Violets Are Blue (Alex Cross 7)

I don’t think that I had fully taken in what had just happened outside. Everything felt unreal; my vision was tunneled. My nerves felt shredded and raw. Kyle Craig had been my friend. We had worked half a dozen cases together.

“Why is he outside, Alex?” Jamilla finally asked. “Why is he coming after me? I don’t understand that asshole. What did I do to him?”

I stared into her eyes, hesitated a second or two, then finally spoke. “He’s not really here to get you; at least I don’t think so. It’s about me—it’s about Kyle and me. I’ve become part of his fantasy, the story he tells himself every day. He’s proving how much better than me he is. He has to prove that he really is the Mastermind.”

Chapter 98

THE MASTERMIND had already made his next move, though he knew it was only a half step in the greater scheme of things. He had pulled back. He was six blocks away from Jamilla Hughes’s apartment, standing on a hill past the Jackson Playground. It allowed him to watch her building, the bay window, the small terrace on one side.

He enjoyed this—the intractable imposition of his will, his ego on the world. It had been this way for more than a dozen years. No one had come close to capturing him, or even suspecting who he really was.

Cross was inside now, and that made everything either very hard or perhaps easier. There was another decision to be made soon. Should he risk everything at this point? Change everything? For years he had been living a complicated double life. He’d done whatever he wanted, wherever, whenever. He had enjoyed his freedom, and how many others had even tasted that forbidden fruit? He had been the cop and the criminal. But maybe it was time for a change. Maybe his life had become too safe, too predictable. Kyle loved the hunt—and in that way he was like Casanova and the Gentleman Caller, two very talented killers he had known well, one working in North Carolina, the other in southern California. He found that he agreed with Casanova that men needed to be hunters by nature. And so he hunted—men and women—and he enjoyed killing both sexes; but he went an important step further.

He hunted their killers as well. He eliminated his competition. He beat them at their own games.

He had known Casanova years before the meticulous and very nasty killer was caught by himself and Dr. Cross. He had played murder games with Casanova and with the Gentleman Caller. Kiss the girls and make them cry. Kyle had even fallen in love with one of the victims—young Kate McTiernan. He still had a soft spot for dear, sweet Kate. He had been so many things to so many people, played so many roles, and he had only just begun.

He had been the Mastermind—but he also helped capture the man believed to be the Mastermind. How could you beat that for puzzle making and puzzle solving?

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He’d been an elusive killer in Baltimore; in Cincinnati; in Roanoke, Virginia; in Philadelphia, until he had tired of those cities and the minor roles he played in them. He was husband to Louise, father to Bradley and Virginia. He was on the fast track inside the FBI, with one significant problem: He believed they were finally onto him. He was sure of it—though, God, they were such obvious, plodding fools. So many exciting roles, so many poses, that sometimes Kyle Craig wondered who he actually was.

Now the game with Alex Cross had to end. He’d felt the need to taunt and torture Cross, to prove he was the homicide detective’s master. And then he had gone over the edge a little himself. It had happened when he killed Betsey Cavalierre, one of his own agents. Actually, the killing couldn’t be helped. Cavalierre had become suspicious of him while she was chasing the Mastermind with Cross. She had to go, had to die.

And so did Cross. Cross was loyal to his friends, trusting, and it had become his greatest flaw, his singular weakness. But Cross would have caught onto him, even if he hadn’t yet. And, of course, Cross’s instincts had brought him here to watch over Inspector Hughes. Cross needed to be a good man, an ethical cop, a protector. What a waste of intellect. What a pity that Cross couldn’t have been an even better adversary.

Cross had seen him on the street—so what came next? Whatever it was, it certainly had his adrenaline flowing. This was so good. Kyle knew he had a little time to figure it out. What to do? They were inside Hughes’s apartment. He had the edge on them.

He wouldn’t lose his edge, his advantage.

He made his next move.

Chapter 99

“YOU KNOW, I never liked him, Alex,” Jamilla said as we waited in the semidarkness of her apartment. “He seemed so cold, almost mechanical to me. And I’m telling you, he doesn’t like women. I felt it instantly.”

“Well, unfortunately, I did like Kyle. He’s clever as hell. He even rigged calls from the Mastermind when he and I were together. Now I need to figure out who he really was. There’s no psychosis involved, at least I don’t think so. He’s organized. He can obviously work out elaborate plans. For once, I wish he would call.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Jamilla said.

She and I were sitting beside a shelving unit on the hardwood floor in her living room. There was also a workout bench; nothing too fancy, an older model. Five- and ten-pound free weights were scattered on the floor. So were magazines and sections of the Chronicle.

I hoped that Kyle couldn’t see into the apartment, that he didn’t have binoculars. Or possibly a nightscope attached to a rifle. I knew he could shoot from the way he’d taken down Michael Alexander. He was good at a lot of things.

Just in case, Jamilla and I tried to keep away from the windows.

“It makes me dizzy to think about what he’s done so far. I wonder if we’ll ever know the extent of it,” she said.

“If we catch him, he’ll want to talk. Kyle will want to show off what he’s done. If he comes after us tonight, maybe we’ll find everything out.”

“You think he knows you’re here?”

I sighed, shrugged. “He probably knows I’m here. Maybe tonight is his coming-out party. I know one thing: He won’t do what we expect. The Mastermind never does. That’s the only real pattern he has.”

We talked about calling in reinforcements, but Jamilla thought it would probably scare Kyle off. He wanted the two of us, right? That’s what he would get. Do you want to taunt me anymore, you bastard? Go for it. Bring it, Kyle.

So the two of us sat there in the dark, and it was almost cozy. Jamilla finally reached out and touched my hand. Then we moved together, leaned against each other. We waited.