted, but he was grinning, showing off some of the whitest teeth she had ever seen, or run her tongue across.

Martha kicked her pace up a notch. She’d been a cross-country star at Pepperdine University and she was still in great shape. “And that sounds like the beginnings of a gracious loser’s speech,” she said.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we? Loser buys at the Abbey.”

“I can already taste a Dos Equis. Mmm-mmm good.”

Suddenly the two runners’ playful exchange was interrupted by a much louder growl. It was closer too.

It didn’t seem possible that a dog had covered so much ground so f

ast. Maybe there were a couple of Big Dawgs loose in the area.

“There aren’t any cats in this park?” David asked. “I mean, like a mountain lion variety of cats?”

“No. Of course not. Get real, pal. We’re in San Francisco, not the middle of Montana.” Martha shook her head. Moisture jumped off her close-cropped reddish-brown hair. Then she thought she heard footsteps. A runner and a large dog?

“Let’s get out of these woods, okay?” Davis asked.

“I hear you. I don’t necessarily disagree. Last one to the parking lot is dog chow.”

“Not funny, Lieutenant Martha. Bad joke. This is getting a little spooky.”

“I don’t know about big cats around these parts, but I think I just spotted a little pussy.”

Another loud growl—and it was really close. Right on the heels of the two of them. Gaining ground fast.

“C’mon! Let’s go. Let’s move it,” said Martha Wiatt. She was a little afraid now, running as fast as she could, and that was very fast.

Another eerie growl pierced the gathering fog.

Chapter 3

LIEUTENANT MARTHA Wiatt had definitely picked up her pace. The distance between her and Davis was growing. She did triathlons for fun. He worked behind a desk, though, God knows, he certainly looked good for an accountant.

“C’mon, c’mon. Keep up with me, Davis. Don’t fall back,” she called over her shoulder.

Her boyfriend for the past year didn’t answer. Well, that settled any future debate about who was in better shape, who was the real athlete. Of course, Martha had known that all along.

The sounds of the next growl and also heavy footsteps crushing leaves were even closer. They were catching up to her.

But what was catching up to her?

“Martha! There’s something behind me. Oh, God! Run! Run, Martha!” Davis shouted. “Get the hell out of here!”

Adrenaline charged through her. She pushed her head in front of her body as if she were trying for an invisible finish line. Her arms and legs moved in sync like efficient pistons. She leaned her weight forward, the way all good runners do.

She heard more screams behind her. She looked back—but she couldn’t see Davis anymore. The screams were so terrifying that she almost stopped running. But Davis had been attacked by something vicious. Martha rationalized that she had to get help. The police. Somebody.

Her boyfriend’s screams were ringing in her ears and she was running in total panic, not aware of where she was going. She stumbled over a pointy rock and cartwheeled down a steep hill. Martha crashed into the base of a small tree, but at least it stopped her fall.

In a daze, she managed to pull herself up. Jesus, she was pretty sure she’d broken her right arm. Cradling it with the left, she ran forward in a clumsy stumble.

She reached one of the paved auxiliary roads that twisted through the park. Davis’s screams had stopped. What had happened to him? She had to get help.

She saw a pair of headlights approaching and Martha ran out into the middle of the road. She straddled the double center line and felt like a total madwoman. For God’s sake, this was San Francisco.

“Please stop, please stop. Hey! Hey! Hey!” She waved her good arm and shouted at the top of her voice. “Stop! I need help!”