Alex Cross 03 - Jack & Jill
James Patterson
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.
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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.
