Alex Cross 03 - Jack & Jill Read online

  If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 1996 by James Patterson

  Excerpt from You’ve Been Warned copyright © 2007 by James PattersonAll rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This Warner Books edition is published by arrangement with Little, Brown and Company.

  Warner Books

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  Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

  Warner Books and the “W” logo are trademarks of Time Warner Inc. or an affiliated company. Used under license by Hachette Book Group, which is not affiliated with Time Warner Inc.

  First eBook Edition: January 2003

  ISBN: 978-0-7595-2782-9

  Contents

  The novels of James Patterson

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part I: It’s Tomorrow Again

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  Part II: The Dragonslayer

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  Part III: The Photojournalist

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  Part IV: A-Hunting We Will Go

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  CHAPTER 62

  CHAPTER 63

  CHAPTER 64

  CHAPTER 65

  CHAPTER 66

  CHAPTER 67

  CHAPTER 68

  CHAPTER 69

  CHAPTER 70

  CHAPTER 71

  CHAPTER 72

  CHAPTER 73

  CHAPTER 74

  CHAPTER 75

  CHAPTER 76

  Part V: No Rules. No Regrets.

  CHAPTER 77

  CHAPTER 78

  CHAPTER 79

  CHAPTER 80

  CHAPTER 81

  CHAPTER 82

  CHAPTER 83

  CHAPTER 84

  CHAPTER 85

  CHAPTER 86

  Part VI: Nobody Is Safe Anymore—Nobody

  CHAPTER 87

  CHAPTER 88

  CHAPTER 89

  CHAPTER 90

  CHAPTER 91

  CHAPTER 92

  CHAPTER 93

  CHAPTER 94

  CHAPTER 95

  CHAPTER 96

  CHAPTER 97

  CHAPTER 98

  CHAPTER 99

  CHAPTER 100

  CHAPTER 101

  CHAPTER 102

  CHAPTER 103

  CHAPTER 104

  CHAPTER 105

  CHAPTER 106

  CHAPTER 107

  CHAPTER 108

  CHAPTER 109

  CHAPTER 110

  CHAPTER 111

  CHAPTER 112

  CHAPTER 113

  CHAPTER 114

  CHAPTER 115

  You’ve Been Warned

  America’s #1 Bestselling Author

  # 1 BESTSELLING NOVEL,

  #1 BESTSELLING AUTHOR!

  ACCLAIM FOR JAMES PATTERSON’S BLOCKBUSTER NOVEL

  JACK & JILL

  “Alex Cross’s the kind of multilayered character that makes any plot twist seem believable. From the book’s opening murder to its haunting cliff-hanger ending, PATTERSON HAS CREATED A DARK AND SCARY THRILL RIDE THAT KEEPS YOUR HEART POUNDING AND YOUR EYES GLUED TO THE PAGES.”

  —People

  “CAPTIVATING … The pages turn rapidly, and Patterson juggles twist after twist with genuine glee … As always, Patterson provides a fast-paced thriller full of surprising but realistic plot twists … Cross is one of the best and most likable characters in the modern thriller genre.”

  —San Francisco Examiner

  “HE’S UNBEATABLE … In Jack & Jill [he] again proves himself master of the hair-raising thriller with a climactic, double-twist ending, the trick that made his Along Came a Spider and Kiss the Girls memorable nail-biters.”

  —Buffalo News

  “QUICK AND SCARY.”

  —New York Daily News

  “CHILLING … THIS BOOK IS HARD TO PUT DOWN.”

  —Associated Press

  “A GRIPPING GAME OF DEATH … Through crisp crosscutting, Patterson grabs readers right from the beginning and sweeps them along toward riveting dual climaxes … It’s fine, full-blooded entertainment from start to finish, with a last-page surprise.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “HE KEEPS THE PEDAL DOWN ON THE ACTION AND SUSPENSE … James Patterson’s gift to thriller fans is D.C. homicide detective and psychiatrist Alex Cross.”

  —Washington Times

  “THIS IS HIS MOST EXCITING YET … The twists and turns arrive in roller-coaster fashion … Don’t miss this exciting political suspense thriller.”

  —Nashville Banner

  “HARROWING … Patterson’s thrilling thriller pursues the parallel serial killers, one cold-blooded and methodical, one helter-skelter and raging, relentlessly, with the tension building and whodunit uncertain (and ultimately shocking) right up to the final chapter.”

  —Newark Star-Ledger

  “ENGROSSING … MARVELOUSLY CRAFTED … ONE OF THE MOST COMPELLING MYSTERIES OF THE YEAR … Patterson confounds even mystery veterans, however, through a thrill ride rivaling The Mantis at Cedar Point—with spine-tingling twists and turns that leave readers hanging upside down with their hearts racing.”

