Alex Cross, Run (Alex Cross 20)

“No,” Creem told him. “I know we agreed to keep a little distance for the time being. But I’m looking at the paper here, and I just had to ask if you’ve been as busy lately as I think you have.”

“Oh, that,” Bergman said, feigning nonchalance.

“I thought so,” Creem said. Joshie had really upped his game since the last time around. It was impressive.

“And how are you, Elijah? I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Never better,” Creem told his friend—and it was true, to an extent. Maybe the old life had been burned down around him, but this new one was rising, phoenixlike, to take its place. “It turns out I hated my wife for the last sixteen years. I just didn’t realize it until she was gone,” he said.

“What about the girls?”

“I miss them terribly,” Creem deadpanned. “But in the meantime, I wear what I like to the table, I don’t have any of those soul-sucking dinner parties on my schedule anymore, and I’m seriously considering that little dark-eyed housekeeper of mine.”

“You mean Kate? Nice choice,” Bergman said. He’d always liked hearing about Creem’s sex life, and only sort of tried to hide the fact. “What’s stopping you?”

“Nothing, I suppose,” Creem answered. “But Josh, listen. One more thing. I want you to know how much I appreciate you. How much I have appreciated you, through all of this.”

“Elijah, have you been drinking?”

“I’m serious,” he said. “I think you’re the only real friend I’ve ever had.”

“Okay, fine,” Bergman said. “Then let me listen while you doink your maid.”

Creem laughed it off. They kept each other entertained, that was for sure. “I’m hanging up now, Josh. Thanks for ruining the moment.”

“Just remember—the ball’s in your court,” Bergman said.

“Yes, of course,” Creem told him. “I can hardly wait.”

Then he hung up the phone, picked up the small, serrated knife from the table, and headed off to the kitchen.

CHAPTER

20

KATE WAS DOING DISHES WHEN HE CAME IN.

“Can I get you something, Dr. Creem?” she asked.

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, coming to stand over by the sink. “I just meant to tell you before that you should help yourself to anything left in Miranda’s closet upstairs. I think she was about your size.”

“That’s very nice. Thank you,” she said.

“Also, there’s really no need for the uniform anymore,” he said, indicating the gray-and-white aproned dress she wore. “That was really Miranda’s thing, not mine.”

Kate kept washing the glass in her hand, but she smiled beautifully. For a girl who had obviously never had any work done, she was quite the specimen.

“How do you get anything done in this, anyway?” Creem asked. He reached over and fingered the hem of her uniform, letting his thumb brush against her thigh. “Looks awfully uncomfortable to me.”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking down.

“I think you’d be much more comfortable”—Creem raised the knife in his hand, up to the white collar at the back of her neck—“like this.”

He pulled the collar back and drew the blade straight down, cutting a ragged line all the way through to the skirt.

She squealed when he did it, and stiffened right up. So did Creem.

“It’s all right,” he said. “I’m a surgeon. You’re in good hands.”