Alex Cross, Run

There was still Lydia to worry about, but so far she was more use to him than she was trouble. In a way, it was like his mother knew which questions she could get away with, and which ones to leave alone. Like how they were affording to live, for starters.

Guidice’s reporting hadn’t brought in any appreciable income for quite a while now. Not since everything had changed—and not since the cash settlement, after the cops had stolen his life away from him.

As if a wad of money could make up for what they’d done!

It was nothing more than routine incompetence, the way Theresa had been allowed to die that night, right there on the sidewalk like a common criminal.

And not just Theresa, either. No one else had known it at the time, but their unborn child had died that night, too, along with the only woman he’d ever loved. Both of them, murdered in cold blood.

And all on Alex Cross’s watch.

CHAPTER

19

ELIJAH CREEM PREFERRED TO SECTION HIS OWN GRAPEFRUIT IN THE MORNING. He liked the way the membranous flesh gave so easily, but how it also demanded a certain element of precision from the blade of his knife.

He took his time with it that morning, lingering over his fruit, steak, and egg breakfast while he read the Post. One story in particular had caught his attention there, and he perused it twice through as he ate.

“Kate?” he called out to the housekeeper.

“Sir?” she said, poking her head through the swinging kitchen door into the dining room.

“Would you bring me my phone, please? I think it’s in the hall.”

“Certainly,” she said, and disappeared again.

According to the paper, a boy from Northwest DC had been shot, stabbed, and dropped into the Potomac, where his body had been found floating just the day before. The Post’s coverage, at least, indicated that the police had no leads whatsoever on who might have done this.

“Oh, I heard about that,” Kate said, suddenly back with his phone and looking over Dr. Creem’s shoulder. “It was on every cha

“Was it?” Creem said. “Apparently, the boy died quite horribly.”

He liked that she didn’t turn away. Instead, she leaned closer to get a look at the black and white picture of the victim. Also, close enough for Creem to rest a hand gently on the curve of her ass.

“So young,” she said, though she was barely older.

She hadn’t flinched at his touch, either. Kate, with her green card problems and sick father, certainly knew which side her bread was buttered on.

“That’s all, for now,” Creem said, and winked at her as she freshened his coffee. She smiled pleasantly.

He watched her go and waited until she was back in the kitchen, out of earshot. Then he picked up his phone and called Josh Bergman.

“Elijah?” Bergman answered. “Is something wrong?”

“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 deadpa

“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.”

Now she laughed nervously, but also pressed her body against his, grinding into him with her ass. She wanted him, didn’t she? Of course she did. He was Dr. Elijah Creem. There were all kinds of things he could do for her.

And to her.

Creem reached around front and cut away the skin-thin fabric of her panties next. It wasn’t the same as cutting actual flesh, but it had its appeal. Besides, his life was complicated enough right now. He couldn’t afford to take out his own maid. What was the expression—don’t shit where you eat?

Instead, he bent her over the sink, with the warm water still ru

“Relax,” he told her. “This should feel good.”

With the very tip of his blade, he reached up again, and drew it softly down the exposed skin of her back. Using only the slightest pressure, just enough to raise a few skin cells, it left behind a fine white line, like a tiny chalk mark. She shivered as he did it—either loving this, or displaying some killer acting skills. Creem didn’t care which.

He didn’t last long after that, either. The ruined uniform, and the sight of the girl bent over the sink, catching warm water in her hair, was enough to get him off. But then, with one fleeting mental image of the knife taking his place inside of her, Creem was quickly past the point of no return.

Up and over.

Fourth of July fireworks, and all that.

When he was done, he sent little Kate upstairs to pick out something else to wear. He even gave her a wad of cash to go shopping with afterward, and the rest of the day off.

“Thank you, Dr. Creem,” she said in her quaint accent. “Thank you so much.”