  —Columbus Dispatch

  “BREAKNECK PACING … Patterson is back with another winner featuring black Washington, D.C., detective/psychologist Alex Cross … Highly recommended.”

  —Library Journal

  “NONSTOP ACTION … JACK & JILL is a suspense thriller that explodes off the pages.”

  —Montgomery Advertiser

  “HI
S MASTERY OF THE THRILLER GENRE IS UNSURPASSED… JACK & JILL takes the reader on a suspenseful ride as relentless as a high-speed roller coaster.”

  —Abilene Reporter-News

  “A FAST-PACED, ELECTRIC STORY THAT IS UTTERLY BELIEVABLE.”

  —Booklist

  “COMPELLING READING … Patterson’s strong narrative and expert characterizations make the plot work exceptionally well.”

  —Lansing State Journal

  “GUARANTEED TO FRIGHTEN … James Patterson not only creates a dizzying flight of suspense and violence, but probes and exposes the explosive elements in today’s society.”

  —Baton Rouge Magazine

  “TERRIFIC … TANTALIZING … Patterson builds a complex storyline; with shocking scenes and striking, sympathetic characters.”

  —Dayton Beach News Journal

  “OUTSTANDING … Readers who have not discovered James Patterson just don’t know what they are missing. Patterson is, without a doubt, one of the most talented and exciting authors of crime fiction today.”

  —Lake Worth Herald

  “RIVETING… Grabs the reader’s attention and doesn’t let it go.”

  —Manchester Journal Inquirer

  “A THRILL-A-MINUTE … It’s a compelling mystery, better still than Patterson’s first two novels, Along Came a Spider and Kiss the Girls, and those were both excellent novels. His newest book is still more explosive and powerful. It’s a nonstop nightmare.”

  —Naples Daily News

  “HIS MOST EXCITING AND TERRIFYING BOOK… JACK & JILL is Patterson at his hickory-dickory best,”

  —Rockdale Citizen

  The novels of James Patterson

  FEATURING ALEX CROSS

  Cross

  Mary, Mary

  London Bridges

  The Big Bad Wolf

  Four Blind Mice

  Violets Are Blue

  Roses Are Red

  Pop Goes the Weasel

  Cat & Mouse

  Jack & Jill

  Kiss the Girls

  Along Came a Spider

  THE WOMEN’S MURDER CLUB

  The 6th Target (and Maxine Paetro)

  The 5th Horseman (and Maxine Paetro)

  4th of July (and Maxine Paetro)

  3rd Degree (and Andrew Gross)

  2nd Chance (and Andrew Gross)

  1st to Die

  OTHER BOOKS

  The Quickie (and Michael Ledwidge)

  Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports

  Step on a Crack (and Michael Ledwidge)

  Judge & Jury (and Andrew Gross)

  Maximum Ride: School’s Out — Forever

  Beach Road (and Peter de Jonge)

  Lifeguard (and Andrew Gross)

  Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment

  Honeymoon (and Howard Roughan)

  santaKid

  Sam’s Letters to Jennifer

  The Lake House

  The Jester (and Andrew Gross)

  The Beach House (and Peter de Jonge)

  Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas

  Cradle and All

  Black Friday

  When the Wind Blows

  See How They Run

  Miracle on the 17th Green (and Peter de Jonge)

  Hide & Seek

  The Midnight Club

  Season of the Machete

  The Thomas Berryman Number

  For previews of upcoming James Patterson novels and information about the author, visit www.jamespatterson.com.

  For John Keresty

  Thank you—Robin Schwarz, for the poesy, Irene Markocki, Barbara Groszewski, Maria Pugatch, Fern Galperin, Julie Goodyear, Diana Gaines, Mary Jordan, Tommy De Feo, Frank Nicolo, Michael Hart, Stephanie Apt, Liz Gruszkievicz, Nancy Temkin, Donald M.

  And, Richard and Artie Pine, Larry Kirshbaum, Charlie Hayward, Mel Parker, Amy Rhodes, Malcolm Edwards. And, last and most of all, Fredrica Friedman.

  We share the same nightmares. I try to get them down on paper and temporarily make them go away.

  Prologue

  The Games Begin

  I

  SAM HARRISON swung his agile body out of the silver blue Ford Aerostar, which he had parked on Q Street in the Georgetown section of Washington. Horror stories and games are popular for a good reason, he was thinking as he locked the vehicle and set its alarm. Not the comfortable sit-around-the-campfire horror tales and games we used to cherish as kids, but the real-life horror stories that are around us everywhere these days.

  Now I’m living one myself. I’m about to become part of the horror. How easy it is. How terribly, terribly easy to move past the edge and into the darkness.

  He had stalked and shadowed Daniel Fitzpatrick for two long Weeks. He’d done his job in New York City, London, Boston, and finally, here in Washington, D.C. Tonight he was going to murder the United States senator. In cold blood, execution-style. No one would be able to figure out why. No one would have a clue that might matter later on.

  That was the first and most important rule of the game called Jack and Jill.

  In many ways this was a textbook celebrity-stalker pattern. He knew it to be true as he took up his post across from 211 Q Street.

  And yet, if anyone bothered to look more closely, it was like no other stalking pattern before. What he was going to do now was more provocative than secretly observing Senator Fitzpatrick down obscene numbers of Glenlivet cocktails at The Monocle, his favorite bar in Washington. This was the truest form of madness, Sam Harrison knew. It was pure madness. He didn’t believe he was mad. He believed only in the validity of the game of chance.

  And then, less than thirty yards across the shiny-wet street—there was Daniel Fitzpatrick himself. Right on schedule. At least, close enough.

  He watched the senator stiffly climb out of a gleaming, navy blue Jaguar coupe, a 1996 model. He wore a gray topcoat with a paisley silk scarf. A sleek, slender woman in a black dress was with him. A Burberrys raincoat was casually thrown over her arm. She was laughing at something Fitzpatrick had said. She threw her head back like a beautiful, spirited horse. A wisp of her warm breath met the cool of the night.

  The woman was at least twenty years the senator’s junior. She wasn’t his wife, Sam knew. Dannyboy Fitzpatrick rarely if ever slept with his wife. The blond woman walked with a slight limp, which made the two of them even more intriguing. Memorable, actually.

  Sam Harrison concentrated fiercely. Measure twice, measure five times, if necessary. He took stock of all the details one final time. He had arrived in Georgetown at eleven-fifteen. He looked as if he belonged in the chic, attractive, fashionable neighborhood around Q Street. He looked exactly right for the part he was going to play.

  A very big part in a very big story, one of the biggest in America’s history. Or some would say American theater.

  A leading-man role, to be sure.

  He wore professorial, tortoiseshell glasses for the part. He never wore glasses. Didn’t need them.

  His hair was light blond. His hair wasn’t really blond.

  He called himself Sam Harrison. His name wasn’t really Sam. Or Harrison.

  For that night’s special occasion, he’d carefully selected a soft black cashmere turtleneck, charcoal gray trousers, which were pleated and cuffed, and light-brown walking boots. He wasn’t really such a dapper, self-absorbed dresser. His thick hair was cut short, vaguely reminiscent of the actor Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard, one of his least-favorite movies. He carried a small black duffel bag, swinging it like a baton as he now walked briskly toward 211. A camcorder was tucked inside the bag.

  He planned to capture as much of this as possible on film. This was history in the making. It really was history: America at the end of its century, America at the end of an era, America at the end.

  At quarter to twelve, he entered 211 through a darkened service entryway that smelled strongly of ammonia and of dust and decay. He walked up to the fourth floor, where the senator had his flat, his
study, his love nest in the capital.

  He reached Daniel Fitzpatrick’s door, 4J, at ten minutes to twelve. He was still pretty much on time. So far, so good. Everything was going exactly as planned.

  The highly polished mahogany door opened right in his face.

  He stared at an ash-blond woman who was slender and trim and well kept. She was actually somewhat plainer looking than she had appeared from a distance. It was the same woman who had gotten out of the blue Jag with Fitzpatrick. The woman with the limp.

  Except for a gold barrette in her hair, a lioness from a trip to the Museum of Modern Art in New York, and a gold choker, she was gloriously naked.

  “Jack,” she whispered.

  “Jill,” he said, and smiled.

  II

  IN A DIFFERENT PART of Washington, in a different world, another would-be killer was playing an equally terrifying game. He had found an absolutely terrific hiding place among the thick pines and a few towering, elderly oaks at the center of Garfield Park. He made himself comfortable inside a kind of tent formed by the overhanging tree limbs and a few sturdy, overgrown shrubs.

  “Let’s get busy,” he whispered, though no one was in the hiding place with him. This was going to be a wonderful adventure, a great fantasy. He believed it with his whole heart, body, and what remained of his soul.

  He sat cross-legged on the damp grass and began to work on his face and hair. A tune from the rock band Hole was blasting from the speakers inside his head. This was really good stuff. He loved it to death. Disguises and costumes were a rush. They were about the only thing that let you truly escape, and goddamn, did he ever need to escape.

  When he eventually finished with the costume, he emerged from the shadows of the trees. He had to laugh. He was cracking himself up today. This was the best yet. It was so goofy that it was great. Reminded him of a good joke: Roses are red/violets are blue/I’m schizophrenic/and so am I.

  Hardy-har!

  He definitely looked like an old, homeless fuck-bum now. He really did look like a hopeless old fart. Like the mangy character in the rock song “Aqualung.” He had put on a white fright wig and a salt-and-pepper beard from an actor’s costume kit. Any slight failure of his imagination, or skill as a makeup artist, was covered by the floppy hood of his sweatshirt.